Mark on our fabulous beach

Last summer we spent nine weeks in France and apparently that’s not enough. For much of the fall we didn’t plan any travel, waiting first for Mark to have knee replacement surgery and then to figure out if he was going to do the second in quick succession. Once he decided to defer the second knee – maybe he won’t need it and we were seriously tired of not being able to plan travel – we started splurging on our planning. After a couple quick and short trips to the University of Michigan and the University of Minnesota, our first real adventure was off to St. Martin and St. Barts, neighboring islands in the French West Indies.

Our first stop for four nights was St. Martin. The island is a little odd in that since 1648 it’s been split between France and the Netherlands; about 60 percent of the land is French, but 60 percent of the population lives on Dutch side. Stranger still, the French side is part of the EU, while the Dutch side is not. (It turns out Sint Maarten, as it’s known in Dutch, is one of four constituent countries of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, along with the Netherlands, Aruba, and Curaçao. Who knew??) Thus on the Dutch side they primarily use the U.S. dollar while on the French side they use the Euro. Odd.

Beach chairs and umbrellas immediately outside our room. Very civilized.

Oh, and here’s a pretty cool trivia fact if this question ever comes up. Should anyone ask you if France shares a land border with the the Netherlands you will sound brilliant when you point out that they do here on St. Martin.

As usual, our beach vacations are just that: beach vacations. No one comes to these Caribbean islands for culture or adventure beyond maybe scuba diving. And the beach we were on – the Baie Longue, or Long Bay – was spectacular; for my money one of the greatest beaches I’ve ever been on. And the way it is laid out naturally, with a land barrier on one side and undeveloped land on the other it was for all practical purposes a private beach.

There’s always a little rain in the Caribbean but this time of year it’s distinctly manageable. And when it comes with a nice rainbow you really can’t complain.

As is typical for us about the only thing we have to research and plan once we get here is where to eat. One of the joys of coming to France, of course, is the great food. And for the most part we weren’t disappointed. We had dinner off-resort three times; one was really good, one was quite good, and one was good enough. The really good one was just across the “border” – it’s just an imaginary line, no customs or even need to slow down – into the Dutch side. A lovely little French restaurant in a little beach town that was fun.

The other two nights we went into Grand Case, the biggest town on the French side. A lively beach town that reminded us the kind of place we would have stayed 10 or 15 years ago. Some good food and a surprisingly good beach bar for a pre-dinner martini.

And so after a few perfect days on the beach it was off to St. Barts. We had booked a boat for the 45-minute commute and were really looking forward to it. It took almost as long to drive from our resort

A beautiful burrata appetizer at Le Pressoir in Grand Case

to the port where the boat was going to be but when we got there we learned the boat had been cancelled, some sort of mechanical problem.

Now our experience is that when an airline cancels a flight they work with you to find some alternative transportation. Not so this boat company. Nope, we’re not running. You can go to the French side of the island and see if there is anything at that port but we don’t have any information. Fortunately our taxi driver had hung around to see if we were going to need help and so he started driving us back to France. En route we go online and discovered that we could buy plane tickets for a little after noon, yet another example of the advantages of just being able to buy your way out of a challenging predicament. Now, the airport was at most 15 minutes from our hotel but between the drive to the port, the confusion about what to do there, and then the drive back – including a 20-minute delay while some massive yachts went through a draw bridge – we were almost two hours in the car. Frustrating!

Mark ready to board our little prop plane for the 10-minute flight to St. Barts

The one redeeming part of the whole fiasco is that the plane ride was pretty cool. There were six of us on this little prop plane and the entire time from boarding to landing was probably no more than 15 minutes, certainly not more than 20. They led us to the plane, we buckled in, the pilot taxied about 10 yards to the runway and off we went for the 10-minute flight to St. Barts. And the best part was the arrival there, where the plane flies pretty low over a hill and then does a steep dive down to the short runway. Definitely cool and given that there are hourly flights between the two islands the pilots do it often enough you can be pretty confident of surviving. Oh, and one last nice thing about the flight. They boarded 30 minutes early like most flights do, but boarding took only seconds. So they took off and we landed 10 or 15 minutes before we were supposed to take off!

Next stop St. Barts.

The view as you enter our hotel. The water really is that beautiful.

And sunset from our front porch

The water was warm, clear, and calm. And as you can see it wasn’t too crowded even in the middle of the day.

Mark is sometimes more artistic than I am

Sometimes way more artistic

A really wonderful shrimp and scallop dish at Bistro Caraibes

Mark at the Blue Martini bar. Normally European cocktails are at best barely adequate but these were really good. And just minutes after we got there it got surprisingly crowded. Nice to see a good business doing well!

Breakfast overlooking the sea on our last morning. A little meat, a little cheese, some smoked salmon, sparkling water – this is heaven.

And finally, a view of our room and beach. For three full days those second-to-last chairs on the left were our paradise.

We rarely have cocktails in France because nobody knows how to make them. Not so at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo.

