Princess Grace Kelly

I went to the Grace Kelly exhibition at Hotel de Ville recently and was amazed by the seeming perfectionism this woman oozed. An Oscar winning actress who gives up her acting career to marry a Prince and turns into a ball hosting, poetry reading, dried flower art making, virtual saint of a mother of three. Looking at bits of her life encased in glass made it all surreal somehow, like she was a phantom Princess, with her gold oscar and white wedding dress floating on display, her ghostly presence visible in the background with grainy black and white clips from her movies, untouchable and unreal. Apart from her tragic and too early death, her life was perfect, so it seems. Surrounded by rich and famous friends, adored by a Prince and her children, she embodied all the roles of women endeavor to, rolled into one. Something just doesn’t seem right....

Then we discover she was not always ‘perfect’, as she engaged in an affair with a married man before she married Prince Rainier. Her father was blatantly against this, as his personal letters to her were encased in glass in the exhibit, open for all to read. Joking with my friend about this whilst reading the letters, an older French lady joins in our conversation. ‘Oh yes, he was having an affair with her”, she said, almost proudly confirming this man’s infidelity and then defending it with a quip that, to the French it just doesn’t matter....’zit is zee Franche waaay...’

Beyond Beaches

Our first beach day was just outside Antibes in a place called Juan Les Pins.  An extremely crowded public beach, we chose the posh option and found a private beach with comfy sunbeds and waiters serving coffee....the only way to do a beach.  Much quieter and more civilized we settled in for some serious tanning and people watching, and there was endless sights to see.  I cannot even imagine what the beaches in Nice or St. Tropez are like compared to this relatively middle of the line one, but we couldn't help but giggle amongst the women clad in Christian Lacroix bikinis, puffed up muscle men wearing almost thongs, and excess older flesh on display.   We seemed to be the only sort of normal, English people on this particular stretch of beach, but we did not mind as the kids were content, the wine was fine, and the mussels and calamari were delicious.

At the end of the day we decided to take a boat tour around the Cap d'Antibes.  It was an underwater glass boat we thought the kids would enjoy, and they did.  The blonde French ponytailed tour guide was very informative and knew who owned each villa and private yacht.  We passed the stunning house of the bigwig at BMW (two connecting villas, one facing the sun when it rises, one facing it when it sets), the King of Jordan's villa, the head honcho of Heineken's pad, and the posh Eden Roc Hotel which costs up to 15,000 euros a night and where you have to pay 600 euros a day for a sunbed and 80 euros just to go for a swim!  Our indulgent private beach costs didn't feel so bad now.  

There is a lot of money in this part of the world, almost uncomfortably so, but it is easy to see why everyone flocks here.  The combination of the consistently warm climate with the scenic mountains overlooking the glorious Mediterranean and chic French culture is hard to beat.  The great thing is you can take or leave the chicness and wealthy ducks waddling around town, because everyone is on holiday and looking to relax.  Only the very sad are comparing designer bikinis and flip flops.

Unfortunately many of the 'village perches' are overrun by tourists, but it didn't deter us from visiting places like Biot (known for it's glass blowing factories), Grasse (known for it's perfume factories), and Gourdon, the highest and prettiest village of the Gorges du Loup, a stunning drive that takes you up through the mountains around a gorge with vast waterfalls and terrifying cliff drops.  On the way down we did stop for a dip in the rock pools of the mountain river, a secret spot the locals go to with a picnic instead of the beach.  Though the slippery rocks are lethal, we can quickly see why this nature haven is more appealing than the sandy, heaving beach.

Though the kids were actually very interested in how they make pretty glass vases, and even more in how perfume is made, it was time for a dreaded but necessary kiddy day, so we were off to Marineland, expecting the worst and busiest day of our holiday.  We were pleasantly surprised with a well run marine park that wasn't too crowded and mostly with a little boy who was beside himself with excitement over seeing a real, live orca.  Not only that, he was about to get up close and personal with the dolphins too and it was almost too much to take.   With scenes of Free Willy running through my mind and a heavy lump in my throat I watched the Orca show with completely mixed feelings.  The look on Sam's face was pure bliss, but part of me was wishing he was seeing them in the wild instead of with a blonde American girl standing on the tip of their nose clapping her hands.  I'm sure they are well looked after, and the show was truly fantastic, I was only moved by this unbelievable relationship between man and beast, and the smile on my son's face.

We were truly entranced by this part of the world, and feel especially lucky to live in such a diverse and beautiful country.  Even after the 930km drive home to Paris we resolved to go back there and see all those places we missed, namely Cannes, Nice, and St. Tropez!!  Ah well, it was the village perches and a big fishtank which were more fascinating for this family, those bigger cities can wait, I don't think the Lacroix bikini bunnies are going anywhere soon.

Cote D'Azur

From the lush green vineyards of Provence we have made our way to the slightly more tropical Cote D'Azur with it's palm trees, glamorous beaches and red, sandy cliffs.  After a horrific drive on the worst day of the year for traffic, we finally make it to our villa in Valbonne.  The sound of les cygales are less intense than in our remote farmhouse stationed high above the village of Faucon.  In a weird way I kind of miss that remoteness.  Just hearing the odd car or motorbike is distracting after the solitude of Merindol, but it is still fairly peaceful and quiet.  

I walked to the village of Valbonne this morning which was much prettier than I expected.  Along the walk I peered into the gardens of many villas, all seemingly abandoned apart from the glistening, obligatory pool.  Strangely, in the middle of a high grassed field there stood a white plastic table and four white plastic chairs, as if the horses themselves were having a garden party with various inhabitants of the meadow.  There happened to be an antiques market in the square and down the charming little streets.  I so wanted to buy something but feel far too naive about buying antiques.  There was a small, heavy iron which looked old, and a bit of a dangerous weapon, but had no price and i was too scared to ask.  

We go back in the evening 'en famille' and the square has a decidedly different feel.  Gone are the quaint antiques among the tables and chairs in the outdoor brasseries, and it is heaving with overly tanned, even some crisp, mostly English people looking for somewhere to eat.  One side of the square is obviously more busy than the other, one restaurant catering more to children than the rest.  We are lured in as well and end up waiting for a table next to the presenter Alice Beer and her two cute twin girls.  She comments on Ruby's Ariel Barbie who's gold bikini top has fallen off leaving her topless and we laugh.  I pretend not to recognise her whilst Tom makes googly eyes at me.  We eventually sit down to a great meal, brochettes de la mer and lasagne for the kids, and the square soon turns into a circus, complete with clowns doing shows and selling bright helium balloons.  Nowhere, it seems, is immune to the tourist trap.  I cannot deny we enjoyed people watching here, and almost recognised a few more faces but weren't confident enough to speak to them, they just all looked 'familiar'.  As we were leaving the French were all rolling in, just beginning their evening.  At least it wasn't completely English...

Pont D'Avignon

Once hosting 22 arches, it was built over 8 years at the beginning of the 13th century when Saint Bezenet laid the first large stone himself, alone.

Sign Of The Times

Playing harp and texting friends in Avignon

Resting after a long climb up to the Count's Castle at Vaison

Vaison La Romaine

The bridge leading up to the old town and castle with monument carved into the wall to remember the floods