Morocco and now Menton, France 2018 | The last day and the last post

On our final day, the destination was Eze, high up in the Maritime Alps. Unlike Ste Agnes, Eze is a bustling little tourists spot, so we took our time getting there. We started here, a short walk (up of course) from La Turbie.

What started as a busy grass trail through low scrub, soon became a rocky climb to Fort de la Revere, a high perch above Antibes (in the distance), and Eze. The views became more spectacular with each step, and the 360 degree vantage from the top lays the world, or so it seems, out before you. We could see all of our walks from the previous five days, and Eze, our final destination on this final day of walking.

Eze, the lower town and the old walled city and garden above

Margaret and I walked down to Eze (my knees are still protesting) with Ray, our guide, and a fellow hiker. Once in Eze, and after coffee, we walked UP to the top of the town, where I was surprised to find a lush, mature succulent garden.

The streets along the way are lined with shops, the sidewalks crammed with baby carts. It`s a top spot for tourists with money to spare.

That was our final walk and our next to last day in Menton. The walks and hikes were fabulous; the fit-bits were totaling up to somewhere near100km. I got a taste of the uber-rich French Riviera, fresh cheeses and chick-pea crackers, and more than a few Provencal rose wines.

From there, it was Nice to Paris, Paris to Toronto, and home. As someone said, the best part of travel is when you crawl into your own bed, and so it was.

Morocco and now Menton, France 2018 | Ste Agnês

It is a week ago now, but I have notes! Yes, I'm home, and cleaning up the mess that this blog has been in since trying to post from Morocco and France. The weather here at home has been in the mid-teens, which is perfect for walking and gardening. Today it's chilly though, and it cannot be long before winter calls. A persistent red squirrel batted away at my front yard bird feeder today, until he`d dumped its contents on the ground. He left nothing for the birds!

On Saturday's walk we climbed, and then we climbed some more. The bus picked us up at the usual hour and headed up to Ste Agnés.  This off-the-beaten-path village would be my choice for a month-long vacation in France. We wound our way up a steep climb, snaking along in the middle of a stream of cars, vans and trucks, going up, and coming down. It's often a one-way road; and other times, it's one and a half. We slithered our way through tight squeezes, backed up to let downward traffic pass, pulled off the road, and on again, until finally we reached the end of the road: a parking lot near, but not at, the village. A cobblestone road leads up to the village; we stopped at the top to look back at the sea and the coast below.

Ste Agnes from the road; our destination is the top

The freeway, Menton and the Mediterranean below

  It was siesta time as we crept our way through the village streets and squares, still climbing gently until we reached the old fort, a remnant from the Maginot Line built in 1932.

Remains of the old fort

This original garden is being restored and maintained by volunteers

Made it!

 This was our first serious climb of the week, and definitely worth celebrating!

Morocco and now Menton, France 2018 | Antibes

We headed west today to Antibes, about half the way from here to Cannes. It's a  charming city once you get into it. There is an old fort high up on a hill which we did not see, and an old walled city where we spent the morning. The bus dropped us off at the harbour. This big yacht is known locally as the billionaire yacht. It doesn't seem to be going anywhere. It's owned by a Russian billionaire and is the fourth largest yacht in the world.  I wonder if they offer rooms on airbnb?

Inside the walls there is The Provencal Market, with cheeses and meats, lots of spices and herbs and ready-made seasoning mixes, nougat, flowers, local chick pea pastas, and of course fresh vegetables.   And there were breads and French pastries.

There is a Picasso Museum (more on that later), bakeries, small shops, bakeries. Did I mention bakeries? Needless to say I walked right by them, not daring to look, because I cannot touch. Margaret successfully walked by them all, with great restraint, and possibly a wee bit of regret.

The Picasso museum has a collection of works far surpassing anything I've seen. Picasso had several long stays in Antibes and painted the local scenery, the town and culture. I knew nothing of the early work and it was interesting to see how he moved from fairly realistic painting to the obscure geometric shapes of his later work. There we a lot of sketches, often titled 'three women on a beach' but aside from that it was a great journey through his time on the French Riviera.


It was so hard to decide where to have lunch, but fortune was smiling on us and we came upon a little cafe on the corner of nowhere and no place called Choopy's with a gluten free menu! Seeing is believing so check it out here. I ate a wrap, and took away a caramel cup cake. I think I'm in heaven.  Much as I say I don't miss breads and sweets, after almost three weeks without, I am in paradise.

Our walk today was on Cap Antibes, another outlying bit of land completely private, along a public pathway for about 5 km. The early part is on well-constructed trail of what looks like flagstone patched together with cement and smoothed over. But my ankles are reminding me of the ups and downs and frequently-broken trail. The later section is treed and soft underfoot before reaching the road and making our way back to the bus.

