Three coins in a Fountain…

Black Amex Down!

September 5, 2013

Moored the yacht along side Roger’s ‘Casino Royale’ (well natch!), Elton’s ‘Hercules’ and Princess Caroline’s ‘Pasha III’, skipped ashore, waved to the crew of ‘My Trust Fund’ and ‘Lady Nag Nag’ then checked out the club.

Yacht Club de Monaco that is. Decadence abounds, necessitating a quick side step into Boutsen Aviation Corporate Aircraft Sales to choose a Jet, just a small one mind, interior fitted out by dear Donatella. Must keep up with the Depps, Bonos, Armanis, JAYz and most of the Russian mafioso.

Slight dent in the Amex Black now but undeterred I graze on Chanel, Hermès, Balenciaga, Louis V; choose my high roller wardrobe, a spot of bling and contemplate the Almas Caviar and Crystal Brut ‘Methuselah’ picnic pack, a small gift for the Grimaldis while I’m checking out their Palais Princier digs.

Ditching the Driver I stroll on up around the Théâtre du Forte Antoine to the Musee Oceanographique et Aquarium where I stroke a Shark (yes I do!) then down past the Port de Fontvielle, another Cathedral and on to the Palais. Smile with guilty pleasure as the reflection bouncing off my new bling blinds the tourists in this spectacular sunshine.

Obligation satisfied, I head for the Casino, a tad crowded, then choose my next ‘on shore’ digs. The Hotel de Paris doesn’t look too shabby but I’ll go with the Hermitage. Elegant, surrounded by labels and quite a number of suave and ever so sexy…

Total spend:
Bus fare €3.00 return
Cuppa & baguette: €8.50
Water: €2.00
New shoe soles: €12.00

Mental spend: €874,750,990.00

I’m still standing…yeah yeah yeah

September 1, 2013

‘Im still standing better than I did before‘ sang Elton John (surprise given the six Martinis he’d just thrown back with Duran Duran) as he pranced on this very street back in ’83…‘lookin’ like a true surviver, feeling like a little kid’ sang I while barely suppressing the urge to skip. And why not? I’m on the Promenade des Anglais…Nice…the Côte d’Azur…France!

A quick sidestep to view the beach delights with a six emotion slam dunk. Curiosity, intrigue, surprise, thrill, fear, reverence. She’s frail, 70+, snowy white curls, helped over the pebbles by two burly lifesavers, plunges in, flips over, topless and backstrokes smoothly out to sea, bosoms a bobbing. Elle est magnifique!

Into a side street to the old town and on through the famous Cour Saleya Saturday markets: poisson and fromage to the left; figues, roses, framboises to the right. Followed by coffee and a wonderfully fluffy omelette with the most interesting frites…slender, concave and just too delish to leave.

Onto the hairdresser where Thierry wields scissors like a chaff cutter while a waif with pouting ruby red lips whisks away a fur ball equivalent in size to a small blond rodent. Fringe be gone!

Another coffee, the pure shot of caffeine jet propelling me up the Avenue Jean Médecin and the steps to the Parc du Château, all the while jabbering step count in French, as far as ‘Vingt‘ that is (213 if you must know). Photo op. Back down the other side to the Porte, a cocktail and aperitif, onto the No.81 and home.

Still jabbering. It’s 2am and I’M STILL BLOODY STANDING!’…damn coffee.

Aching balls and butter pats…

August 31, 2013

Walked this far, might as well continue

Balls of my feet are aching. A walk from Villefranche-Sur-Mer around the Bd Princess Grace de Monaco, down to Lympia and on to Port Riquier Le Port of Nice will do that. One of those ‘walked this far might as well continue’ moments followed closely by ‘how the feck do I get home’ angst.

Situation needed serious contemplation, and obligatory fortification. Sidestepped into a petite bistro, ordered a vin Rouge and what I assumed would be a cheese platter equivalent to the desperately small cube of cheddar, slither of blue vein, dot of goat’s cheese guaranteed to remain attached to roof of mouth ’till Tuesday, a grape and three small biscuits; the nature of which my beloved homeland is inclined to serve for a mere $20.

Nope…€8 offered up half a side of Roquefort, four dollops of non stick goat offering and two huge gherkins piled atop a salad accompanied by five slabs of Baguette. Holy taste buds batman! What really intrigued was the two butter pats in the mix; usually only proffered after one has begged, cajoled and thrown a small but noisy tantrum for the French just don’t get it. Mon dieu! Voulez vous le beurre??? Oui I bloody well want butter! But this time I didn’t, gave that fight up a while ago – I’m an undercover local now remember?
In the interests of upholding my ‘eat everything in site before the budget limps away sobbing soon’ mantra I fulfilled the duty, all the while chortling at the memory of Rossy ordering a four cheese Pizza (when Jen, Ross and I were last in France) and receiving a 5cm deep pile of melted cheese under which a tiny crust tried in vain to uphold its duty.

Rossy’s gallant effort was well rewarded with applaud from we girls and the crusty old codgers nearby. Mine with discovering Bus 81 went right past my abode, the stop just ten meters away and all for €1.20. Merci dieu!!