Pesto Gelatto and Zebra-striped Cathedrals in Genoa

Finding our Hotel
We were jarred awake in our ferry cabin by the overhead announcement that disembarking was imminent. At least, that's what it felt like. We slowly came to realize though that they were giving us just enough heads up to peruse the ferry's restaurants for breakfast, and we still had time to gather our things and get ready to visit Italy for the first time. If we hadn't felt so ferry-lagged it would've been more exciting. Compounding things, I'd lost a one-sided argument with the wifi; I wanted it to work after I paid for it, it didn't want to...so we were going to have to go off limited info to find our hotel.

The ferry dropped us off at the port. Genoa is a holdover from Italy's period as a major maritime and world power (no offense, modern Italy), and is a historic port city. Unlike the romantic terms used for say Rome or Venice, Genoa is often described in more apologetic terms. Italy at any level is an enticement to say the least, and Genoa would let us see a side of Italy seemingly more "quintessential" and also less over-run with tourists.

We wandered off the ferry and, after basically doing the 21st century version of licking our thumb and sticking it up in the air to see which way to go, wandered into a shopping center. McDonald's lied to us by offering free Wifi, and our affections for the internet were rejected yet again. Europe may be more sophisticated and socially progressive than the States, but dammit if we don't have them beat on: WIFI everywhere, tap water is free and bountiful, and bathrooms are all over the place. If our European friends could advance on those fronts we'd be in a great place.

For now, though, we were still S.O.I. (Sh*t out of internet). We walked out of the street towards the bus stop TH had thoughtfully found and had a bit of an argument; I did not want Kendra to be frustrated by the frustrating circumstances, and Kendra was frustrated by the frustrating circumstances. International travel makes for great instagram photos, but it's not all fun and games as many know, it's more of a 'best of times, worst of times' situation.

We found the bus stop right away and a bus showed up immediately, which was a huge win. We then tried to pay and failed, so we ended up catching a courtesy ride (thanks, Genoa!) about 10 min down the coast to our hotel immediately next to the airport. This worked out great because we just rolled out of bed to our check-in the next morning. For now, we had to drop off our bags and come up with a plan of attack.

We used the hotel wifi to record the main sites to see, which were all in a walkable area downtown, and then headed off back into the city. At some point we learned that Genoa is mecca for pesto, which we were thrilled about, and also that they gave the world blue jeans ("blue de Genes"). So now with that fun fact you have an icebreaker at your next party.

Cathedrals and tourist-dodging
We caught an express bus downtown which though expensive suited our purposes nicely because it was fast and comfortable. We hopped off by the beautiful Piaza de Ferrari and Kendra immediately set about snapping photos (I joke that we could make a flipbook out of our trips with how often she stops to take photos. In Eze and Bruge there was an average of 10 feet walked between photographs...but as she says, we get the benefit of lots of photos).

Kendra had found a highly rated cafe online and we made our way through the narrow alleyways toward it. We found Caffe Fratelli Nadotti and it did not disappoint. The charming proprietors helped us select an Italian breakfast and we enjoyed the atmosphere for a bit. We then walked outside and were surprised to be next to a gorgeous church, the Parish St Maria Maddalena. It was strikingly decorated on the inside, but even more strikingly seemed to be 'just another church' as far as Genoa was concerned. Classic Europe.

'Targeted wandering" remained the name of the game and we made our way toward the Saint Lawrence Cathedral, which was intriguingly decorated in black-and-white stone. Two captivating lions guarded the entrance, and, after Kendra covered her shamefully exposed shoulders, we were able to see the stunning interior before making a graceful exit as a service began.

Emerging back into the daylight we were greeted by throngs of tourists and did not hide our distaste for the crowds of people. Perhaps it's hypocritical given that we're also visitors adding to the congestion, but we at least do our best to conduct ourselves as guests or travelers.

We kept up on our wandering, heading toward Doge Palace, a renaissance and art gallery. We elected not to tour the actual exhibits, but were entertained walking through an antiques marketplace that was set up in the central plaza.

Next up in our walkabout was to stop by Palazzo Spinola, a highly-rated national gallery. We found it amongst the narrow and at times charming / at times smelly (sorry, Genoa, but it's true) alleyways, however we would've had to wait for one of the tour times so we kept on moving.


St Syrus basilica is apparently one of the coolest churches in all of Italy. We went inside and it was amazing. Only we didn't because it was closed. That was disappointing.

We went up by Via Garibaldi and stopped at Bar Pagianni to refuel with an onion and tomato focaccia and vegetable sandwich. I created some social media on Insta while Kendra read up on Genoa.

Now walking down Via Garibaldi we were able to experience a real treat of seeing the ornate facades of the mansion / city-estates that were the homes of the powerful merchants from Genoa's personal renaissance. Kendra was quite frustrated to not be able to tour each in detail (and a little frustrated that I didn't want to pay the 9-ish Euro it cost to tour one...). We did go inside #12 and were able to enjoy the central courtyard. You almost felt like you were Italian nobility pondering which artist to commission for your next statue. One of the facades even had a full Renaissance style painting on a wall facing the alley outside of the house.

We found a gelato shop next to a woman singing opera in the street and grabbed a chair. Kendra selected lemon gelato (amazing) and pesto gelato (a life experience, but I wouldn't order it twice). Kendra best described it as 'interesting' rather than delicious or bad. Maybe it was a combination of both.

We walked the old alleyways to kill more time as we made our way down toward the waterfront to get lunch. Surprisingly, within a block of the super fancy Via Garibaldi there were again the smelly alleyways with what were almost invariably prostitutes in several of the side alleys. It was quite the  contrast.

