La Côte d'Azur

Hey All,

I think I had last left off when I was in the air flying from Madrid. We landed as the sun was setting. The first thing I noticed as we climbed down onto the tarmac was the overwhelming smell of saltwater. Marseille is an ancient port city with origins dating back several thousand years before common era owing its success to its position linking inland trading routes to the Mediterranean. Today Marseille is known for being the second largest city in France and the capital of the Côte-d’Azur province.

Despite its size and history, Marseille sees relatively few international tourists compared to its neighbor city further down the coast, Nice. True, in the several days that we were there we encountered very few native English speakers. The city proper had only two hostels, and both were unavailable for the weekend that we would be there. We opted instead to stay at a reasonably priced Bed and Breakfast (in French: maison d'hôtes, literally translated: guest house). We had to take a shuttle from the airport to the city center and from there navigate our way through the steep and largely unmarked streets to the address given for our lodging.

We arrived at a nondescript door as one would find to an apartment building with an intercom panel to the left. Nothing made note of the location being a guest house save for a business card that told of the name of the Bed and Breakfast taped next to one of the buttons on the intercom (this was becoming a pattern with our lodgings). We pushed the button and were greeted by a tall French gentleman who showed us inside.

The interior was interesting. Past the door was a hallway which to the left led into his private home. Through the hallway was a patio with flower beds and outdoor furniture. Looking up we could see that this was outside, surrounded on all sides by the building itself. Past the patio was the guest house. The door opened into a living room and kitchen with a small bathroom (it had once been a broom closet, so ‘small’ is an appropriate word). Up a flight of incredibly narrow spiral stairs were three rooms and a full bath. Our room had a nightstand, dresser, and folding beds which when lowered took up all of the remaining floor space in the room.

The entire house was intricately decorated with the kind of cutesy knick-knacks that one would expect in such a place. There was hardly any table space in the downstairs. Instead a rich collection of French literature and visitor information was spread throughout the residence. Upstairs on our bed was a chalkboard wishing us Bonne nuit, Beaux rêves (Good night, beautiful dreams).

Our host admitted that his wife usually did the English speaking so he showed us around using English when he could and French for things he couldn’t find the words to say. He told us there was a baby staying in the room next door and that we would have to be quiet. We found no problem with this and went to sleep shortly after we settled in.

The next morning we awoke to a wonderful spread of pastries, hot beverages, and fresh fruits as well as visitor information in English specifically laid out for us to find by our hosts. The couple with the baby were finishing up a breakfast and on their way out. Reveling in the chance to practice some speaking, I struck up a conversation with the family. When asked about my school I told her that I attended a small grand ecole in a suburb of Paris that she had probably never heard of, Cergy. To my surprise, not only did she know of it, but she went to school there as well studying for her MBA (well, the French equivalent) at ESSEC another grand ecole in the town. We chatted for a minute or two before they had to leave.

At the same time we had the opportunity to meet our other host, a petit French lady by the name of Cati. Having already met several very interesting people on the trip I can say with reverence that she was quite a sight. She walked in wearing a red shirt and skirt matched with a bright red belt and red and white striped stockings of the Where’s Waldo style. She wore a pair of crocs printed with a Superman motif. Last, but not least, her hair was colored a strikingly bright red color. Despite her outwardly intriguing appearance, she might have been one of the nicest people I have ever met. She interrogated us on the details of our trip thus far excusing herself to attend to the kitchen at regular intervals.

We spent some time around the port area, where there are hundreds of boats docked at any given time. We spent a good part of our first day walking along a pathway that took us along the coast of the Mediterranean past cliffs, beaches, and houses built into the hillside with a magnificent view.  We arrived at a stony beach about seven miles outside of town that was largely deserted save some windsurfers embracing the rather chilly water.

We enjoyed eating in a few small French cafés along the quiet streets. We also found out that Marseille is widely regarded as the graffiti capital of Europe. True, nearly every storefront, alleyway, and park had some sort of spray-painted artwork. It was interesting to look at.