There were lots of surprises along the way. There are tiny hidden coves and beaches. The sailboat in the photo is anchored in Baie de Faux d'Agneau (the bay of false money)? It's evidence of the incalculable wealth here in the French Riviera.

Morocco and now Menton, France 2018 | Cap Ferrat and Cannes

I think I know where I am now. Sitting here on la petite terrasse of our hotel room, I am looking west to Italy. We are only a few kilometers from the border and Ventimilla. Yesterday we were in Beaulieu, to the west of here, and today Cannes, which is further west still. Across the Med it must be North Africa, maybe Algeria. Sometimes I just need to place myself in the world. The red wine we are drinking is from Bordeaux, in South west France, the chick pea chips from Nice, right next door, and the feta and roasted pepper dip from Greece! So very Mediterranean.

It seems to have been a beautiful hot day here in Menton. When we returned from our day of sightseeing and hiking there were still people on the beach and in the water. Beachside cafes were not too busy but there were enough al fresco diners to be convincing. Now it's cooling off and Margaret has abandoned the terrasse for the warmth of the indoors. And warm it is. We have pulled the duvets out of their covers, have the temp turned low, and the fan up high. We are trying to get some clothes to dry. I resorted to the hair dryer this morning to at least warm up the waistband on my pants. My body heat would warm the rest.

Yesterday we travelled first by train to Beaulieu-sur-Mer. It translates as beautiful place on the sea, which it is. From there we travelled on foot to St. Jean Cap de Ferrat and later up to the Rothschild villa built in 1912 for Beatrice de Rothschild. The rooms and furnishings are almost as interesting as the stories. I was merely surprised to see two low-to-the ground chairs in the style of Louis XIV for her pets--a dog and a chimp. But I laughed out loud at the story of the wedding she planned and held for her dog to an eligible canine beau, complete with ceremony and reception. Apparently she loved to throw parties!

The walk round the cape is classic Mediterranean walking over stone pathway with broken down concrete, little hills, a few narrow ledges, and abundant crashing waves, some enough to get you wet if the tides are high. The town is quaint, but the evidence of moneyed landowners and vacationers is everywhere. The French Riviera is one of the most expensive places to live. But this walk, followed by lunch and then coffee (never coffee then lunch, says ou guide), put all that aside and I just thought to myself how fortunate I am to be here.

If you are looking for the 1% that control most of the world's wealth, I think they might be in the yacht harbours in Monaco and Cannes. Although no match for Monaco, the harbour in Cannes is filled with row upon row of big yachts, and a few wooden boats, including a four-masted tall ship.

We spent most of our time on a small island owned and occupied solely by Cistercian monks. The centre of this small island is planted almost entirely in grapes. They sell wine in the store for from 30E to 70E a bottle which sounds like a lot until you realize that by the glass in a restaurant it's considerably more than that. I though about buying a bottle and selling it off glass by glass to my travel mates to pay for my dinner, but alas, the store was closed. Seriously, the island is a tranquil retreat from the business of Cannes. The trail is soft underfoot and signs ask that you keep noise to a minimum, respecting the retreat-like environment of the monks.   We ate our picnic lunches near the rocky shore,  and stopped for coffee before boarding the ferry back to Cannes.

I'll let the photos speak for Cannes. Look for the blue carpet that replaces the red one when the festival is over, the sandy beach, including bags of sand waiting to be spread, designer shops below Belle Epoch architecture, and billboards. Hundreds of billboards.

Morocco and now Menton, France 2018 | Morocco to Menton

I am sitting on our petite terrasse in the Royal Westminster Hotel in Menton, France. By that name you'd think this was a wee bit British, and you'd be right. But that cannot detract from the constancy of the waves hitting the gravelly Mediterranean beach below, just beyond the garden and the boulevard. That's what I fell asleep to last night and woke up to this morning.

On our next to last day in Morocco, on the drive from Marrakech to Casablanca, Said and Fattah convinced us to stop for lunch at a roadside truck stop. They promised us the best tagine anywhere in Morocco. Despite our collective skepticism we agreed and followed them dutifully into the restaurant, a colourless room so lacking in ambience I thought I was in Denny's. On the way to the restroom I walked past the kitchen and OMG, who knew!! There were rows and rows of tagine,  each one sitting on its own little brazier of coals, and countless little mounds of bread dough at various stages of resting and rising. Beside two, wood fired forno the size of  boulders, was  a woman patting those little mounds flat and putting them into the oven. I didn't taste the bread but everyone loved it, and the slow cooked lamb with prunes and raisins on a bed of caramelized onions, a classic Moroccan tagine,  was the best ever. We scraped the bottom of our clay tagine (the one you cook in) clean! (Maybe I didn't clarify this earlier.Tagine is a style of slow cooking, a conical ceramic or clay pot for cooking, and the resulting slow cooked meat and/or vegetable dish. How confusing is that!)