We had investigated where we could get the best pesto and learned that it was at Cavour 21. We found it down by the water and were immediately thrilled to find we were the only non-Italians in the place. Trying to find "out-of-the-way, locals-only" restaurants in exotic locales is like pure cocaine to Kendra. Cavour 21 did not disappoint. I ordered pesto lasagna which was phenomenal, and ordered Milanese which I was disappointed to later learn was veal (although maybe that's also hypocritical since I eat grown animals. I don't know). Kendra ordered lobster with al dente spaghetti and pesto noodles and was served a giant sliced-in-half lobster on her plate. I noticed that the wine was super cheap and very stealthily (to me, it was obvious to Kendra) ordered A LITER of Rosé for 6 Euro. Only turns out Kendra was too full to drink wine so I ended up drinking the entire liter in about 20 minutes.  They were closing, so while we paid our bill the restaurant dog Dablo came wandering through. They gave me bread to feed him and we immediately became best friends. Dablo was just using me for my bread but I didn't mind. We'll always have Genoa, Dablo.

That wine caught up to me quickly. I would later, and by later I mean in another 20 minutes, be drunkenly berating a pigeon's poorly coordinated attempts to eat the bread I tossed him while Kendra filmed me. So now that video exists.

We wandered up toward a tiny park and Kendra, in an incredible act of grace and selflessness, let me sleep off my mistake on a park bench while she sat there and re-evaluated her perspective on our relationship. I ended up sleeping for ninety minutes. The combination of my year of sleep deprivation and inability to adjust my now non-existent circadian rhythm to our overseas travel, along with the aforementioned waterboarding of myself with Rosé, all had conspired together to create a perfect storm of sleepiness. It's insane how much I don't deserve her.

I finally woke up and we walked back to the port. We'd already seen most of the cultural things to see, and with every travel site we reviewed recommending the Aquarium, we thought what the heck. It was actually a lot of fun. Despite being one of Europe's most impressive aquariums, it was still a little modest by American standards (which is fine, since most things in the States are scaled up quite a bit). They had a great Manatee exhibit, where we spent by far the most individual time viewing. We saw Monk seals, penguins, and dolphins (though like most I remain torn on dolphins in captivity. I like that exposing the public to dolphins can help engender appreciation and foster conservation efforts,  but it is definitely a prison for those in captivity. Although a prison without sharks or orcas). One of the best exhibits, besides the manatees - I love manatees - was actually a tank in the jellyfish area where they had plastic bags in water showing you how much they looked like jellyfish. At least plastic pollution is picking up steam in mainstream media; Kendra and I have started using compostable bags and would rather be punched in the face than use a straw.

Bittersweet Gelato
Leaving the aquarium, we walked back toward Piazza de Ferrari. There was an anti-fascist political demonstration which was annoyingly loud, although I guess if you think about it I'm anti-fascist so maybe we should've joined in. The demonstration meant they had diverted our bus stop, though, so we walked down the main road of XX Settembre toward the next bus stop about 10 minutes away. We came across a charming alleyway decorated in an overhead ceiling of colored umbrellas, and found a little gelato stand next to beautiful live music. While the two musicians performed a duet we sat in silence and soaked up the feeling. We were beginning to mourn leaving all of this - the freedom, carelessness, and delight of travel, punctuated as it may be by the intermittent moment of frustration or fatigue.

This had been an incomparable trip; from the boardwalk of Nice to this alleyway in Genoa, we had I think truly made the most of the experience. We did know that we were leaving to head home to a great life, however, making the moment incredibly bittersweet.

We lingered as we said au revoir to our trip through the French Riveria, Corsica, and Genoa, feeling in love and fulfilled following a beautiful week together. We can't wait to go back. 

Corsi-can't? Oh no, we Corsi-can! - Bastia and Saint Florent

Monaco to Corsica
During our evening in Monaco we went to plan our trip to Cinque Terra and saw a little exclamation point symbol in Google Maps- the Italians were on a rail strike, and the railroad is the only reliable way into Cinque Terra. The planned strike was occurring the exact day we were planning to travel there. What a huge party foul, but at least it was quite polite of the railworkers to schedule in their strikes. We needed a new plan, and zooming out in Google Maps we noticed an island with a ferry route to it.

Corsica.

Let's do it.

So we make a plan to take the morning train from Monaco to Nice, then we'll hop off the train at Le Port and make a run for the ferry. We didn't know what we would do in Corsica, mind you, or have a plan on how we'd make it from Corsica to Italy in two days for our international flight home. But those were minor details, we were Corsica bound.

Just like The Hotness (what I call Kendra, TH for short) said in her blog post on Monaco, we made a run through the rain to get a passport stamp at the tourist office and check out a famous stretch of the formula one course- the Fairmont Hairpin curve. After getting changed in our hotel, we made our way down to Monaco's nice train station.

After waiting in the train station with a latte for me and an orange soda for TH, we took the short 30min-ish trip into Nice Riquier. We were slogging through the rain now with a significant thunderstorm in full effect. We stopped to try to pick up pastries but our card was declined and embarrassingly we had to hand them back. Devastated.

We kept slogging through to the ferry station. Unbeknownst to us, when they say get to the port 30min before the ferry at the latest, they really mean it! When we squished up in our wet clothes we found the ferry was practically pulling away from the dock and the attendants were shouting at us like a SWAT team rescuing hostages to spring on board. They actually grabbed our bags and ran ahead of us! With a flying leap we made it onto the ferry and we were off to Corsica.

We decompressed with a beer and a nice Italian-style pizza from a ferry restaurant as we let the PTSD from our traumatic ferry boarding wash away. After an uncomfortable 5 hours lying awkwardly in a lounge, we made it! We were in Corsica.

Now...what to do?

Bastia 
Bastia is the second largest city in Corsica and it's main commercial and port city. Corsica itself, to an American, is kind of like France's Puerto Rico; a part of the country but proudly of its own heritage. Corsica was interestingly part of the Republic of Genoa at one point and under Italian occupation during World War 2, so there's a very pleasant intersection of French and Italian culture on the island, though it certainly has an identity all its own.

