Sparks Flies

French Riviera Road Trip

We'd been alone on the island of Europe for months, missing the familiarity of home and all of our stuff that was stolen in Marseille. Then on the horizon came a glimmer of hope. Our friend Mike Sparks told us he was headed to Europe and wanted to see us. After day(s) of elaborate planning, we'd worked out a trip itinerary along the riviera for four days of rest, relaxation and aggressive sightseeing. 

We laid out a breakneck plan to see Monaco, Roman ruins in Freges, the beaches of St. Raphael, baroque and Russian architecture in Menton and Nice, and the yachts of the super rich in Antibes. 

We left the Nice Airport and headed for dinner across the Italian border. It was Sparks' first time in Europe and we wanted to help him check off as many countries as we could. We found the charming Italian town of Dolceacqua, an authentic feeling medieval hilltop town just a half hour across the border. We got lost a few times with a cheap bottle of Italian wine in hand, and somehow managed to run into the only other strollers four or five times on our way up to the castle at the top of the town (which was closed).

We eventually found flat ground again and went in search of an autentico Italian dinner, settling on one of the two restaurants that were open (it's slim pickings in low season). We had a great meal with pizza, papardelle and the soulful bass of 90s smooth jazz. 

A few hours later, we were back in France, full of food and Italy-ed out. We set up camp in Menton, the city famous for its oranges and old people. They really take it seriously, because they were everywhere. Each sidewalk was lined with orange and lemon trees and blocked with senior couples out for their afternoon passegiata. Unbeknownst to us, we arrived the day before Menton's citrus festival…more refreshing than Nice's competing carnaval. We got to see the magic in action as workers created the Eiffel tower, a gladiator, and a giant shoe — all out of citrus. Imagine the wasted juicing opportunities. 

We drove along kilometers of beautiful coastline and rocky cliffs, which Sparks pointed out "looks like California." A lot of websites we looked on had said that the riviera was the California of France, and it turns out to be true. But unlike California's coast, the water of the Mediterranean is bright blue.

For a change of scenery, we turned inland for the windiest drive we'd ever experienced to the town of St. Agnes (1200 ft up). After almost an hour of turns and twists and climbing 100 meters every kilometer, out of nowhere the small village appeared with a WWII anti-aircraft bunker and rows of artists' shops. After we parked we hiked up to the top peak of the mountain, where a 12th century castle once stood. Now, there's just a lonely guy who charges admission to visit his "royal gardens." We looked down at the miles of t-shirt weather beaches below as a flurry of snow started falling around us atop the mountain.

We swirled back down the mountain and landed at the bottom of the hill in Monte Carlo, Monaco. The streets are bordered with the red and white stripes for the Grand Prix, and the area around the casino is congested with Aston Martins, Bentleys, Ferraris, and Rolls Royces. Gardeners are constantly primping and manicuring the city to keep it postcard perfect for its billionaire residents. The rich and famous are well protected here: security cameras dot every intersection and the entire city can be shut down in a matter of minutes. 

We'd already driven for a few hours and pulled over for lunch in Eze, yet another hilltop town overlooking the beach. We wanted to flaunt how French we'd become, so we had a picnic of baguettes, fromage and jambon, complete with a beer from the Alsace region. We felt like a couple of annoying tour guides, pointing out historical glassmaking techniques, architectural differences, and ancient stone construction. Our last stop before Cannes was yet another hilltop town, St. Paul de Vence, where we saw a beautiful sunset and an art gallery selling a giant photograph of Will Smith hugging a pillow. 

After our drab accommodations in Menton, we were treated to stay in an amazing hotel in Cannes. Our workaway hosts had arranged for us to stay at the Pullman Hotel and Casino as a kind of thank you for our work. The room was great, with a balcony, rain shower and a window between the shower and bedroom. Kinky! The beds were so comfortable, Sparks committed to redoing his bedroom at home and considering stealing the duvet on our way out.

For dinner, we found there was a La Tonnelle restaurant just a couple miles away. (For our loyal readers, you'll remember that it's a roadside restaurant with an all-you-can-eat dessert and chese budget and an all-you-can-drink bar of beer, wine and cider on tap.) We rushed to find the restaurant before they closed, but google maps directions were wrong and we ended up speeding through a speed trap to find it. We were pulled over and a very French police officer kept reiterating that this "isn't California, it's a town." David was doing 90kph on a four lane divided road where the speed drops to 50kph. In France, traffic violations are payable on the spot and apparently were cash only. Which made it seem a bit like a scam, but better to pay them off than end up in a French jail. 

With David's poor broken French arguing, we missed the restaurant and ended up eating overpriced Vietnamese food. We returned to the hotel with a mission to win back all of our losses at the casino.

We'd love to say we walkd into the casino and did a Hangover-esque card counting scheme and walked out with thousands of euros, but nothing in France is awesome. This isn't Vegas, it's a town. Cards were sloppily dealt and Sparks was shorted twice on blackjack payouts. Once, the dealer paid Sparks with his own double down bet, and the other time took his money on a push. The cocktail bar, however, did have a giant jar of chocolate chips…so, win.

The next morning we were back on the road with a stop walkable from our hotel to see the castle of the American artist, Henry Clews. He was kind of a nut and constructed a baroque/gothic style castle on the shores of Cannes in the 1920s. He lived there with his wife, whose name he changed to Marie when they married. The castle has a lot of his artwork, which ranges from classic to modern to cartoony and grotesque. It's worth a visit if you're passing through. 

Our road trip was rushed South to see Roman ruins in Frejes. We saw a 2nd century BC amphitheater and saved 2€ in admission because the French don't work winters. It was really in ruins but it was amazing to see centuries-old trees growing through the building.

We creped for lunch and hustled to reach our last stop of the Picasso museum in Antibes. It proved to be a tiring day of slow-going roundabouts along the coast, but we made it to the museum an hour before closing. The museum is housed in the castle where Picasso stayed after WWII. There was such a shortage of canvas in war torn France that Picasso painted on the walls and the backs of older portraits. Many exhibits were closed for remodeling so the trip was only good for a 15 minute loop.

Antibes is a delightful old town, and Sparks finally found the charm of France. We strolled the streets with a baguette and scarily unpasteurized brie and had a parking lot picnic in a small town square. 

After sundown we were tired and ill-prepared mentally to retrace our entire drive along the coast. We passed through cities we'd seen in the days before, including Golf Juan and Cagnes Ouest. The only time you can say you're getting into Kanye West without people judging you. We arrived at our next hostel in Nice which is renowned to be one of the best hostels in the world. After taking a half hour to get our reservation acknowledged and getting a distracted tour, we were cornered by the old owner and given a second tour and game of Nice 20 Questions even though we made it clear we were leaving in them morning. We toughed it out and decided on staying low key and ordering a pizza from the hostel. They wouldn't accept an order for a half hour. 

To say goodbye on our last night together, we visited the old town and found an Irish pub with an Australian cover band playing classic 90s American hits. Viva la France! 

Best Laughs:

Just after the Italian border, traffic came to a stop. We saw a very Italian car accident: A car ran over a motorcycle. No one was injured, the vehicles weren't damaged , but the drivers weren't at their vehicles and no one attempted to move the vehicles out of the road. Cars waited patiently for a back-up that probably took hours to clear.