I decided I need to finish chronicling my France adventure before I wipe all memories of 2010 from my brain on New Year’s Eve. That’s a good excuse for drinking too much, right? Erasing the past year to make way for the new? Much better than drinking to remove my kindness filter (or at least minimal cruelty) that I usually keep on so that no one can be mad at me when I get all belligerent up ons Creepy McCreeperson who sneaked into the party despite the fact that no one wants him there. Or at least I do not want him there. And that is enough.
Anyway…I left off in Nice (see previous post), where we spent four lazy days. We sacrificed one of those days to take a train to Monaco, my favorite little principality on the Riviera. (My first trip to Monaco was by death-defying bus on the perilous cliff-hugging road from Nice to Monaco. But I was younger then, and laughed in the face of plummeting to my doom). There’s not much to say about Monaco; it’s probably one of those places that’s better in your imagination than in real life. Like…Las Vegas. Or Disney World. Or the outlet mall.
Unless you’re filthy rich, in which case you could probably stay in Monaco, go inside the Casino Royale, and do some shopping. If you’re a pauper like most of us, though, you’ll probably get off the train and think, “Who would build a city here? It’s just…cliffs! I see my destination on yonder cliff-face, but how on earth do I get there?”
You don’t get there, that’s how. Or you stumble across a bus. And then you do get there, and you’re like, “Alright then.” It’s like you pay your way in transportation tickets and sweat and tears, climbing one ridiculously angled street after another in the blistering July sun to peek at the rich and glamorous people who actually belong in Monaco. I mean, obviously that will be me, one day, but not yet. I suppose it is rather pretty though.
After a last night in Nice, we woke ridiculously early (like, 8am!!! or something) to meet our new friend, PICASSOTRON, our 5-7 seater French “minivan.” He had all the modern amenities, like self-tucking side mirrors, hydraulic back-end lowering action and refrigerated glove compartments. After securing the last GPS in Nice (which was at first, of course, “Impossible”), we took a 9 hour tour through central France, complete with rolling fields of sunflowers, giant quixotic windmills and the most pleasant McDonald’s highway pit stop you could ever hope to come across.
They had automated ordering kiosks and Dyson hand dryers for gosh sake. Dyson!
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