France Day 6 Nice – Exploring the Rivera

We wake up and wander out to find coffee. The square has transformed into a lively open air market, the biggest one in the city.  Vendors selling table after table of beautifully displayed local fruits, vegetables, meats, seafoods and, at the far end, the flower market.  The displays are extensive and we marvel at how much work it must have taken in the early morning hours.  One meat purveyor’s counter is four full size deli cases.  The vegetables are plied high in the most artful way.  Full cases of bright yellow squash blossoms look like bouquets.  Each flower stall is equivalent to an entire American flower shop, set up at 6am and removed by 2.  We can’t resist the fresh figs and Italian plums and get a container of each for just a few euros.  When we see the stuffed vegetables, our breakfast decision has been made.  Tomatoes, zucchini, mushrooms and peppers, each topped with a mixture of finely chopped meats, herbs and just a touch of socca or breadcrumbs to hold it all together.  We bring it back to the half round table on our balcony and have breakfast and a view.  We can’t get enough of either.

We grab the car from the lot and head east along the sea road, our plan to explore the seacoast towns.  Our stick shift Fiat is great for the ride, zippy and nimble on the tight twisty roads.  Our first day of driving on France we learn something very important.  The French love them some roundabouts.  I’m from South Jersey, and was weaned on driving traffic circles.  There was one about every 10 miles or so on Route 73 or 206.  I remember the cardinal rules – keep moving and always assume right-of-way.  Today, New Jersey is on a campaign to eliminate the traffic circles.  But not here.  Here they are as celebrated a way of life as the sidewalk cafes.  On the sea road, there is a roundabout literally every kilometer.  In one tunnel alone there are two separate circles about 150 yards apart.  Read that again… two circles in the same tunnel!  We are equal to the task, me tearing through the circles, Mandy holding on to the O-S handle and laughing the whole time. 

We pass through Villefranche-su-Mer, Eze, and Cap-d’Ail on our way to the Italian border.  Each town beautiful but different, showing their personality along the shore.  As soon as we cross the Italian border, everything changes entirely.  A working town not bothering to attract tourists, the steep hills are covered with tiered working farms.  We drive in about 15 minutes and realize that the town did not live up to our expectations.  The drive has taken a lot longer than we expected (mostly because we stopped constantly for pictures), so we turn around and head back into France to Menton, where we passed some beautiful beachside cafes before crossing the border.  We pick La Rotunde and order some afternoon drinks.  From the menu, Mandy gets the Nicoise salad and I get the grilled giant prawn.  The prawn, at home we refer to them as langostino, are grilled to perfection with just a little salt and lemon. Getting late, the A8 highway home.

Without dinner reservations, we head into the old city, which we are thoroughly loving.  Our first few choices are full, and we end up at Chez Juilet, billing themselves as traditional regional fare and “slow food.”  The company is great and we chat with the Irish couple on one side of us and the North Jersey couple on the other.  Thank god for the company, because this is the first disappointing meal we have had.  Unforgivable cold soup, and when I finally asked the frazzled server for our main course (couples who had been seated an hour later had already been served), she snapped something about slow food.  Slow food is fine, but don’t use it as an excuse for bad service.  The squash blossoms on Mandy’s dish were uninspiringly fried and served limp, rubbery and cold.  We turn down dessert.  Not wanting to end on a bad note, we stop back in for some more of Fenocchio’s famous gelato.  Mandy gets the pomplamoose (grapefruit) and I get the cannoli.  Yum and yum.