nudité

There is no doubt that the French have an obsession for nudity. From early times French artists have had obsession for painting, drawing or calving the human body ‘nude’. It seems mastery of the nude was essential for the aspiring artist - or the aspiring perv.

A little known fact(?) is that the French were the inventors of nudist camps. They now have nude nightclubs where more than your arms flap around while you dance. There are numerous nude beaches but don’t describe them as “au naturel” as this is used only for food cooked without preparation. In French, nude beaches are called “plages nudists”. I am guessing that means 'beware plague of nudists ahead'. They even love their nude pétanque (Yes Hux – I did try to find out where I could play but no luck). As most know, every French movie must have a nude scene (although I am not sure how they work that into a children’s cartoon) but it is the only place I know where they show x-rated movies on free-to-air TV after midnight (for some strange reason I couldnt get to sleep at night).

To just show how liberal the French are compared to us is when it comes to sex shops. For us they are something to be hidden down small alleys (not that I know about this of course), frowned on by the community and just tolerated by Councils as long as the buildings are not advertising or even making any real statement about what is inside. In France – not only is the shop located in the main street next to the patisserie shop, there are well displayed windows and large A-frames in the street advertising ‘vente gadgets’. And just in case the neon signs were not enough do you think our Council would approve the following street sign?

Not that there is anything wrong with that!

Cote d'Azur: Aller à la maison - home time

France is such a lovely place and Kathy and I only wish we had more time to explore the different things it has to offer. May be some time in the future with the children staying at Grandmas and Grandpas (thanks Mom) we may get back here again. But for now it was time to fill it up with petrol for the last time before returning the car. I finally feel as though I have got a handle of driving in this country!

I filled up with ‘gasoline’, paid my euros and confidently strolled back to the car and hopped inside. To my horror someone had stolen the steering wheel! With an impatient person behind me staring strangely wondering where the driver was I calmly got back out, walked around and sheepishly got in and drove away. May be I am not quite ready for this driving in France.
The next morning, with all the family packed for the early morning flight, we left France on another brilliant blue sun filled day. As we flew back the clouds gathered and a rain swept England sat below us. Driving home through a grey soup with rain teaming down and a chill in the air, France seemed so far away. The only thing now is to get used to the gear stick on the left, rear vision mirror on the left, driving on the left and …… the rain.

Cote d'Azur: village perchė

While it is the allure of wealth that attracts many to this part of the coast now, it is the smaller villages that I think give it its real charm. During the week we visited several village perchė or hill top towns and when I say hill top I mean villages that cling to the cliff edge by their fingernails.

St-Paul-de-Vence is a village perched on a hill which made it an ideal ville fortifiėe dating from the twelth century. While it has pretty cobble lined streets, being so close to Nice means that all the shops have been taken over with art shops and clogged with the same American bus-load of tourists that have just been to Monaco. Outside the village it was nice to see life go on for the locals with a game of pétanque in the village square.

La Cleee-sur-Loup is another village founded in 1540 and somehow remains a quiet sleepy village. There was the familiar art shops found in many of these villages (the Cote d’Azure was famous for artists from Picasso to Matisse drawn to the areas natural beauty, Mediterranean light and vibrant colours), but it still retained its remote feel (I expect it has more to do with the windy steep roads restricting the big coach load of American tourists getting this far up the mountain). The maze of little lanes, pretty shuttered windows painted vibrant blue, the red okra walls, the natural spring water bubbling in a stone drinking fountain, much as it probably has for a hundred years. A picture-postcard place.

Another village I liked was Frėjus. A larger town with Roman origins founded in 49BC. I ventured up there early in the morning just as the sun was rising and the birds, cats and people were beginning to go about their morning rituals. With the smell of fresh coffee filling the small cobble streets, the old ladies bringing in their washing that is hung from their windows 2 stories high, cafės un-stacking their chairs in preparation for their morning customers and ladies carrying their freshly baked baguettes home for breakfast, it was a lovely place to spend the morning and contemplate how we were not missing the rain back in England.

