Road Trip (I) à Nice et Monaco

 So, as promised we going to talk a bit about driving here in France, and more importantly, my first Road Trip.  My husband invited me to go to Nice for a couple of days to have a look around seeing as how its a holiday here (Yes, I know, last week we had Monday and Tuesday off (Tuesday was Labor Day just like we do in the States), and this Tuesday we are commemorating the end of WWII in Europe).

So, back to the story at hand.  The Road Trip (I).  So the hubby has invited me to Nice (pronounced exactly like the word niece) where we can stay in the Military hotel for great price with a great location on the beach.  Here are some pictures of the hotel.

Given that the holiday season has not started yet, travel to the city should be easier and booking a room is still possible.  We’ll talk more about hotels in France another time…

 So, Sunday morning, the man of the house went to vote.  Voting is done here on Sunday’s so it doesn’t interrupt the work week.  We were on the road considerably earlier than we planned, which was great seeing as how we wanted to take the more scenic (and longer) route.  Off we go in our Twingo.  Yes that really is the name of our little 1999 Renault.  She certainly isn’t the Saab’s I have been driving almost my entire life but you gotta love a car called a Twingo.  And check out the brand name, typical European marketing, so fun. 

  

The past few days the tire was losing air so we said we would change the tires.  Then, like lots of people you get busy and forget.  So the day before our trip we spent the afternoon drinking wine and eating mussels and forgot all about that little Twingo tire.  No worries though.  We decided to hit the road on Sunday and keep filling it along the way, so off we go. 

About 45 minutes into the trip we stop to check the tire.  It was low again, so we fill her up.  On the road again…15 minutes later, you guessed it.  Whoa, hang on! We’re going down…  So there we are, beautiful day in southern France with our luggage on the side of the road, grateful for our little spare tire.  No harm done right?  We’ll change that little bugger and off we’ll go. 

I should mention, when I came to France a few weeks ago I feared this little old car.  I admit it, I am a car snob and I have spent my entire adult life driving new cars so I never had to worry about “car troubles”, or being stranded, hence the new cars. So, I was grateful that my husband was there to help out.

 Back to the tire.  So, the tire is out of the truck along with the luggage and various other items.  But no jack.  We have the safety triangle, safety vest, tire repair stuff, but no jack.  Now what?  No problem I say, call a tow truck and we will get this taken care of toute suite!  No, sorry, says my husband, it doesn’t work that way in France, especially on a Sunday.  You have to use a call box located along the route. There is no one to call.  The police don’t patrol the road because it is private.  Speed is checked by radar and the police are waiting at exits only.  And you can’t just call a tow truck.   You have to use the call box.  Period.

 DRIVERS IN FRANCE TAKE NOTE: Call boxes are located every 2000 meters (about 1.3 miles apart).  And, of course, you know where we are right?  Exactly in the middle.  What’s great is, they have marked on the ground, the number of meters you have to go, so as you are walking you know exactly where you are and how far you have to go!  We were at the 1000 mark. 

So the hubby decided he’d try his luck at waving someone down before pounding the pavement.  I of course am a skeptic.  I mean, were all taught to never stop for anyone on the side of the road right?  If you see someone in distress, use your cell phone to call for help!  But he wanted to try, so we waved.  And wouldn’t you know it, after 20 minutes we decided to lock the car and go by foot to the call box.  Just then, a truck stopped and a real French cutie offered some assistance.  Take note here reader, we never loaded the car back up, or locked it, this will be important later.

So during the “jacking up” process my husband thought he might have positioned the jack on a wire, so he readjusted it, and in three minutes we had our new tire and our cute French guy was back on the road with his jack.  We loaded up the car, had a good laugh and were ready to go. 

In the car we get buckled in and as we start the car it turns over and stops, …as in dies.  WHAT????  “Oh No” my husband says, in this way he has of saying “Oh No” with his French accent, that indicated he knew exactly what the problem was.  My first thought was, well if you know what it is you know how to fix it.  But he didn’t.  He assumed when he jacked up the car the first time he some how interrupted the fuel line.  So we spent the next 10 minutes trying to work this issue out.  No luck.  Then I thought, wait, I am a girl from the Suburbs of Detroit and we pride ourselves on knowing cars, I will call my step dad, mister fix it, he’ll have the right advice for us.  Never mind that its 5000 miles away and 7 am in the morning.  But, after waking him up and trying his advice we have no luck. 

Then, I am so brilliant, I have a thought… “Let’s try pushing the car and starting it in second gear!”  “Great idea” my husband chimes, “Let’s do it!”  I am so excited to get on the road again.  It’s been over an hour and it’s warm outside and the car does not have air.  So, I drive, and he pushes, and pushes, and pushes, and is now running with our little Twingo as I repeatedly try to get the engine to turn over.  Nothing.  Good thing is we are on a slight decline so the car keeps rolling.  My husband keeps pushing and we take the limping Twingo to the call box (a 15 minute journey with my darling husband pushing his heart out).  I didn’t feel too bad though, because he could use a bit of exercise.

