Landlubbers For A Day (taking the E-ZEE out of Eze)
Today it was time for us to go ashore and explore, firstly the mountain-top village of Eze and then down to Monte Carlo. Chelle, who can navigate the public transport systems of the world with her eyes closed, put her google-savvy fingers to work and set about figuring out how to get us there. The plan was for an Uber to get us to the train station at the airport, a train would get us to the centre of Nice, where we’d walk to the bus stop and board a bus to deliver us up the coast. I’d love to say this plan was carried out without a hitch but Ross insisted we get on a different train than the one Chelle had pencilled in and this necessitated an extra Uber driver, who unhelpfully informed us he was from Cannes and had no idea where he was going. At least he was honest. We literally drove around in circles, Chelle handing her phone to him periodically to show him where to go. Eventually we just asked him to let us out and we worked it out ourselves.
It was a scorcher of a day and the Nice Ironman, which was scheduled to run today, had been cut short due to the heatwave. The views from the bus were spectacular and as we climbed in altitude, the ships bobbing below in the bay looked more like like bath toys than super yachts. Emerging through a tunnel cut through the rock, we drove across an extremely high level stone arch bridge than spanned a scenic deep canyon below us. We’d been able to see this bridge from the water the day before so it was incredible to now be atop it.
Eze is a medieval village perched precariously, right at the top of a rocky mountain. Ross & I and the kids had been here a few years ago and wanted Al and Chelle to experience it too. It’s a gorgeous little place that dates back to the 12th century and with its character-filled stone walls, rocky meandering paths, narrow streets and ivy-covered shops tucked into little alcoves, every corner oozes character. We wandered under archways draped in grape vines, sauntered past pots of bright hydrangeas and geraniums and ate gelato in the shade. We saw the beautiful ancient cathedral and wound our way up to the ruins of a 900 year old fortified castle with a quirky cactus garden at the very top; its dizzying heights providing uninterrupted views of the stunningly blue Mediterranean Sea and the magnificent Côte d’Azure coastline as far as the eye could see.
Now to Monaco…but how to get there? There was a bus timetable at the bus stop that only showed weekdays so it was a mystery whether or not any bus would show up for us at all. We shared the bus stop with a family of 2 pre-school-aged girls that were quenching their thirst for Barbra Streisand by blasting her from their iPhones. Chelle checked her Uber app to find a driver 16 minutes away so we booked him in and waited at the musical bus stop for him to arrive. By this time the crowd wishing to depart for Monaco had swelled and just 3 minutes before our Uber was set to pick us up…he cancelled! Luckily, a bus pulled in just moments later. Unluckily, the crowd that had gathered, long after us, surged in through the doors like sardines, leaving us standing there on the kerb with sad faces as the doors closed, declaring the bus full, as he sped away to Monaco without us. What now?
We had choices. We could wait for another bus but who knew what time that would arrive and with our Barbra Streisand soundtrack now enroute to Monte Carlo, the wait wouldn’t be any fun. We could Uber but we’d already tried that. The signpost up ahead told us it was 6km to Monte Carlo. Al piped up with the suggestion that perhaps we could walk? It was only 6km. Only. Did I mention France was experiencing a heatwave? “Wait a minute”, said Ross, “wasn’t there a track back there that announced a pathway down to the beach? We could walk down that way”… Can I just state here for the record, that I was the only conscientious objector. We work on a majority rules system and I was outvoted 3-1. My objecting just wasn’t conscientious enough and before I knew it we were making the steep descent down the side of the mountain, on what can only be described as a goat track, towards the sea. The quaint little sign, tangled in ivy, pointing down towards “gare and plage” may have given us the false sense that this would be a shady, nice little walk in the country; a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, admiring the view and strolling down at our leisure; a fun day out. In reality, it was anything but! It was the walk from hell. The gradient was ferocious, the “path” of big loose rocks made footings unsteady, the temperatures were soaring and apart from tiny, little, elusive patches of shade, the track was exposed to the full brunt of the searing sun. The humidity was intense. If we could’ve bottled our sweat and donated it to the desalination plant, water restrictions would be lifted. For most of the walk the view was obscured so even that was no consolation. We were radiating so much heat people could have gathered around us and toasted marshmallows.
We knew that this was an adventure, not a holiday and after all, as Chelle was fond of reminding us, if we’d wanted a holiday we could’ve gone to Fiji. When we’d finally completed our harrowing descent down the 2km cliff face, desperate for shade, water and a possibly a bed, I saw a hibiscus plant, grabbed a flower and putting it behind my ear, emphatically announced that: “We should’ve gone to Fiji!”
Incredibly, we had passed people on the path, making their way UP the track! They were nothing short of lunatics. Chelle and Al had taken a more leisurely pace, urging us to go on ahead, so we reached the bottom about a half hour before them. While Ross was wrangling the train tickets out of the stubborn French-only-speaking ticket machine, a bunch of people came from the direction of the mountain. At first we’d thought they’d also scaled the cliffside though on further inspection, they looked way too fresh. We realised they were actually the passengers that had edged us out to get on the bus. We’d beaten them and saved ourselves one and a half euros. Totally worth it.
The air conditioned train was divine and two stops later we were in Monte Carlo. It was fun to go into buildings we’d seen from the water. This place, with the highest density of wealthy people in the world – 1 in 56 people has a net worth of $30 million – just screams opulence! Even the train stations are clothed in marble. Lamborghinis, Ferraris and other ridiculously expensive sports cars fill the streets and everything is shiny, fancy and gilded. The Casino was the most lavish and beautiful building we’d ever seen. It even smelt nice. Most of the patrons were dripping with jewels in designer dresses and suits, resplendent in their Sunday best. Im sure my friends will not be offended but on the contrary, would concede that collectively, we looked like something the cat had dragged in. The jogging shoes had been a very good call for the mountain adventure (thanks Chelle) but here in this pristine palace of refinement and haute couture, they may have looked a tad out of place. Nevertheless we enjoyed a very well-earned cool libation, complete with Monte Carlo souvenir swizzle sticks. Our waiter, who must have been slightly amused by our choice of attire and astounded at how red our faces still were, was very gracious and even allowed Chelle to take his photo.
Al was having the time of his life as we strolled (*read: “limped”) along the foreshore of Monte Carlo, gazing at the obscenely decadent motor yachts, peeking inside some of their vast interiors and aghast that they are as big as apartment blocks. Another dream came true for Al as he got to walk the Grand Prix track with Ross. Meanwhile, Chelle and I stumbled into a very swanky health club, simply because our legs were still cactus from our walk and it was the closest thing we could find with air conditioning and a chair. We couldn’t bring ourselves to spend €25 for a club sandwich and Chelle made me laugh when she just threw the menu on the table with a sigh, too exhausted to put it back into its little plastic holder.
Pizzas on the shore were fantastic and we enjoyed chatting to an Aussie girl and her South African husband about their crewing on a massive super yacht. Such a huge day! We’ll sleep well tonight and hopefully will be able to walk tomorrow.