We took photos of the beautiful harbor that frames your view as you arrive. We then walked the kilometer or so to our hotel, Le Forum, which though modest had wonderful proprietors that were more than gracious in introducing us to the island and giving us detailed recommendations on where to go for dinner. We walked down through the harbor and up the Grand Staircase (a favorite photo spot for the locals) up toward the citadel. Most strikingly, especially coming from places like Monaco and Villefranche Sur Mer, the harbor almost looked to be in disrepair with many of the facades around the harbor heavily weathered. This was actually part of the charm of Corsica; they didn't cater to tourists or travelers.

Walking past a pastry shop we naturally went in and bough millfoils and macarons. We stopped in a park overlooking the expansive coastline and munched on the exquisitely delicate french pastries. Most striking about Corsica is actually it's natural features- the island is ribbed by tall mountains and part of the adventure of coming here lies in the opportunity for trekking, mtn biking, and visiting remote beaches.

We found our way through the Citadel to a beautiful restaurant overlooking the harbor - Le Perchoir. We ordered rose, and I had a seared fish with vegetables while Kendra had a tasty chicken dish. Swallows flew all around the citadel as night fell on the harbor and the Church Saint Jean Baptiste grew in prominence as it became illuminated in light. Heading back to our hotel through the harbor, we came across an impromptu dance troop of mostly older Corsicans holding what was effectively the worlds most charming and adorable dance party- doing a tango/waltz throughout the square. We stopped to stuff our faces with millfoil while we took in the charming display of fun.

Heading back to our hotel, we planned out our options. Unfortunately, Corsica does not have a very developed public transit system so you're limited by renting a car or using one of the few bus lines. We only had a day though, and we had to make the most of it, and we had to figure out how we were going to get back to Italy! Against the odds, we found a night cabin on a ferry back to Genoa the next night. What a huge win! We slammed in our credit card info to secure the spot and then fell asleep knowing that the plan we had for the next day maybe, just maybe, would work. We were going to rent a car (not sure where), drive across the island over the mtns (we took screenshots of Google Maps), rent a spot on a boat (if they had space and we found it) and then arrive by boat at paradise on earth- either Plage de Loto or Plage de Salaccio; two beaches framed by ethereal turquoise waters and the Corsican desert.

Saint Florent and Plage de Loto
We did not get off to a flying start. We failed to change any of our USD to Euros (apparently that's not a thing in Corsica; the lady at the bank acted like it was the most absurd notion), and then we got sugary pastries for breakfast but have finally, finally, managed to get burnt out on breakfast pastries. And by 'we' I mean 'TH' cause I love breakfast pastries. Then we found Hertz and waited in a line of literally 3 people but the lady at Hertz was so slow and we were burning so much daylight waiting we actually bounced to another rental car company but they were out. We tried the tourist station for bus info and they were super helpful but the bus for Saint Florent left at 11am and returned at 4pm, far too little time to visit a remote beach. Bollocks! Back to Hertz and we finally got a rental car- a deep cherry red Peugeot that I will henceforth refer to as Francois.

We threw our stuff in Francois. The rental car was in my name so I hopped in the driver seat and whoah! Francois is a manual. No worries; our old VW bug was a manual and I drove a manual pickup all around Thailand, but it'd been a few years and we were driving in Corsica through the mountains. I was excited and a little intimidate. I had the #Don'tCrackUnderPressure ad from Red Bull motorsports in my mind as we got ready.

I threw Francois into 1st gear and were off. Driving through town and then up into the mountains, we made our way past some road construction only stalling the car once without any incidents of course and were then slicing through the mountain switchbacks. Francois made short work of the twisty road which took us through the charming village of Santa Maria. TH raged against the dying of the light as the best lighting for photographs was currently in full display but we had to make it into Saint Florent.

Arriving in town we didn't really know where to go, so we headed toward the harbor and got stuck in the tight alleyways lined with tourists. We Jason Bourne'd Francois through the narrow alleys and up a dirt road, parking by the citadel. After a little wandering through the harbor found the boat service, Popeye, and got two tickers for Loto beach. It seemed like both Loto and Saleccia were ideal places to stay, but the decision was made for us given that Loto had space and Saleccia didn't. We had 45min to cool and got some great photos of the Citadel along the waterfront, and picked up a water bottle and baguette.

We were both pretty excited as we hopped on the boat out to Loto. Soon we were outside of the harbor and flying along the coarse; the desert landscape reminding me of pictures I'd seen of Greece. The water was stunning and the brightest blue I'd seen; even Thailand's Maya beach and Aruba didn't compare.

Pulling into dock at Loto we were thrilled. Is this real life?! The gorgeous beach formed a gentle crescent arc and we walked through the powder soft sand to the far end where there was a bit more room. We found a blank space between a nice family and a group of beautiful young women who TH noticed were topless, I must've missed it somehow.

The next 5 hours flew by as we lounged on the soft sand and waded into the shallow surf. The water was perfectly chilled, perfectly clear, and it was surreal to be able to play around in it together. I went back out for an open water swim and noticed several jellyfish; they were actually quite beautiful in a striking red in color. Floating next to them I was slightly entranced, they were like nature's lava lamps floating around. I'd later pontificate if a group of jellies is called a jam.

The boat eventually arrived to take us back to Saint Florent and there was weeping and gnashing of teeth. Our romantic moment to take in the surroundings degenerated into a mutual toddler-esque fit of 'I don't want to go, you can't make me.' But make us they could, and we hopped into the boat. Interestingly on the ride back we saw an ultralight aircraft some enterprising and potentially suicidal Corsican made out of a hang-glider and a zodiac. No joke. I was like, "I want to be friends with that person."

Back to Francois and back to Bastia over the mountains. We dropped him off with Hertz (Au revoir cher ami, je me souviendrai toujours de toi ), picked up our bags from Hotel Le Forum, and had a lovely meal at Palais des Glaces along the city plaza (highly recommended, they were very kind to expedite our meal). We ordered a bottle of wine and even ventured to ask to take it with us in a genius move by TH. After a long hike (panic stricken due to our aforementioned PTSD from our Nice ferry boarding) we made it onto the ferry. Dropping off our luggage in our room, we drank our wine and ate chocolate cake as we watched Bastia slip away in the sunset.