 Morocco is still up close and personal in our hearts and minds. As I stare out across the water, I look west. It 's out there somewhere. It's a mere two and a half hour flight and a 75 E Uber ride away, but except for the French language, the two don't have much in common.

We are in a group of sixteen walkers, mostly Canadian, a trip organizer, and a local French guide. Last night, we began the tour with a briefing then headed out for dinner as a group. We sat with  a retiree from Niagara on the Lake and his sister, who lives in the British Virgin Islands.  That's pretty typical of the group.

This morning we woke to threat of rain, followed by rain, then cloud, then more drizzle. It's not the best environment for taking pictures. After a short walk to the train station and an equally short train ride, we were in Monaco. The must-sees included the palace of Prince Albert II, the curent reigning Prince of Monaco,  the Grand Priz route, the  yacht harbour (beyond description!), the Monte Carlo casino, the Cathedral where Prince Rainier III and Princess Grace are entombed, and a hi rise condo where each unit is its own floor, has its own garage for the car, and its own swimming pool. I've forgotten the price per square metre.

The highlight of the day was a 7 km walk along the coast around Roquebrune Cap Martin. The footpath is roughly paved and mostly flat. Below is a roiling Mediterranean sea; above houses and gardens. I was so tempted to follow one of the paved stairways down to the rocks below, and dip my toes in the water but signs saying "Prive" convinced me to stick to the footpath. It really is a footpath; there are no bikes or scooters or skateboards to contend with, just a few walkers  going the other way. The last kilometer or so is along the boardwalk here in Menton.

Dinner time. Must go. A few photos to come.

Morocco then Menton, France 2018 | More Marrakech

A short walk in intense heat and we are at the  Bahia Palace, the former estate of an all-too-powerful governor under the French Protectorate (the King at the time, only 12 years old, was ineffective).  The architecture is interesting enough but the decoration, especially the ceilings, are what struck me. Not since the Sistine Chapel have I felt such a strong urge to lay on the floor and stare. The colours and patterns nestled among cedar beams, high arches and domes are magnificent. Indigo, saffron, turmeric and red--I can't keep track of the dyes--accentuate curvy Islamic designs mixed with European paisleys and patterns. Under foot we walk on zellige tile floors in intricate designs.

Cool,  dimly lit rooms lead to blasting hot sunlight bouncing off the white walls and tile floor of the open courtyard of the concubine quarters. Now I get it: the white light is blinding. I pulled my hat further down over my ears and headed for the garden.

We headed back toward  THE BIG SQUARE I(its real name is Jemaa el Fna, but the directional signs in the Medina point you to THE BIG SQUARE)  for an air conditioned lunch, then made our way back with Fattah's help to our riad in the Medina. At 830 am, when Margaret and I walked in the square, shopkeepers were just beginning to open up their shuttered windows and rolling up the doors, hanging goods from high railings, and otherwise displaying  their wares. The cleaners were out in full force; and drivers were lined up ready to start the day.

Ever wondered where all those donated false teeth go?

Taxis and motorcycles were dodging one another  and the  giant street sweepers in the mostly empty square. Now at mid day it is a many-coloured hive of activity. Feeling weary and wilted, I opted for a rest in the  coolness and quiet of the riad.

It's our last night in Marrakech and in the real Morocco before we head back to the big city of Casa. Fattah has chosen a Syrian restaurant. Dinner is always late, after sunset, so we agree to meet at Le Cafe de Paris at 730. Most of us headed out into the Medina with a list of must-haves before going home. Fattah lead us through the various souks, helping us with colours and sizes, but never with bargaining. By now we are all pretty good at that, and everyone came away satisfied.

The Syrian restaurant was exquisite, our reserved terrace seating the perfect spot for our next-to-last supper. There were familiar dishes on the menu--things like hummus, skewers, eggplant--but as I looked round the table I realized they had taken preparation and presentation to a new level of perfection. Margaret and I shared a watermelon salad, not unlike the one I make, but so much more savoury. I will be looking for a new recipe when I come home! Our main course was a dish of ground meat nested on creamy hummus, and topped with a herbed creamy tahini. Another recipe to track down.

We chose two desserts, to be shared by all. The first  was a feather-light lemony cheesecake on a nut crust; the second a halvah-like creamy pudding with pistachio topping. Carol (the other one) said it all. They were divine! As we headed back through the square toward the Medina and our riad we were engulfed by the music of street performers, the hawking of sellers of everything from watches to those silly flares (which I love) that you fire up into the air. Carol has a great photo of the square at night which I must ask her for.