Aurelie, Rose, and Monaco -- Nice, France

Attachment is the great fabricator of illusions; reality can be attained only by someone who is detached. 

~Simone Weil 

Thursday was a surprise. I had planned another quiet day of writing and exploring (there was so much catching up to do from England that I was feeling mightily overwhelmed), so I drank my morning coffee, edited some photos, updated my blog, and set off into the city in search of cheese and chorizo.

The stage for a concert in one of the main squares

 Mission accomplished, I walked back to Baris', huffed and puffed up the five flights of stairs, and opened my macbook to check facebook (don't judge me, it's important). A couple new notifications and one new message. I clicked on my inbox and lo and behold, a message from Aurelie was waiting for me.

I am in Nice for 2 days. With my cousin from NYC... We can have a drink?

WHOA! Aurelie was a friend I'd made in Toulon over a year ago. What a delightful coincidence that she should be in Nice and wanting to meet up with me. I immediately decided to forgo all writing plans for the afternoon and responded --

Yes!!! When are you here?

We are here Now! We are going to the historic district in one hour. 

And so I met my friend from Toulon in the historic district of Nice. We walked up to the Parc de la Colline du Chateau, and Aurelie and Rose treated me to a coffee as we looked over the city. Rose is an athlete from New York who vacations to a different parts of the world for a couple of weeks every year. She's visiting France this year, and I'm glad we happened to be in France at the same time.

I bid the two ladies good evening around five thirty, promising to meet up with them the next morning for yoga on the beach and a trip to Monaco.

Yes.

Monaco.

Aurelie and Rose invited me to join them for an afternoon in Monaco.

Baris took me running on the coast that night, and I was disappointed to find that I've lost a good deal of my stamina. I suppose that's the sad, unavoidable result of three months of inactivity. But Baris was patient and encouraging and "valked" with me when I couldn't jog another step.

Nice is much nicer by night. I like the way the moon reflects on the sea and the way the waves splash up on the empty beaches. The street lights illuminate the sidewalk perfectly and the romantic mood is palpable. Piano players and sidewalk artists emerge with the moths, but the moths circle the street lights and the tourists circle the street performers.

Baris left for work the next day and I scampered along to meet Aurelie outside of her hotel for our yoga session on the rocky beach. It went well, but I accumulated several bruises on my knees and scraped up my hands on the pebbles.

I've always said it -- yoga on the beach is not nearly as romantic as it sounds. If you're yoga-ing on sand, you get gritty all up in your business. If you're yoga-ing on rocks, you get bruises on your appendages and you get gritty all up in your business. Yes, there's sunset/sunrise and the soothing sound of the sea, but I maintain that yoga should be practiced in parks, studios and homes and that beaches should be saved for sunbathing, swimming, picnicking and running. So get your spandexed self to the closest park and download an "ocean" soundtrack off of iTunes.
  
We set off for Monaco after we'd all showered the yoga away, Rose and Aurelie in the front and myself captain of the backseat. We took one of the three coastal roads, and the scenery was stunning the entire way. Aurelie kept asking, "Let me know when you want to stop, yes? If you want to take photo, I will pull over za car."

But everything was so beautiful that I didn't know where to stop. I felt as overwhelmed as I do when I go to the supermarket to purchase toothpaste and am confronted with 100 different tubes all boasting the same results. I lose myself into a swirling sea of "extra white", "plaque reducing", "breath freshening", and "cavity fighting". Driving to Monaco, I just lost myself in the azure sea.

Monaco is a packed little principality, being only .78 square miles and boasting over 36 thousand inhabitants. Hence, it is the second smallest and most densely populated "country" in the world. It is a constitutional monarchy, currently ruled by Prince Albert II, whose family has worn the crown since 1297. It's a tourist town where the rich and famous can display their yachts and Ferraris, a tax haven for business men and women (no income taxes due to the success of the Monte Carlo Casino), and a gambler's dream (due to the Monte Carlo Casino).