On to Genoa.

Luxury Defined: Monte Carlo, Expensive Cars & the Grand Prix Hairpin

That night, we were ready to experience Monaco! We awoke from a nap after our day trip to Eze and changed into our nice clothes (you can't slum it in this town, so bring your A game...also, there's a dress code to enter the casino). We walked from our hotel through the streets and a beautiful park, where it opened up to this extraordinary building, much of which, when coming upon it from its eastern end, is full of very high end shops, the likes of which I'll never be able to afford.

I left Derek at Café de Paris, which overlooks the entrance to the casino, to enjoy the ambiance and live music (and to gawk at the crazy expensive cars that pass by). He had decided that he'd rather have a 10 Euro brown ale than spend 17 Euro on the entry fee, so I was off to enjoy the interior myself.

I felt super glamorous walking up the red carpet, surrounded by security guards in tuxedos. As I entered the foyer, I tried not to gawk - it was magnificent, from floor to ceiling. You could tell this was no Vegas - everything was real, and it was all expensive.

I entered what I called the "blue room," an unbelievable, larger-than-life crown jewel with a breath-taking bar and roulette tables. Men in tuxedos monitored and managed the games, as well-dressed tourists tossed their Euros their way. This room is called Salle Europe, and the pictures I've seen online don't do it one ounce of justice.

I wandered through to the "red room" which had gambling machines the likes of which were straight out of Vegas. It was odd, seeing such trashy electric lighting and characters in such an opulent space. All of their sounds were *thank the lord* silenced, at least...or if they weren't, I was too entranced to notice them. I later learned the red room is called Salle des Amériques (appropriate, given we ruined good old fashioned betting with cartoon characters and obnoxious music).

Sitting at one of these machines was an older Russian man, who quickly grabbed my attention. We spoke briefly about where I was from, and politics, and the inevitable mention of government interference in our elections. His elevator eyes were painfully noticeable, but I don't think he was concerned about being much of a gentleman. Shortly after I excused myself and wandered off, he entered the "white room" through the red velvet ropes (its literal name is Salle Blanche). I walked over to it and was promptly stopped by two gentlemen guarding the VIP area. I asked if I could look at the ceiling - because I'm absolutely in love with every inch of this place - and they allowed it, but only if I stood no further forward than this specific line in the sand. It was unreal, the white room (well, what I could see of it was, anyway).

The next part, my loving husband says, happened because I'm "hot, and open to new experiences." Also, I believe, because my husband was not, in this case, open to the 'new experience' of paying 17 Euro to see the inside of a building.

I wandered around, trying to take photos very discretely (I'm not very discrete, I was busted by a penguin in the blue room, but I managed to take a few of the ceilings), and finally, when there was nothing new to see but so much to digest (and wanting to make it worth all 17 Euro), I sat down on a seat near the entrance to take it all in.

One of the roulette dealers who didn't have a customer looked my way. He caught my eye, and smiled at me. I could tell he knew I was soaking it all in, and was simultaneously trying to be cool about it. I noticed he kept looking at me, so I went over to his table and asked him how the game was played. We chatted for a bit, then a girl came to play at the table. She wasn't very good, apparently, because she lost 50 Euro in less than 5 minutes, but during her round, he told me his break was in 10 minutes, and if his manager would allow it, would I like a tour? BE COOL, KENDRA. Oh, I suppose that might be nice, if you're willing, but no problem if not. Ten minutes later, the manager clears me for my tour, and he escorts me through the blue room to the red room, and at the threshold of the white room, which I could not get past on my own, the men standing guard moved the rope aside. "Right this way, madame."

And that's how I entered Heaven. The White Room. Oh my gosh, it cannot be described. This room, I learned, is for high rollers only. How high? I have no idea...Alex, my escort, said they "spend a lot of money." There were a handful of people, nearly all men, playing Texas Hold 'Em and Black Jack. Alex asked if I wanted a drink from the fanciest bar I've ever seen - it was like staring at the sun, I couldn't even focus on it. I knew I'd never be able to afford a drink in here, so I declined. He took me through to the terrace, where we could enjoy the view of the sea (it was quite dark, but I could imagine it well). The high rollers looked up at me as I walked through, probably curious about who I was and how I had made all of my money. I've decided, that's what I'm going with.

So, my personal tour came to its end. At least, that's what I thought. It's a giant hotel, but I didn't see anywhere else to go. There was a narrow hallway off of the White Room, which Alex led me down. Would I like to see the high roller area that they open in the winter? Umm, does Bambi wish his mom was still with him?! Show me the money!

We came upon another brilliant, indescribable room with a stained glass ceiling that made me want to faint then and there. Alex was enjoying watching me openly fall apart over the beauty of this place now that I didn't have fellow high rollers to impress. But was it one room? I thought so, one with an impressive reflection. Nope! Two rooms, and they are so alike that you can only really tell because one side's stained glass has the date, 1889, in it, and the other does not (that, or walking through the second room, obviously). These were the Salle Touzet Nord & Sud. This part of the casino is closed off for the summer, so it's just Alex and me. Should I have been worried that I was about to be whisked away and sold a la Taken? Eh. Hot and open to new experiences means you have to chill once in awhile.

Through these rooms was an enormous, inconceivably lovely ballroom, gold and filled with giant chandeliers and delicate ceiling -high paintings. Here, Alex says, they hold grand dinners and special games. This is the VIP room of VIP rooms, where chips run $3,000 Euro apiece. This is Salle Médecin. Holy *%&$.

