The day after Carnival, my friend took me on what she calls the "Three-Country Tour": a day-long sweep through Ventimiglia, Italy (right on the border with France), Menton, France (first town you come to from Italy), and Monaco. The goal was to see the change in the towns from one country to another-- the three were palpably distinct, despite their proximity. And, it just feels cool to say you were in three countries in one day.
Ventimiglia is the Tiajuana of France. French people make regular day trips across the border to take advantage of lower prices on alcohol and 10-lb buckets of Nutella. (Literally. There were entire stores that sold nothing but alcohol and giant Nutella jars.) Despite the comparison with Tiajuana, I found Ventimiglia quaint and loveable. It needed some repairs and a fresh coat of paint, but that just added to the charm. The residents seemed more relaxed and quicker to smile than the Rivierans across the border.
The catchy synthesized jingle played in all French train stations welcomed us to Menton. The first word in my head as we arrived here from Ventimiglia was: polished. Menton seemed tidier and more put-together, but less charming, than the previous town. The streets were clean and broad. The buildings were freshly painted, in beige.
But we had chosen to come to Menton for a specific reason: the Festival des Citrons ("Lemon Festival")! Once a year, Menton creates a monumental sculpture garden, where all the sculptures are made of lemons and oranges. Imagine really artistic Citrus Bowl parade floats on steroids. That's the Festival des Citrons.
But alas, like it's contemporary, the Nice Carnival, the festival kept its citrusy masterpieces behind high walls and charged exorbitant prices to see them. So we peeked through the gate, snapped a couple of pictures, and said goodbye to Menton.
Monaco might as well have been a different planet. We stepped off the train, walked through tunnels of marble and dark wood, and emerged in a tear-shaped fairyland of banks and designer labels. Monaco is beautiful, historic, and surprisingly green with all its parks and trees. My friend and I wandered through the steep cliffside town until our legs gave out, then headed back to the real world.
mardi 29 mars 2011
samedi 26 mars 2011
Carnival!
Bonjour! I have finally re-entered the blogosphere. I have also finally started posting pictures of my recent trip to the south of France.
My trip was split into two parts, with two missions: 1. Five days visiting an old friend on the Cote d'Azur, and 2. Ten days in Provence to see what all the Peter Mayle-type fuss is about.
As for part one. This old friend was a study abroad roommate two years ago. She now lives with her French husband in Antibes, a town on the Riviera between Nice and Cannes (I know, sounds terrible). They were kind enough to put me up in their apartment while my friend played tour guide to their stretch of coast.
Luckily, my school break lined up with Carnival in Nice-- you will find pictures of this event below.
Of course I had to see the spectacle. I envisioned a raucous brouhaha clogging the streets, artistic masterpiece floats, music, noise, crowds going wild. . . But we were not in New Orleans, or Rio, or even Venice. Actually, it felt more like Disneyland.
At the beginning of the parade, the floats were lead into a gated-off parking lot. You could pay thirty euros a person (!!!) to enter the gates and admire the floats from the bleachers, or do as most people did and simply watch through the entrances and gaps in the gate. We chose the latter. At any rate, the spectacle seemed to be more for kids. The makeshift stadium was decorated with a kind of Under the Sea/Finding Nemo theme. The crowd was tame and family-oriented. My friend told me about some people she knew who, a couple of years ago, had tried to "liven up" the Carnival festivities with silly string-- and were almost forcibly removed by security. (Silly string did make an appearance this year, however. I will cherish the memory of a five-year-old girl assaulting some Japanese tourists with pink spray.)
While Carnival may not have been the Mardi Gras of my dreams, everyone seemed to be having a good time-- young, old, and especially, us.
My trip was split into two parts, with two missions: 1. Five days visiting an old friend on the Cote d'Azur, and 2. Ten days in Provence to see what all the Peter Mayle-type fuss is about.
As for part one. This old friend was a study abroad roommate two years ago. She now lives with her French husband in Antibes, a town on the Riviera between Nice and Cannes (I know, sounds terrible). They were kind enough to put me up in their apartment while my friend played tour guide to their stretch of coast.
Luckily, my school break lined up with Carnival in Nice-- you will find pictures of this event below.
Of course I had to see the spectacle. I envisioned a raucous brouhaha clogging the streets, artistic masterpiece floats, music, noise, crowds going wild. . . But we were not in New Orleans, or Rio, or even Venice. Actually, it felt more like Disneyland.
At the beginning of the parade, the floats were lead into a gated-off parking lot. You could pay thirty euros a person (!!!) to enter the gates and admire the floats from the bleachers, or do as most people did and simply watch through the entrances and gaps in the gate. We chose the latter. At any rate, the spectacle seemed to be more for kids. The makeshift stadium was decorated with a kind of Under the Sea/Finding Nemo theme. The crowd was tame and family-oriented. My friend told me about some people she knew who, a couple of years ago, had tried to "liven up" the Carnival festivities with silly string-- and were almost forcibly removed by security. (Silly string did make an appearance this year, however. I will cherish the memory of a five-year-old girl assaulting some Japanese tourists with pink spray.)
While Carnival may not have been the Mardi Gras of my dreams, everyone seemed to be having a good time-- young, old, and especially, us.
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