Now as many of you already know, if you keep trying to start a car over and over again, eventually the battery is going to die.  I mean, it takes a lot of juice to get a car to turn over.  So somewhere between 700 meters and the call box, you guessed it, dead battery.  Oh well, what can you do?  We hobble our way to the call box and make the call.  Finally, recued.  When our tow truck arrives a tall blond blue eyed guy listens to our story of a flat tire, the car not starting and now the dead battery.  He asks Robert, “Did you do the little trick with the car keys, locking the doors?”, “Ops” says my man, “No, I forgot about that”.  As it turns out, these little Renault’s have a security system that will keep the car from starting if the car is shut off for a period of time without the doors being locked.  So, after we charged the battery, we locked then locked and unlocked the car, and voila!   She works… After paying 160€ Imagine, all we had to do was lock the car once and this whole story…

 I will say, in defense of mon cherie, he was thinking he’d done something wrong with tire jack when he propped up the car so he wasn’t really thinking about the security system…Oh well.  Off to Nice! Here we go!

 We arrived in Nice after a quick stop in Cannes for lunch on the beach.   

We got a look at some of the most famous hotels in Cannes where all the film stars hang out during the festival and the year.  These hotels are spectacular, and while the average you and me can’t afford the prices, it is still worth a look inside.  Tough life I know.  Of course we had our rosé and a short rest before hitting the road again (after a little incident where my husband misplaced his credit card).  The drive to through Cannes to Nice is incredible.  To your right (droit) you have the Mediterranean Sea, and to the left (gauche) you have the Alps with their permanent snow cover.  It is extraordinary really.  The drive long the water, the scenic route is a flat road, but the highway is very mountainous and gives you the sense that you could fall off into the Med’s blue waters.  

I will admit it was a long trip along the scenic route. It took us about two hours to wind our way to Nice in bumper to bumber traffic.  I cannot imagine what it might be like in the height of summer.  I have have travelled from Le Lavandou (the word for Lavander in French and the home town of my husband) to St Tropez, about 45 km, but in the summer and it takes hours.

The hotel in Nice is located along the water on Promenade des Anglais, viewed from the “Colline du Château”, and the photo is compliments of Wikipedia, not me.  What is so incredible is that there is a promenade or walkway that runs all the way across the city along the water, which is miles long a littered with cabana restaurants and a very rocky beach.  Sun bathers beware, you won’t find sand here.  Only rock.  But that should not deter you.  Nice is France’s second largest city and she is a gem!  Here is another view of this spectacular city, overlooking Le Chateaux.

 

 We have talked about French painters in another earlier blog, so I will keep the theme here for you and tell you about Henri Matisse (painter, sculptor), who lived in Nice from from 1918 to 1954 and many of his painting were inspired by what he saw looking out his window.  Here are some paintings of his you might have seen before;

That night we dined along the rue de France, in the old city, where 10′s of restaurants sit side by side along the street. Forget dining inside, there are literally hundreds of sets outside and it the most exciting place to be.  We dined on traditional Provincial food (I had stuffed veggies, recipe to follow, while my Husband had fish soup.  Fish soup is a favorite of the hubby but not of mine.  It is strong so buyers beware.  It is served with Parmesan cheese and croutons, along with a spicy mayonnaise that is intened to be spread on the crouton and deposited into the soup the way you would with Bouillabaisse.  I will tell you another story about fish soup and Bouillaaisse another time.  

After a good night of rest, we hit the road for Monaco.  The drive out of this city, heading east is spectacular.  Truly one of the ,most beautiful things I have ever seen.  Winding roads take you higher and higher then bring you back down to the most heavenly blue water.  Just outside of Nice is a little area that holds the small villages of Villefranche and Beaulieu sur mer in a must stop for coffee (un café) or lunch.  It’s like a little paradise.  Get out and walk around these little water spots. They shopping was great.  The rest of the drive to Monaco proved to be just as spectacular.  Monaco however doesn’t reauire more than an afternoon of your time.  Be prepared to walk up hill and up stairs.  This place caters to the rich and famous and tourist.    I don’t have much to say about this area, however they were preparing for the Formula One race and would venture back to the city for this event if only for the parties!   Here is a photo from the top of the chateaux where the royal family lives.  The views are spectacular!

After lunch we headed home to Toulon and arrived safely just a mere 2.5 hours after we left.  Our little Twingo did great and I am feeling better out our next trip in two weeks to Montpellier!

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