This tiny country received its name from the time when Hercules (true story) trampled through its .78 square miles and rebuffed all the other gods, taking it upon himself to be Monaco's sole deity. The disgruntled inhabitants built a temple for their antisocial, egotistical new god, christening it "Hercules Monoikos", or "House of Hercules".

Over the years, "Monoikos" simply became "Monaco", as "I ate a fresh red beet" might turn into "I'll wait to caress your smelly feet" in a game of telephone. Or perhaps it's just a language thing, and "Monaco" is the French equivalent of "Monoikos" the way "Aimee" is the French equivalent of "Amy".

But with a name (and a flag) comes great desirability. Dear little Monaco found itself being fought over by the French, the Italians, and the Spaniards for centuries. Hell, Sardinia even joined in the fray for a decade or two. Fortunately for the besieged plot of land, the Franco Monegasque Treaty in 1861 recognized Monaco as a principality under the Grimaldi monarchy, and the other squabbling Mediterranean countries packed up the armies and went home. Until the Italians invaded again in 1943 and decided that a fascist regime would look good on Monaco. Fascism might have looked good, but Nazism looked even better as the haggard inhabitants learned shortly after the fall of Mussolini when the Germans descended on their battered country.

They seemed to have surmounted their difficulties though, as now Monaco boasts the highest GDP in the world, hosts famous Formula 1 races through its city streets, possesses an unbelievably lavish casino, and everyone and their mom and their 1000 euro Chihuahua sits pretty on at least one yacht.

The walk up to the prince's castle

Aurelie. I think there's something so beautiful and graceful about this woman, and I admire her confidence, sense of humor, and generosity.

 We sat down for lunch at a restaurant near the beach, and I gratefully plopped myself into the outdoor chair, rounding my back and rubbing my feet. However, my face dropped as I opened the menu and my appetite magically vanished. There was hardly anything under 15 euros, and my daily budget whilst in France is about 6. If I bought myself a lunch, I wouldn't be able to purchase anything else for three days.

Aha! my eyes alighted on some fish for a mere 8 euros. If I buy that, I'll just be two euros over budget and I can live off of cheese and fruit tomorrow. Yes. This is a good plan.

Aurelie was having a pasta dish with seafood. Rose was having the classic steak tartare.

"What are you ordering?" Rose asked when I abstained from volunteering my 8 euro dish of choice.

"Umm... I thought the fish looked nice," I murmured quietly, hoping that they'd think that I thought the fish itself looked nice, and not just the price of the fish.

"I knew you would say that," Rose was definitely onto me. "Order what you want to order and we'll cover it."

"Yes," Aurelie added, "you gave us yoga on za beach zis morning. Order as you like. Besides, zat fish? It is 8 euros per 100 grams. Not for za whole dish."

So I ordered a steak tartare and I relished every bite of raw beef flavored with mustard and egg yolk and spices. 

More Rothschild!

They built a train from Paris to Monaco just so people could gamble at the Monte Carlo.

 After visiting the Monte Carlo, we loaded back into Aurelie's car and maneuvered through Monaco's heinous traffic back towards Nice. We took a quick stop at Éze on the journey home, and I can honestly say that I've never been in such an enchanting little town. Prague was a fairytale city, to be sure -- but Éze took all the picturesque, idyllic qualities of Prague, moved them to a hilltop in the French Riviera, and made them smaller. The way a little purple sock would be much cuter than a big purple sock.

As Matisse gained inspiration from Nice, Walt Disney gained inspiration from Éze. As do the thousands of tourists that flock to this museum town, nearly abandoned by its residents.

Baris came home from work around seven that evening, and it was fun to tell my bemused host, "Hey, I ended up going to Monaco today."

Preconceptions: I'm in the French Riviera, so people here do seem a bit on the chic, sophisticated side. However, were I to travel north, I'm sure the people would be dramatically different. Just like Southern California is different from Northern California, Southern Italy from Northern Italy, and the Republic of Ireland from Northern Ireland.

Challenges: None today. But hey, I visited a new country. :)