We were especially lucky to not have to take a flight to our next destination, Nice, since it was only just down the coast. Instead we took our time exploring the small town and its coast stopping just in time to get to the train station before our train left. 

The train ride took us through the rolling hills of the Côte-d’Azur countryside. We found the road that would take us to our hostel and followed it walking for a while and searching for the right number. We caught view of the coast and kept walking towards it, we still had a few blocks to go. Right when I thought that if our hostel was any closer to the shore it would be in the ocean we found it only a block away from the beach. Our hostel was another one-story affair that shared space with an apartment building, but at least this one was well marked.

To my initial surprise, we would not encounter any native French speakers in our entire stay there, including our hostel receptionists. Most people in the hostel were from Canada, Australia, or the UK. In retrospect, this is not so surprising seeing as Nice is one of the top tourist destinations in the country for foreign visitors. After seeing the shoreline one could hardly blame them.

We settled into our room and were surprised to see an unfamiliar sight, and American dollar! After several months of using the multi-colored different-sized notes of the EU, the single color pattern and uniformly rectangular shape of the dollar seemed as strange to me then as the euro did when I first arrived her. The currency belonged to a young lady who was on break from her university in Toronto and was taking a tour across Europe. She, of course, was familiar with Buffalo and our proximity to Canada. After talking for a few minutes she announced that she was going to sunbathe and left.

We decided it would be a good time to check out the beach as well. Our short walk brought us to Promenade des Anglais, a double-wide palm tree lined boulevard that stretched for miles along the Nice coast. Facing the beaches were huge ornate buildings housing upscale restaurants and hotels. Closer to the beach was a boardwalk that ran the length of the shore housing restaurants at evenly spaced intervals. Since it was still April all of these were closed choosing instead to wait for better weather. The beach itself was made up of rocks the size of one’s first making the coast a pleasant thing to watch, but not to lay upon. The wind off the sea put a chill in the air. I found it curious that somewhere along that beach was our friend from the hostel, likely the only person sun tanning that chilly day but quickly realized that she was, after all, Canadian.

Going out to dinner to celebrate Kaitlin’s birthday, we truly experienced the presence of foreign tourism. In contrast to Marseille, all of the waiters and hosts welcomed their guests in every language but French. After taking in the great architecture displaying the affluence of its residents we returned to the hostel and turned in for the night.

In the planning of our trip I intended on making use of Nice as a base to explore other regions of the Côte-d’Azur province. Thus, the next morning we took the TER to a few close cities and villages. As I may have mentioned, the TER is a traditional-speed train meant to link together the regions of France between the TGV lines. As a result, one can take it almost anywhere in the province for an extremely low cost in the neighborhood of one or two euros.

Our first stop was to leave the country. Seriously. A little known fact about France is that, similar to Italy, it houses an independent state within its borders. Monaco is a few stops away on the TER line, but is a fully independent state. Its small size (about one and a half times the size of Central Park) also makes it the most densely populated country on the planet. Its government is a constitutional monarchy though its monarch, Prince Albert II prefers a suit and tie to royal regalia. Since Monaco is in the Eurozone and its principal language is French one might not even notice that they had left France.  

 Built along beaches and on the sides of steep hills, the state houses more millionaires per capita than any other country. Stepping off the train this was fairly obvious to see. The train station there was at the top of a hill overlooking the entire village where luxurious housing was perched along steep hillsides. Being built in the midst of several steep hills, getting around Monaco was interesting. In addition to roads the city made extensive use of staircases to get between roads of a different elevation. Each staircase was given a distinctive name much like a street. They wound around climbing up and down hillsides past resident’s backyards. One could tell that there was hardly any space that was not developed.

Our trip throughout the town took us by the port where multimillion dollar yachts were docked. Each had a gangway that came out and touched the dock in front of which lay a custom printed doormat with the name and home port of the craft. I would imagine that because of their size, some would confuse them as charter boats. I can guess that this is why they each had an engraved sign that said in several languages “This is a private boat.” We noticed the crew of a few yachts cleaning the deck wearing all white suits but, of course, barefoot. Later down the dock several men were folding in the wings of a small helicopter and pushing it into the hangar on the top deck of a boat that also said ‘private’.