But unfortunately all good things must come to an end.

Cote d'Azur: Glitz and Glamour

During the week we visited both Cannes and Monaco, both unique in their own bizarre kind of way.

Cannes is a cosmopolitan City on the coast most famous for the film festival, but for the rest of the year a place for the wealthy to strut their stuff. It is interesting that 150 years ago it was a sleepy fishing village until a group of Englishman decided to build Italianate villas on the hill just outside the town as a winter holiday escape. Unfortunately as their numbers grew, so the local builders and entrepreneurs saw their opportunity and built everything from gaudy hotels to appalling apartments. Many of the buildings are rather soulless as many were obviously holidays homes for the rich and famous. The coast is hugely over-developed, with apartments burying or destroying any of the original charm that would have made Cannes famous to begin with. Now, with cars choking every corridor, the best we could do was drive through the town and look at the famous Carlton Hotel where the Film Festival is held each year.

On another day we headed of to the legoland town of Monaco which is the world's most densely populated country and only covers an area of 1.96 square kilometres. Monaco is a constitutional monarchy and second-smallest independent nation in the world. It is astonishing that with the French’s historical desire to take over the world such a small place has managed to remain independent (although there was a brief stint from 1793 to 1814, where Monaco was under French control).

However it is not the size or history that Monaco is most famous for – it is one of the most expensive places on Earth and judging by the price Kathy paid for a beer (AU$16) I am not surprised. The principality is a tax haven, and most of its inhabitants are millionaires from other countries. The glamour and prestige associated with Monaco and its style-conscious people can be seen in the number of Ferraris, Rolls and Bentleys crawling along the narrow roads, the designer fashion boutiques that line the street and the mini ocean liners that prance along the coast. It seems to be all about the money and how to flaunt it. We walked around the Casino de Monte-Carlo but decided it was not worth paying 10 euro just to see one-arm-bandits taking peoples money.

One thing that struck me was how the buildings and roads hang to the mountain edge, layered like pancakes over each other in order to maximise every last inch of the 2 km of land available. As a result, the roads are winding and narrow and I have no idea how the Monaco Grand Prix is raced on these tight turns.

Something disapointing about the place was the number of tourists groups (mostly American)congregating on every street corner. Yes - I know we are also tourists but I find it a strange experience being in another country where there is a sense that all the origional inhabitants and life have been removed and replaced with imported goods, people, buildings, food - way of life.

While the glitz and glamour was worth seeing I think this is not what France is all about. Another of our journeys gave a better picture of the south coast.

Cote d'Azur: Home for the week

Our home for the rest of the week was a lovely Resort with enough activities to keep the children entertained for a year. With multiple swimming pools (one even with a wave machine), slides, playgrounds, mini-put-put, games rooms and even a golf course for Dad, all overlooking sandy beaches and turquoise blue bays, it is no wonder the French coast is so popular as a holiday destination. The resort was so large that it even had its own mock French village with small shops surrounding the tree lined piazza. It soon became obvious that this was where the French come to stay. In the 7 days I came across only 2 families who spoke English, which was quiet nice.

Our room was small but functional, but it was made up by the spectacular views over the bay. Watching the morning sun rise over the bay from our balcony was stunning as the light slowly changed from an orange, red and yellow kaleidoscope to a deep blue green. The small boats sat motionless on their moorings like small sleeping dogs on their chain and the small beach slowly filled up with families making the most of the early morning.

The kids had a great time between the pool, playground and kids club (which mum and dad enjoyed even more!). We were so lucky that for the 7 days away, every one was blue clear skies in the high 20’s. Watching the news, England was receiving its wettest June since 1915 with severe floods and three people dead - a world far away from here.

But we did not come to the Cote d’Azure to spend our entire 6 days by the pool (although I am sure that is what the kids wanted to do) so we headed out to explore the glitz and glamour of the French Rivera.

