France Day 7 – Bond, James Bond. It’s That Kind of Day

We have breakfast in the market.  Plenty of artists showing their works and painting more between customers.  We find an oil on canvas of the old city from an upbeat, sun weathered man.  Next, a woman painting watercolors of the market in front of her, and she points out Albert, the fruit seller depicted in the one we buy.  Mandy seeks out a dress shop she saw after hours last night.  The fashions, and the store itself, a cross between impressionism and 20s flapper.  Just Mandy’s style and we find a few perfect pieces for her.

Time for a beach day.  About the beach.  It rocks.  Literally, it’s all rocks.  Not little pebbles, but big round river rocks.  Not the soft Jersey Shore beach sand I’m used to.  From our balcony, we watch as women in bikinis adjust the rocks “just right” under their thin beach towels.  We opt to walk up a block to the beachside café where we rent lounge chairs with an umbrella. We settle in and plunge into the cool Mediterranean.   It’s calm and refreshing and I float on my back with my eyes closed, hearing only the water, feeling the warm sun on my face.  Just be.  Float.  Try to absorb.  Still can’t believe we’re here. 

Back in our chairs we unpack our picnic lunch.  Long fresh baguette, olives and sun dried tomatoes with pesto from the market, and the cheese that has been destroying our fridge for the last day and a half.  Bottle of rouge.  Best.  Lunch.  Ever.  Pinch Mandy.  This exceeds our expectations set by so many movies over so many years.

Speaking of movies, I was weaned on Bond.  Connery, Moore, the ones in the middle, Daniel Craig.  I cherish every one, and have adopted 007 as my personal style role model.  So it’s finally time to that most Bond of all things.  Walk into the casino in Monte Carlo, Monaco, with a beautiful blond on my arm.  And that’s exactly what I did.  The drive in was less than Bond-like – when I stopped to ask for directions into Monaco, the man chuckled and said “you’re in Monaco.”  It’s a really little country.  Less than a square mile.  As we pull up, I realize my Fiat may be wanting beside the all-time, all-star, all-fantasy line up of cars parked out front.  At home, I take pride in my vehicles, and at most restaurants where I valet my car gets left out front.  Mandy takes one look at the Mclaren, Bentley, Ferrari, Lamborghini and others lying around the circular driveway and lets me know I need to self park.  But we’re here.  And in we go.  No, I did not order a martini, shaken, not stirred.  Too cliché even for me and I figure the poor bartenders get that all the time.  My go-to will do just fine here, Grey Goose martini, dirty.  No, we did not play baccarat at a thousand a hand.  However, we couldn’t resist Mandy’s favorite – Will Wonka slot machine (that was for you, Lisa!)

Back in paradise, we return to La Favola for dinner to catch some of the dishes we didn’t get the first time.  As we’re seated and sipping our aperitif, we realize that it’s Thursday and the weekend crowd is already rolling in.  Fun energy but more crowded.  Food is great again and we decide on a late evening walk down the Prom.  Picture perfect full moon over the sea, with that story-book V-shaped reflection of moonlight shimmering on the sea.  It’s like France pulled out all the stops just for us.  We just can’t let the night end, so one more stop at Fenocchio.  Stuffed, we split a single scoop of ginger gelato, maybe the best one yet.