Off of this salle is another balcony - Alex moves aside the velvet ropes and OPENS THE WALLS automatically to reveal a breathtaking view of the city lights. I ask if I can take a picture of the view, and he tells me yes, I can photograph anywhere where there are not people. So I go nuts. But I'm telling you, as beautiful as my pictures are, they really, truly don't do the place justice. It's so disappointing not to be able to share it. I guess you'll just need to be hot and open to new experiences there yourself!

He tried to show me the last room, Salons Super Privés, but it was locked. This is the room, he said, where the VIP of VIPs OF VIPs gamble. It's so private, not even people who throw down at $3k per chip get in here. We're probably talking heads of state, royalty, cartel leaders...maybe even Oprah. I saw the bar outside of it, though - yet another masterpiece. I'm clearly running out of magical adjectives. Basically, you cannot imagine how beautiful everything in this place is. You just can't.

He walked me back to the Salle Blanche and asked again if I'd like anything to drink. I begged off, realizing suddenly that I had been inside for an hour and a half and that my husband was waiting outside (we had no service for me to tell him I'd be longer), so we said our good byes (I hugged him like a good American, which turned into an awkward hand-shake-cheek kiss-hug...the poor guy). Why I cared to leave that palace for Derek is beyond me, because once I left and tell him where I had been, he said, "you wouldn't have had to have paid for any of those drinks. They wanted you to stay in the high roller area to keep their guests entertained...fall behind, left behind. I could have sat here for another hour before I really would have been worried." Damn it, all! Free drinks with people throwing down millions! I could have snagged a doctor, or something ;-)

In my dazed, overly thrilled, cloud nine head space, I found Derek happily drinking and gushed out this story like middle school me if I had seen JTT on the subway. It had started to sprinkle, and it was getting quite late, so we decided to seek out dinner on the Port Hercule waterfront. Everything closed at midnight, and since we couldn't have our private chef whip us up something on our yacht, we found a grocery store and grabbed a little picnic along with all of the other wasted teenagers up at that hour and walked back to our room to plan our next move in the trip. Surprise! A rail strike planned for the next day sank our plans to visit Cinque Terre, so we decided to be super bendy and get a ferry instead down to Corsica. Who knew?! Turned out to be a brilliant move.

The next morning, we ate at our hotel, Hotel Le Forum, and walked down to the Prince's car collection at the Collection de Voitures Anciennes de S.A.S. le Prince de Monaco. This place had everything - Gulf Porsche, Formula 1 cars, beautiful classic cars, early car prototypes. This was Derek's Monte Carlo, and since he's not writing this post, you can tell that this is about all I'll give you on this stop. I will say, however, that there were over 100 cars, and I was a very big fan of everything made before 1960, of which there were plenty of examples. We saw the car Grace Kelly and the prince were married in, too! We picked up a poster in the gift shop of the Grand Prix as our only souvenir for the trip.

Nearly as important to me as seeing the countries I visit is getting that ink blot proving it in my passport. That booklet is my pride and joy, so we walked in the rain to the tourist office clear across town because I wanted my stamp. And I got it. There's no other way to get the stamp in this country, so you do you, but it was worth it for me.

We were running out of time, and at this point were in full on rain without any jackets or umbrellas, but we HAD to see the famous hairpin turn from the Grand Prix. Nothing is really that far away when the country is only 2.4 miles wide, but then, you always think things are closer than they are when you walk everywhere. We made it to the turn, I snapped pictures quickly of Derek in front of it, and we *attempted to* run back to the hotel, but not before we were entirely soaked through. I lost my sandals a few times because they had no traction and were not practical (I told you, this is Monaco, you dress for millionaire cocktail parties, not for hiking).

Soaking wet, we hauled our suitcases out on the lobby floor and changed in the bathroom. The receptionist graciously lent me a hair dryer (it was for everyone's benefit, believe me) and Derek complained that I took too long to dry my hair (I barely have hair...for a girl, I've got the shortest dry time of anyone I know. He's spoiled). Out of time, we had to get to the train station for our next adventure.

Monaco, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.

Èze, the best kept secret on the coast

Now we begin our trip east along the coast...today, we move our home base to Monaco.

We decided to take the bus instead of the train, because we had heard from friends of ours that had taken the route a few days before that the view was better and it's cheaper. We walked quite a ways to the port - the area here is quite a lot nicer than the area where we stayed near the Promenade. The buildings were better maintained and more foot traffic clearly graces this area. If the beach is your thing, stick to the Promenade, but if we had to do this over, I think we would have spent more time in the area near the port in Viexus Nice.

Bus 100 (Nice - Monaco - Menton) costs 1.50 € and runs every 15 minutes. The trip takes about 30 minutes, and it's breathtaking, especially when the sun is out and the sky is blue. Derek and I were gawking, our jaws on the floor, at the view in front of us. We didn't bother trying to take pictures through the bus window...don't be that person. The only trouble was the squealing any time the bus turned (which it did nearly every minute of the ride) from a lack of grease on the pivotal portion in the mid-section.

When we arrived in Monaco, we got off one stop too late right in front of the famous Monte Carlo casino, so we had a bit of a hike up to our hotel, Le Forum. The hike was less than fun, with our bags in tow, and we had skipped breakfast to make the bus as early as possible. Exercise and lack of pastries is NOT my favorite thing.

We checked our bags in, swapped some things out for a day trip to Eze, and headed down to another bus stop to catch our ride to our much-anticipated day trip destination. While we waited, growing very nervous that we had missed it (we had mis-read the time table to think it was meant to be at our stop when it was scheduled instead to leave its initial location), I ran across the street and bought 2 pain au chocolat and 2 croissants (I'm laughing in my head at any boulangerie or patissierie that thinks their minimum credit card charge of 7 € is going to be a challenge. Yes, there's just the two of us, but we're Americans, so 2 pastries apiece is the minimum we'll require. Oh, that one has chocolate inside AND outside? We'll need 2 of those, too.