The most famous building in Monaco is said to be the Monte Carlo Casinio, a playground for the rich and famous. Though we did not get to see the inside the exterior was impressive enough complete with fountains, gardens, and a beautiful beachfront view. Our train out of the city wound along the hillside overlooking the beach making for an excellent ride.

Also on the day’s agenda was a small village called Villefranche-sur-Mer. Since Barcelona offered bad weather we decided we needed to enjoy at least one beach. We were told that the inhabitants of Nice come to this beach town as their getaway for summer days. The beach was not very wide and the sand was still slightly course, but the weather was warmer and beautiful so we took up a spot. Out in the shelter of the bay around Villefranche was docked an ocean cruise liner giving the beaches an added boost of popularity that given day. Amongst the tourists were several older locals spending their retirement days lounging at the beach. This included one older gentleman, easily in his seventies, wade out into the water and go for a swim lasting about twenty minutes. I was even more impressed when I went to go feel the water, still a very chilly temperature despite the warmer air.

Villefranche was a very cool town in it that it was built directly into a valley between two hillsides in an almost V-shape giving every house in the village a beachfront view. Narrow streets crisscrossed the hillside from the beach to the very top. Staircases and narrow alleyways also connected this city making for an interesting walking experience. Curiously, I glanced into a real estate office to look at the prices for such a place. A two bedroom, one bath apartment of intermediate size ran over one million dollars. I guess there is a price to pay for a serene view out your bedroom window each morning. We packed up and headed for the train station just as it began to rain.

Hanging out at the hostel we made the acquaintance of a few fellow travelers. One was a gentleman in his mid-forties who, from what I can tell, had been living at the hostel for several weeks. He was talking to another gentleman about taking French courses starting next week at a school by the hostel. Another guy our age was having a conversation with a Chinese girl about a tattoo he had on his leg in Mandarin. He said that he liked the meaning behind the tattoo. She was confused by this as the symbol meant “power and royalty” to which he gave an interesting excuse along the lines of “I like how the Chinese language can condense many words into one” which I perceived as “I just like how it looks”.

Wanting to eat cheaply that night we headed to a Greek place around the corner. What had appeared to be a hole-in-the-wall restaurant doing orders mostly to go turned out to be one of the best meals of our trip. Everything was freshly made and the owner even seated us a table with silverware and a carafe of water. Our entertainment for the night was a British gentleman who was quite determined to make use of his French phrases, interjecting them into the conversation anywhere he could. When ordered was asked (in English) if he would like an mayonnaise to which he responded “Oui, oui, un poco, un poco” (poco being the Spanish word for “a little bit”). The gentleman working gave him a strange look but I surmised that he had dealt with such tourists previously.

We woke up early and took in the beach in the early morning as the calm over the Mediterranean stilled the waves to a gentle push and pull. We were headed to the airport which, luckily for us, was just down the coast about ten miles. Nice wisely realized that the best place to put an airport was to built an extension off the shoreline rather than use up precious real-estate in their town.

As we went through security we ran into a slight delay in the line. A gentleman ahead of us decided he would try to bring a bottle of wine though security in his carryon rather than pay to check the baggage. Of course, the security screeners caught him and pulled him aside. We watched as what would be likely regarded by the TSA as a terrorist incident was handled by the somewhat more lax French airport staff. They demanded he either check it or take a sip to prove that it was indeed just wine. He chose the later option (the gentleman working also happened to have a corkscrew) but the opened bottle could, of course, not be easily resealed. As we walked towards our gate we watched the gentleman and his wife finishing the bottle with cups provided by one of the restaurants in the waiting area.  

The airport at Nice used shuttle busses to take passengers between the terminal and the aircraft. Behind us we ran into an American family that was vacationing with their foreign exchange student from France of about ten years of age. In addition to speaking French she spoke almost perfect English with a slight accent and spoke enough Italian to talk to the flight attendant twice. I had to admit that I was a bit jealous of her language skills! We arrived at the base of the aircraft and climbed onboard our first AirItalia flight: non-stop to Rome.

 -Adam