"Our Paradise on earth is the French
Riviera," says Leslie Back. In the first of her two part series.
"Only
the French have the artistic quality, panache and quirkiness to preserve
this dream place from becoming prosaic and commonplace."
Whenever possible, we spend the most magical time on the
Riviera before our visits to the big bustling joys of Paris. The Riviera covers an area between Monte Carlo and St
Tropez and adjacent countryside. Call it the Côte d’Azur,
Provence, the Midi, what you will. It is all paradise. Our love
affair with the Riviera was complete when we found Mougins, mystical
magical Mougins, nestling in the hills above Cannes. Mougins became
like home for us, when for one memorable month, we stayed in a
self-service time-share apartment. At night, just over a hill, the
lights of Grasse twinkled and winked at us.
Arriving at Nice Airport it is about a 30-minute
drive to Mougins along the A8 Auto route, taking the direction of Cannes
and then exit 42 to Mougins. From Cannes Main Station (SNCF) it is a 15-minute drive.
Mougins is a gateway to many gems of Provence. Inland to
Vence, St Paul de Vence, Biot and all the other unique villages.
The countryside is a delight and the scenery dramatic and
breathtaking. We learnt the art of driving at the mad speed of the
French whilst taking in the splendour.
Famously, the charm of staying in any French village is
the people. They are warmer, friendlier and much more approachable
than their Parisian counterparts. Genial smiles prevail. All the
same you will have to accept the usual Gallic mannerisms and shoulder
shrugging. Just so French, take it or leave it.
They took a while to get over the fact that we were not
French. At best our French accents are questionable, but after
seeing us year after year, they appeared to accept our strange ways and
us. After all we were foreigners! Slowly we came to feel as if we
belonged. They let us feel that, but we always wondered what they
really thought!
There are wonderful hotels in Mougins. On a few
occasions we have stayed in the Hotel de Mougins, a very affordable 4 star
gem, with staff that are friendly and accommodating. But back to our
apartment and our new lifestyle as French villagers.
Getting up early to go to the bakery to buy a fresh warm
baguette and mouth-watering croissants and pastries is such fun. We
went to the local market for all our provisions. Everything was so
luscious and beautifully arranged. Oh what produce! A moveable
feast (with apologies to Ernest Hemingway). But we had not come to cook
elaborate meals. We intended eating Provençal food at as many wonderful
eating-places as possible and if we had had a huge lunch to stay in and
prepare a light meal at night.
The Newsagent kept the English papers for us each day and
spoke to me only if I spoke to him in French. It was a lovely
game and he shook with laughter at my strenuous attempts at getting my
teeth around village French. There are chemists, doctors, boutiques, hairdressers and
of course dog parlours. (The French like dogs better than they do
people.)
Each day we would strike out in our auto, en route to a
carefully researched destination with the relevant maps close at hand.
A Berlitz is so useful. Small, full of necessary information and some
words to get one through the day. Food is recommended according to
season.
Nice remains one of our favourite destinations. We sing
along the A8 for about 30 minutes and then our promise to ourselves, lunch
at Chez Michelle,
Le Grand Pavois 11 Rue Meyerbeer.
The patron is a fabulous seafood cook and we gorge
ourselves on fish soup served with croutons, aioli and a sprinkle of
grated cheese. We also eat Bouillabaisse, Provençal mussels, indeed
anything with tomato and garlic.
Pierre, the patron, is a great character, bent on changing
the world. The world being France and the changes, the unwieldy tax
and labour laws.
Most of the villages and cities along the
Côte d’Azur
have an old city. A Vielle Ville. These are the remains
of early Greek and Roman occupation. In Nice the vielle ville is special.
We found countless restaurants, quaint shops, cobbled pedestrian malls and
an amazing art museum. We especially remember the Raoul Dufy Museum,
devoted to that wonderful impressionist artist.
I hijacked a passer-by and tried my French on the
unfortunate being. We needed directions. He was silent while I spoke. I think he was just being
stoic.
He answered in English and then proceeded to spend 15 minutes
telling me how to pronounce Dufy. This involved how to shape one’s
mouth and it all sounded the same to me, but apparently not to him as he
persisted valiantly.
There is a fruit and flower market in the mornings and
nothing gets the gastric juices flowing as the sight of the produce
displayed with such artistry and loving care. We really should have more than one stomach.
Strolling along the palm-tree-lined Promenade des
Anglais, the boulevardiers always intrigue us. The women are so chic, the
men dapper and the dogs a wonder to behold. The Promenade stretches for about 5 kilometres.
Presiding over the ‘Walk of the English’ is the
legendary hotel Negresco. This wonderful relic of another era,
dominates with its pink dome and rococo façade. For nearly a
century it has evoked a certain art of living in the style and manner of
the Belle Époque.
A Rumanian restaurateur, Henri Negresco, created it in
1912. Crowned heads, princes and American financial grandees such as
Rockefeller and Vanderbilt swore by the Negresco. Charlie Chaplin,
Rudolf Valentino and David Niven were some of the stars of the Golden Age
of Cinema that stayed there. Pablo Picasso loved it, as did Scott
Fitzgerald and his cronies.
Jeanne Augier, her owner since 1957, wished to make it a
showcase of French art. She succeeded so well. It has a
remarkable private museum full of antiques and paintings and sculpture.
On a previous trip, we stayed there. Its rooms are
inspired by the great chateaux of France and are furnished with genuine
antiques. We felt so cosseted. They have bell boys dressed in
opera clothes with high plumes in their headgear. The valet, who
parked our car, had to remove his hat. I think that they only park
convertible Masseratis and Ferraris, certainly not the likes of our little
charabanc.
The beaches are a grand sight. Blue water,
pebbly beaches and everybody in some state of undress. Topless
bathing gear appears to be de rigueur for the ladies, bottoms too
occasionally for both sexes.
We make many trips to Nice – always something else to
see and places to eat in this Grande Dame of the Riviera. The
Matisse museum, the Chagall museum, some of the best art in the world.
We were so spoilt for choice. Originally the Riviera had
been a Mecca for some of the great impressionists. Renoir, Cézanne,
Bonnard, Matisse, Leger and Picasso made this their playground.
There are
museums and monuments to their greatness all along the Côte d’Azur.
We could hardly believe that we were actually seeing these famous works.
The wonder of it remains with us.
About six kilometres east of Nice is the quaint
Mediterranean harbour village of Villefranche. Here we leave the
road and motor slowly down to a parking area near the quayside. Wandering
along the quay, one is assailed by the smell of seafood. This is no wonder
as it is crammed with informal seafood restaurants, with tables spilling
outside just metres from the water. 