The trip to Èze was beautiful ("ehz," not "easy" - don't be such an American). We took the 112 bus, which takes roughly 30 minutes and costs 2 € each, but it was worth the longer ride (the train is more expensive but can get you there is 8 minutes) because the ride there is so flipping worth your time. This isn't LA. There are incredible things to see from this bus, the most impressive of which is the clock tower on the church as you near the town. I died. I wanted to jump from the bus to take pictures but decided that was too touristy of me, so instead I begged to walk back along the road once we were off the bus back a mile and a half or so to the best vantage point from the incoming road. Although Derek would have allowed it, even I knew that was a lot to sacrifice for a picture.

I mean it when I say, this place is unreal. It's best to get here early, because thanks to blogs like these and Instagram and epic stories, this place gets to be loaded with tourists. I was taking pictures of literally everything I saw...little alleyways, courtyards, stair cases, tiny shops whose interiors were all still formed from original stone archways from the villager's homes. Derek found it pleasant, but I was flat out charmed to death. I may have blacked out, and when I came to, I must have taken a thousand pictures.

We had read stories about the famous restaurant in this tiny mountain town - Chateau Eza's chef is world renown, the food is incredible, the views are unmatched, and even though a visit will put a big dent in your pocketbook, some experiences are just worth it. This was one of them. The petite terraces that hang off of the edge of the hotel over nothing are reserved for guests. Tragically, one of the downsides of traveling as flexibly as we do is that failing to plan also means not being surprised when you learn that they don't have any openings (you must make a reservation, which you can do at the hotel's front desk). Disappointed, I pouted my way around the compound until I found a new thing to thrill me anew - the "exotic succulent garden" atop the entire castle foundation at the very tip top of this tiny city.

Who would pay 6 € to see a bunch of cacti in France? We did. You should. Because you're not paying for the succulents. You're paying for the unmatched, 360 degree views of this incredible area on the Cote d'Azur. And, quite honestly, their garden was really stellar. I took another zillion pictures while Derek languished in the direct sun, trying to find ways to hide in the miniature shadows that formed, already starting to fill up with tourists.

Derek was...tired. I mean, he's been chronically tired for the last year, so this shouldn't surprise me, but nothing saps Derek's energy faster than lacking water and direct sun. He's like a basil plant. Immediate feedback if propped up with sustenance (which includes not waiting for me to take my ninetieth photo of a doorway). We walked out of the city into a tiny generic restaurant called Le Pinocchio, where overpriced drinks (with caffeine) brought Derek back to life.

Right inside the city is a giant scent laboratory and manufacturing plant, Parfumerie Fragonard. We decided now was as good a time as any to check it out, so we asked to join their next tour in English (it's free). We learned many interesting things, including that the French have an academy for nose palates (this does not surprise me). I learned that I'm mad competitive at the interactive program they provided to match aromas with the plants (like, I cared way too much about being right...I should see someone about this when I get back). Citrus is not orange blossom! And I know the difference! BE IMPRESSED.

They took us through the areas where they concentrate the perfume, then on to the bottling area, and finally landed us in the shop where we smelled their many variants for this season. Ile de amour was the best, though they were all lovely. Now we know why real perfume costs an arm and a leg. I considered buying some for someone, but as I said in an earlier post, we don't buy things for people. We love them, yes, but it just doesn't work for us. Even I knew my neck's ability to exude sex appeal wasn't worth what this costs. One day, we'll stop feeling like we need to hoard our pennies, but today is not that day.

JUST KIDDING! Today IS that day! Because what happened next was how we know that we're not cheap, we're just cheap about anything that isn't food or direct travel related. While up in Eze, we had seen over the cliffs below these manicured gardens and super fancy cars and very private areas, and we could not figure out how to get into them. One lawn had a fountain and animal statues, another a giant chess set. Over the parked cars that are worth more than my life (at least to a judge) was a green and gold night on a horse. This place isn't messing around. Then, we cracked the code. Chevre d’Or, the five star hotel where rooms are roughly a grand a night, serves lunch, outside, on the grandest balcony I've seen the world over. It means 'golden goat' in French, but what it really translates to in reality is fanciness.

We ducked into the hotel to ask about lunch, accidentally stumbling into their bar area. It was around 2:30, and even then they made it sound like they may not have an opening, so as we were waiting with the receptionist, considering to cut and run to at least enjoy the bar, she tells us, right this way! We have a table ready. But we personally weren't ready for what we were going to see.

They led us down and around and I don't know how or where we got to the terrace, but we were walking along, passing a glittering pool and incredible gardens and then we're given a spot right on the railings with the most incredible view. I nearly cried. And then we spent like we belonged there. Wine, bottled water, dessert - Derek ordered pizza with edible gold leaf on it! I had the bass with ratatouille (ha! peasant dish in this place! the nerve). When a wasp came to hover over my food, the waiter came with an electric wand to remove her from my presence.

I can't deal. I wander around with the biggest damned grin on my face, trying (and failing) to look like this is my every day life, that I'm not impressed. I head down to the other layers of balconies (for more pictures and to sunbathe between courses, naturally) to see someone with a super secluded balcony being filmed by an actual camera crew. Guys, this is the kind of place where famous people go to get away from non-famous people. How is this my life right now?!

We dragged our feet and stayed at the restaurant as long as we could manage before we slowly exited (with grace, no one had to drag me...but only because there were incredible sights to see on the way out through the gardens). We took a peek inside the church, the main focal point of the town, and ducked into a shop to buy some lavender and soap for some people we knew would actually appreciate it to the right level. 

Back to the bus. I can't stop smiling. My camera memory is bursting. And Derek is caffeinated and equally floored that this was our day. This place is the stuff of dreams.

In Monaco, we checked into our hotel and decided to catch a nap before rallying for an evening in this opulent town.

Villefranche Sur Mer

The night before our day trip to Villefranche sur mer and Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat we crafted a very nice itinerary based off Rick Steve's visit to the area. Regardless of any schedule, though, it would be impossible not to enjoy such a beautiful area. Villefranche personifies the quintessential, idyllic Riviera city, framing a bright blue harbor surrounded by steep cliff sides, and is immediately next to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat,  which is itself a small peninsula favored by European aristocracy and the internationally super-wealthy as the vacation home destination of choice.

