Cap Ferrat

When I first arrived in Nice, Ben took me around to the critical spots:  where to take the trash, where to buy groceries, how to get to the nearest 'beach'. (Beaches in Nice are either cliffs or shingle. Well, they call it shingle, I call it lumpy rocks). He sprinkled his recommendations with terms like Antibes, Cap Ferrat, Monaco, all easy enough to visit if we wished.  

Somehow none of these appealed to me. I think of these places as inhabited by people with whom I only have genus and species in common and perhaps only just. I didn't think I'd enjoy walking around gawking at how rich people live - that said, Bill and I spent an entire day doing just that and I loved it...more later. I remember remarking to Ben one evening that I never saw the point of wanting something that was completely out of my reach; it's like volunteering to be unhappy.

Simon joined us from St Paul Trois Chateaux; actually he flew back from some business trip, grabbed the car and drove down to Nice. Simone flew in from Dusseldorf and Simon picked her up from the airport. We went out to dinner at Place Garabaldi that evening. I took photos of my duck on mashed potatoes, Bill's incredible steak (Simon's as well) and Simone's salmon, but it's all gratuitous and would only make me hungry again. There is another meal I definitely will show you, though...later.

Simone is training for some race or other - she runs marathons with her dad - and she likes to be 'active'. So, the next day she suggested a six mile walk around the Cap Ferrat. I figured I could manage six miles easily enough. She didn't mention it was all up and down, up and down, up and... I'm not sure I like Simone as much as I used to, but I guess I'll forgive her. We caught the 100 bus to Monaco, getting off at Saint Jean Cap Ferrat, walked around the Cape.

    

Looking at Bill's photos I realise that there were more fabulous houses in view than I remembered. I think I was watching my footing, or perhaps I wasn't that interested. Still, the scenery was nice. Everyone got a bit more tanned and I'm sure my hair got more blonde, so it wasn't all a waste of time. Don't I sound sour? I remember the day as hard work and I think I was a bit homesick by then. Or maybe I was just annoyed about being closer to 60 than 30.

I was smiling at the start...

More French trompe l'oeil (the ivy on the wall and window above).

Bill says he snapped this to get an idea of what the locals
looked like...I believe that, don't you?

Is this a car or a golf cart?  I really don't know.

At last we reached a place to stop, called the 'Passable Beach', a name that Bill loved. Some of us had ice cream and others had cold beer (followed by ice cream). We watched the clouds cross the sky and bring a short shower. I was so hot after that walk I stood out from under the umbrella hoping to be soaked, but there were all of maybe five raindrops. We were amazed at how the beach loungers were suddenly vacated. Within about 5 minutes the twenty or thirty sun-bathers packed their beach bags and left, the two staff guys stacked the loungers and that was that. We didn't have that swim we thought we might after all.

That wisteria around the windows?  It's painted on.

This large bronze Madonna and Child is at St Hospice
near a WWI military cemetery at St Jean Cap Ferrat

I wasn't kidding about the undulating course.

That 'storm' cleared the entire beach in no time.

After ice creams we walked a bit further east to Beaulieu-sur-Mer and got the bus back to the flat.