From Cap Ferrat we took an easy bus ride to our 25th and final destination of our personal Tour de France. The 45-minute bus ride took us east, passing through Monaco just before reaching our destination. In fact our hotel in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin was so close to Monaco that we walked into that principality one evening for dinner. I can’t recall ever walking to another country for dinner before.

This was mostly a beach stop for us. We stayed at a pretty posh resort with gorgeous views across the bay toward Monaco. That’s a nice way to end this journey. The good news is that the French Riviera is just stunningly beautiful. The water is so blue and so warm and wonderful. It’s close to heaven — but with a downside.

The view to our beach and across the bay to overbuilt crazy Monaco

Relaxing at our beach resort in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin

Like our last stop, things here are a little TOO upscale for our taste. There is no shortage of really fancy restaurants, but we have a much harder time finding our sweet spot — small bistros serving extraordinary food at reasonable prices. France has really spoiled us!

So one night we just embraced this gilded corner of the world and booked dinner at the very fancy restaurant at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo, the upscale neighborhood of upscale Monaco. Our table was on a lovely terrace overlooking the Place du Casino and the famous Casino de Monte Carlo. The square was just packed with excited tourists, who seemed to just be taking in the scene of all the fancy people coming and going from this hotel and the casino.

But what really riled up the crowd was the roar of the Ferraris and Lamborghinis that would pull up. It seemed pretty silly to us to hear these cars go “VROOM VROOOOOM” as they moved at snail pace through the choked traffic. But that’s Monaco for you — 38,000 people with crazy hordes of money packed into a country of less than 1 square mile. As a result the place is so overbuilt it’s actually just kind of ugly.

Fancy dining in front of the Casino de Monte Carlo

…and the Place du Casino

So now we say goodbye to the Mediterranean and to an incredible summer journey that touched so many corners of this amazing country (France that is, not Monaco!) I feel a tinge of sadness as it comes to a close, but of course home is always nice, too.

Lunch at a well researched, lovely restaurant on the other side of Roquebrune

That little restaurant featured a bathroom with crazy animal art — and recorded animal noises!

From Roquebrune, looking east to Menton, the last city in France before the Italian border

Mark waded out into the water to take this shot of our beach and the hotel. Definitely a slice of heaven!

What a trip this has been! From the cities in the very north of France, through Normandy along the English Channel and two weeks in Brittany, down The Atlantic coast to the beach at Biarritz, up into the center of the country and then the Alps. Finally now we’re down on the Mediterranean, the French Riviera. The vacation of a lifetime, except I’ve probably had a few of those in this lifetime.

I first encountered the Mediterranean nearly 50 years ago when I sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar in 1974. I loved it then and I love it now. There is just nothing like the color of the sea on a bright sunny day and then you add to it the great cultures and cuisines and landscapes you find everywhere. It’s pretty heavenly and kind of begs the question: why doesn’t everyone live on the Mediterranean?

The walk from our hotel into town. Not a bad view at all.

From our lovely boutique hotel in St Paul de Vence it was only maybe a 20 minute drive to the Nice airport where we dropped off the car before catching a train up the coast to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. (The French, if you hadn’t noticed, are apparently seriously fond of dashes….) Once we got here it was mostly just beach time.

One highlight was the walkway from our hotel into town. It was maybe a 20-minute walk but on a pedestrian path right along the coast. Mostly shaded, walking past a couple pretty impressive mansions, but always with the stunning view of the Mediterranean and the many yachts that congregate near a port. The other highlight was that our hotel had a small private beach with loungers and umbrellas that made for some very relaxing afternoons.

The private beach and the sea

The only downside to the stop was that we really struggled to find good food, about the only activity that could compete with the beach. There was some good food at our hotel but one, it was at best hit or miss, and two, it’s kind of boring to just eat at your hotel. We went to one little family-owned restaurant that’s been open for nearly 40 years, a place called Captaine Cook, and while the food was OK it was in a spot with no breeze or air moving and at 85 degrees that was just too hot. Another place practically rushed us through, though again the ambience was nothing to keep us lingering anyway. On our last night we finally found a good restaurant right on the port, but otherwise the pickings were slim. On the up side though our hotel made genuinely good martinis so that was always worth looking forward to.

Pretty much every restaurant we went to during this trip had burrata and tomatoes on the menu. This, on our first lunch in Cap Ferrat, may have been the best of the lot – and the best dish we would have for a couple of days!

Mark at the cute but HOT Captaine Cook with a pretty good fish bisque

Having a little pre-dinner drink in the town plaza. If you look at the open windows right above my head you can see – and Mark certainly noticed – a white kitty lying on the window sill.

When he zoomed in to take this picture I assured him it just too far away and would look like hell. Sometimes I’m just dead wrong.

While the food here wasn’t great, we did have some amazing oysters, a type from La Rochelle that our friend Shideh had recommended. They were every bit as good as she’d suggested.

Mark on our walk into town

The port. Apparently people like boats here.

My eternal vision of the Mediterranean