We elected to visit the peninsula first, and would tour the villa of the Ephrussi de Rothschild, lounge at Passable beach, and then make our way back to Villefranche by bus and wander around the city.

To get there we walked through Nice to Le Port, which is the area unsurprisingly by Nice's Port, and caught the bus. This was billed as, 'the most beautiful bus ride in the world,' and it didn't disappoint. As the bus climbed high above the water, we had a gorgeous view of Nice followed by stunning shots of Villefranche framed by turquoise water speckled with super yachts.

We got off at the stop by the the Ephrussi de Rothschild's villa and gardens. The delightful pink mansion was created by and for Baroness Beatrice de Rothschild, a wealthy heir of her family, and is framed by nine separate gardens, each with an international theme from the Baroness' world travels.

We started our tour of the estate by taking breakfast in the outdoor gardens surrounded by orange trees, which was even nicer than it sounds, and was completed by a pastry of our choosing from a decadent line-up.

Electing to tour the gardens first, we made our way through perfectly framed fountains, Japanese gardens, rose gardens, and past archways and gazebos, before sitting at the height of the gardens overlooking the estate back toward the mansion. We met a charming American artist traveling with two Italian friends who referred us to the beautiful Kerylos estate by the sea, which was crafting in honor of Ancient Greece. We would have loved to have made it there but sadly didn't end up fitting it into our schedule for the day. Next time!

After enjoying the gardens it was time to tour the estate. We walked through with the help of an audio guide and enjoyed looking at the Baroness' lovely home with dining areas, sitting rooms, master bedroom, closet, tapestries, artwork, and view from the balcony back over the gardens.

With Kendra, overwhelmed by how much she enjoyed it, and msyelf, ready for a break, we made our way down the hill to the very closeby Passable beach. In any other location it would be stunning, but having enjoyed the relative quiet and coastline view of the beach by Fort Carre', and with some clouds coming in, we ultimately cut our stay a little short. I did get to enjoy an open water swim though and Kendra's company is always delightful. With a lot of loud teenagers enjoying the beach, though, we joked that we should've taken the bourgeoisie approach and gone to the other side of the beach with the umbrellas and lounge chairs.

After cleaning up, we walked back up the steep hill and caught the bus back to town. We got off at the Octroi stop and simply walked downhill. We made our way to the south side of town and walked back toward the main waterfront via the La Citadelle pathway. Looking at the harbor filled with fancy yachts and the facades of the town, all in the light of sunset... man. What a great place.

We stopped at a restaurant along the waterfront called Spalato. We ordered a bottle of wine, and I was in charge of picking the appetizers so naturally I went with frites. Kendra thought that fromage would've complimented the wine better but hey, I saved us 8 Euros.

Interestingly our very polite waiter was Russian, and moved to France to study Chemistry and even pursue a career in medicine. It was nice chatting with him and I was excited to get to say a few phrases in Russian.

A little buzzed on wine, we wandered up the hill to find dinner among the little cafes that are hidden in the narrow alleyways of the town. We stumbled across Le Serre pizzeria. Each of their pizzas was endearingly named after a US state, but funnily enough without any real connection to the actual state's geography or culture (eg the Nebraska had seafood). It was delicious though and we filled ourselves to the brim.

That didn't stop us from getting gelato immediately afterward though because we can't help ourselves. We walked back down to the waterfront to take some more photos and just enjoy the ambiance one final time. We walked back up to the bus stop and were surprised to find the bus had stopped running. Shoot, we should've looked ahead of time but hey, this is a laissez-faire trip. We didn't have internet to order an Uber, but an awesome Australian couple nearby having dinner were the coolest and let us use their connection. They were teachers in Hong Kong and were visiting France before moving to teach in Africa. How cool.

Soon our Uber arrived and took us back in comfort to Nice. We made it back to our hotel and briefly joined the rooftop party at the rooftop Terrace before heading to bed, ready to travel to Monaco and Eze tomorrow.

If it's Monday, don't go to Antibes

We're ready to take on the Cote d'Azur! And our first move is to head west down the coast to Antibes.

Let's start with the most important thing - Antibes is pronounced AHNTEEB. Don't say "Anne-Tibbies" and expect anyone to respect you. Also, Cannes (pronouced "can") is not worth visiting, we've read. We didn't bother to go any further west on this trip.

We took the tram to the train station (after mistakenly going underground to underground parking...there is no subway, don't be like us). We stopped by a boulangerie near the station and grabbed pastries because this is France, and you need to maintain your American-ness in getting full on sugar for breakfast and never apologizing for it. Case in point: we had to spend 7 euro to use our credit card, and I had gotten tired of waiting in line to exchange our US dollars so we had no choice. When picking out the pastries, we saw an almond one, and when we pointed to it, the lady behind the counter told us that there were two version, this one, or another that was - you guessed it - filled with chocolate. Which would we prefer? Why do people ask stupid questions?

We were early to the train (for once!) and sat in a second class car. There are cabins (like on the Hogwarts Express) with 4 seats on each side of the bench and shelves above for your things. We sat near the entryway because an older French couple had already taken the window seat and. they. smelled. terrible. Nice enough looking people that had clearly never heard of deodorant. Later we were joined by a girl who could have been Emma Watson's sister (see? Hogwarts indeed) and her teacup size dog, and two other single ladies who were, as we all are, very focused on their phones. The train took around 45 minutes.

Our first goal was to try and see Fort Carré. We walked from the train station to the harbor and along the water front until we reached the fort. We began hiking around the front on Pointe Belaye on the dirt walkway and began to realize that we were on the wrong path. When we doubled back to the entrance, we were bummed to see that it was closed, as it was a Monday, and our planning wasn't foolproof as we had done it sparingly the night before.

