Dripping With Money

---

We decide to have breakfast down in the old town. It looked easy enough to find on the map but we get lost and end up in the port instead. We seem to have developed an unfortunate talent for getting lost here. We walk past a large war memorial carved into the rock and then up Castle Hill for views along the seemingly endless beach. The hilltop is a mass of botanical wonders around the ruins of the old city walls and an ancient church. On the way down we wander through a very sad Jewish Cemetery dedicated to victims of the Holocaust and French Resistance fighters.

The narrow streets of Old Nice are lined with expensive looking cafes and boutiques. Issy left her sunshade back at the hotel, so she goes into one of the boutiques in the hope that a couple of Euros will get her a replacement. We agree that fifty dollars for a bit of straw with a couple of strips of velcro attached to it is just a tad extravagant, and that at that price shade can wait.

We walk along the beachfront Promenade des Anglais. There's clearly no shortage of people willing to fork out large quantities of their hard-earned to rent sunlounges on the pebbles. The limited areas with any sand on them seem to be reserved for volleyball courts. I hope the players' knees appreciate the luxury.

We catch a train along the coast to Monte Carlo and emerge from the station high on a hill overlooking the harbour. We thought the boats in the harbour in Nice looked expensive, but the ones here make them look like dinghies by comparison. We begin to wonder if you're allowed to moor your extravagant floating toy in the harbour if it doesn't have a large spa on its deck. If looks are anything to go by, Monte Carlo gives new meaning to the concept of a town dripping with money. We pass the local Ferrari and Lamborghini dealerships which both look to be doing roaring trades. We're pleased to find that we can buy cans of Sprite and hot dogs; we were a bit worried that the only items on offer for lunch might have been caviar and lobster washed down with a bottle of Dom Perignon, and with a price tag to match. The only cars parked outside the casino seem to be either Lamborghinis, Ferraris or Bentleys. The streets are all narrow and windy, and we struggle with the concept of this being transformed into a Grand Prix track for a few days every year. The square in front of the casino is full of palm trees and other exotic plants, including a woolemai pine all the way from our humble homeland. And there's a duck pond. The ducks just look like normal ducks and seem happy to paddle away in blissful ignorance of their luxurious surroundings.

We catch a bus up the hill to the Jardin Exotique cactus garden, which we read took 20 years to develop. It was opened in 1933 and has stayed virtually the same ever since. The views over the harbour and castle from up here are stunning. Some of the cactii are gigantic, and look every bit as if they've been here for more than 80 years.

We noticed on the way here that we passed through a station called Eze Sur Mer. I've read about the village of Eze, which is supposed to be beautiful, so I suggest to Issy that we get off to have a look at it. We walk down the hill from the station and soon find ourselves on the beach. The beach is alright, but nothing special, and there doesn't seem to be too much else around. We find a map. It seems that the village of Eze is a long and strenuous hike up a steep mountain from here. Eze Sur Mer apparently means "Eze on the Sea"; it seems that what we were really after was the only very vaguely related Eze Sur Steep Mountain. This is a bit disappointing.

We catch a taxi from Nice station back to the hotel. The driver asks us where we're going next and we tell him Marseille. He warns us to be careful of pickpockets there, and then charges us twice as much as we paid for yesterday's trip for one that's about half as long.

We walk down into the town for dinner, this time taking careful note of where we're going. We again chose a restaurant on Garibaldi Square. Unlike last night, the menu is all in French. Issy chose the restaurant because she saw pate on the menu, but it seems that "pate" actually means "pasta" in French, and pate as we understand it isn't available. She's not happy. She uses a translator app on her phone to try to work out what is actually on offer. It's not all that helpful. If it's to be believed one of the items isn't actually food. Issy says she doesn't want any of the other items, so she orders this seemingly food deficient dish. It turns out to be some form of duck, which is good; she likes duck. We have the same problem with the desserts. One of the items translates as "half-baked chocolate". I hope this means that they didn't leave it in the oven for long enough, and not that it isn't very good. I order Coupe Gary Cooper, which the translator very helpfully advises means "Coupe Gary Cooper". I have a nasty feeling that the sauce on it might be iced coffee. I feel sleepless already and I haven't even gone to bed yet. I finish blogging at 3am, and as predicted I'm still wide awake.

---