So, in an effort to remain flexible, we crashed on the smooth rock beach at the base of the fort, Plage du Fort Carré, where old men were fishing and topless older women worked to further their skin's transformation to a deep brown leather. The water was beautiful, cool and warm at the same time, and very clear. The boats in the distance cut the blues that ran the sky and water together. There was a *shockingly* nice public outhouse (flushable toilet that is revolutionary - get it together, USA) where we could change, but I opted to change under my skirt and be a brave electric white foreigner by going topless until I managed to get my top on. I felt very brazen - so bold, so free, so scandalous! And literally no one noticed, or if they did, cared.

When we had baked long enough, we walked into town through narrow alleyways. We were seeking the Absinthe Bar near the provincial market. We had a chance to wander inside the shop and down the winding narrow staircase to the basement bar, which was totally empty. Maybe they'll be serving later? We'd come back later to find them closed. No idea why.

Next door, a happy coincidence, the Fromagerie l'Etable that we had been seeking! Because, cheese, obviously. Alas, it too was closed. Because it's Monday, and apparently, nothing good can ever happen on Monday. Zero for three. Ok, might as well try the other side of town.

We walked along the waterfront on the tall stone wall enveloping the city, waiting to "feel" where we wanted to eat. I like to get a good vibe about a place. If I'm not going to research it in advance, I want to just have a quaint meet-cute with a restaurant before I swipe right. That's when the waterfront Lebanese restaurant Le Phenicia winked at me. It was delicious! Derek and I shared chicken schwarmas with super fresh tabbouleh and homemade hummus with pine nuts.

We walked off our dinner wandering through the narrow streets and alleyways. A giant castle on the edge of town caught our attention several times - we later realized it was the Picasso museum. We're not big fans of his work (lame as that may be), but if you are, it's highly rated and likely very well done.

It was getting late, but we were on vacation! So to stretch our time out further, we plopped down in a bar with some other passionate locals to watch Morocco play Spain in a World Cup game. We enjoyed our beers and the loud, rambunctious explatives coming out of our comrades as the game ended in a tie. We enjoyed trying to pet the puppies (dogs are often off leash here) who were less than interested in any of us.

Back to the train station (walking in the dark is something we're used to, and Derek has a very keen sense of direction from all of the running and biking he does) which we navigated back to Nice sometime after 10 pm, and since our internal time clocks are so totally off kilter, to plan our next day.

Nice is nice!

Nice would be the take-off point for our week long French Riviera vacation of awesomeness. Sadly we got off to a slow start flying Air Canada (but that would just make the return trip on Lufthansa all the sweeter). We arrived in Nice's airport and had brought a decent amount of USD with us but elected not to change it into Euros since most places would take cards. We exited toward the bus station (pro tip: don't wait in line at the very slow counter to buy your ticket, just buy it with the driver but have reasonably close currency to the price) and caught the bus into downtown.

We stayed at the Hotel Plaza, which was an excellent combination of affordable, very conveniently located, and with nice rooms. Walking through the plaza adjacent to the promenade, we went to look at a fountain and actually ran into our friends Shannon and Hayley, whom we'd met in Laos like 9 years ago. We'd learned on Facebook that we'd be in Nice at the same time and had lined up to have dinner, but it was still pretty funny to physically run into each other on the other side of the world.

We dropped off our bags in the hotel and since our rooms weren't ready we changed in the bathroom. We each tried to bring nice Riviera-style outfits so that we wouldn't stand out as American tourists, and in retrospect I'd say we were pretty successful. Our feet did take a bit of a beating wearing nicer shoes and walking everywhere though (Kendra would look longingly at a Crocs store as early as day 2, but she looked fabulous).

We walked down along the beautiful promenade along the coast. Nice is the main jumping off point for the French Riviera and it served us really well, with easy bus and train access all along the coast. Our goal was to be based in Nice for the first few days and to see the adjacent, other-wordly beautiful towns of Antibes, Villefranche sur mer, and Eze. Today's itinerary though was just to enjoy Nice and make the most of our limited energy with jet lag.

We walked along the coast and took in the atmosphere. Coincidentally enough it was Ironman France (!), and we got to see the the transition zone which was teasingly right next to the plaza. We passed it (and the IronKids race they had going on as well, with children out there crushing it).

Nice's promenade is this lovely boardwalk along the coast. The Cote d'azure is an amazing combination of French culture and the Mediterranean Sea, with bright blue water framed by the gray pebble beaches complimented nicely by the French architecture. Lots of people were out and about on the promenade. We walked a ways down and then turned into the city. Though this part of Nice wasn't quite as charming as other areas, in classic French fashion we stumbled on a lovely boulangerie (bakery) and got a few croissants au chocolat. We tried and failed to order in authentic French but the baker very generously gave us a free lesson with a laugh.

We took our pastries to the waterfront and sat down, enjoying the beach and watching beachgoers. Making our way back toward the plaza and the Ironman transition zone, we stopped at Kudou Restraurant. We enjoyed a lazy hour or two drinking rose' and enjoying each other's company. We were able to watch the Ironman pros and age-groupers ride into transition, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and liked the restaurant so much that we ordered dinner. I had a delightful fish dinner while Kendra elected for a savory pasta dish.

Back to our hotel for a power nap before we'd planned to meet up with our friends Shannon and Hayley for a late dinner with drinks. Tragically and embarassingly we overslept, and on waking up booked it to the restaurant Mercado. Fortunately they were very gracious and had even figured that had happened, and we found them enjoying a glass of wine. We were able to grab a table and enjoy some tapas and catch up for a few really enjoyable hours; they're our personal heroes and are dedicated world travelers (for example, Hayley is on study abroad in Spain before moving to Australia, and Shannon is moving from Germany to Hawaii but is currently doing paragliding lessons all over Europe). 

Having had a wonderful dinner to cap off a quiet day in Nice, we made our way back to the hotel by the plaza. We were ready to catch some sleep before our next day in Antibes!