Cote d'Azur: A week in Heaven

This week we packed the bags, left a grey and bleary Weymouth and headed off to the Côte-d’-Azur in France. A quick 2 hour flight (although somehow we managed to arrive 30 minutes early which is unheard of for a no-frills airline) and we entered a world designed from another colour palette. The sky was deep blue contrasting with buildings in colours of red, okra, and yellow wash. The sun was high in the sky and there was warmth I had not felt since Sydney.

The first thing we needed to do was to pick up the hire car for our 2 hour drive from Marseille to St Raphaël. Unfortunately this required getting used to a whole new concept of driving. Driving on the right, gear stick in the right, rear vision on the right, going around roundabouts on the right, slow lane on the right and driving seat on the…… LEFT (something to remember for later on)! Right. Right, as my Nan would say. The brain can only handle so much change and this was all too much for a left-hander to cope with.

Let me just give you a taste of driving in France. Just like the French don’t like to queue, they don’t like to be stuck in traffic, so they will attempt anything to get around you. Don’t let a 20 tonne truck coming in the opposite direction, blind corners or narrow streets stop you. There is also no excuse for slowing down to let other cars enter the stream of traffic and if you even consider giving way to a car you will hear a chorus of car horns behind you.

The roads are either a spaghetti of narrow mountain roads that hug the alps fearful of the cavernous drop below, or huge freeways that project themselves in a straight line slicing directly through the most impenetrable mountain via gaping tunnels. On the freeways the speed limit is 130km/h which seems to give the French permission to travel at 160km/h. Sometimes the only sign that a Ferrari owned by some Monaco Zillionaire has passed you is its vapour trail. It is amazing that a small dot in your rear vision mirror can be on top of you in a blink of an eye.

And don’t think it is any safer being a pedestrian or cyclist. Weaving through a stream of ‘Tour de France’ hopefuls with their waxed legs and stringy bodies, I noticed none of them had helmets. I suppose the French’s need to look fashionable is more important that staying alive. Another lesson I learnt was that cars ignore anyone on zebra crossings. Some even take great pleasure in trying to get as close as possible to anyone silly enough to venture out on to the white lines (Having now realised that zebra crossings are a form of population control I later decided it was safer to cross the road nowhere near those human target zones).

Having nearly being run into a cliff face by a merging truck, mashed by a 200km/h 4WD and once turning into oncoming traffic, we somehow made it in one piece to our resort - Cape Estrel – where we were to spend the rest of the week.

I need a beer! I think Kathy needed 2.

Worshipping the great mother land

NOTE: if you are reading this as an e-mail you really need to go to the blog

Now I know people worship lots of different things and I also know that some people think Australia is a great place but I never thought I would come across this on my travels.
Within the Notre Dame, the Catholic church I mentioned before, the immense church was lit by streams of light filtering through the numerous stained glass windows, and hundreds of candles flickered as a sign of life and memory of others. There was the opportunity to light a candle in front of many different shrines, from magnificent paintings of Mary to large crosses ornately decorated. But as we turned the corner and came across this most awe inspiring and memorable shrine I knew that this was the one for us.

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Nous avons aimé Paris

Now after a quick glance of the ‘Travellers guide to Paris’ revealing 62 museums, Kathy and I decided that 60 will have to wait for next time. Number 1 on the list as you would expect – Musée de Lourve. Housed in the most impressive renaissance building it is amazing to be wondering amongst all those pictures I remember in year 10 art class. From the ‘lace maker’ to ‘venus de milo’ through to ‘mona something’ by Leonardo Dicaprio (I never knew he was a painter) it was all very exciting.

We also ventured through the Musée de l’Orangerie – not a museum in the honour of fruit – but more paintings and you guessed it – many were ‘big’. I never knew that Claude Monet’s water-Lilly series of paintings was bigger than the actual ponds he painted. Many other great works from Cézanne, Picasso, Matisse and a lovely picture by Renoir of a little girl just like the twins.

A quick peak in the Notre Dame, a great gothic church, and then to the Panthéon. I am not sure if I have mentioned it yet, but you don’t know what ‘big’ is until you have seen the size of this church. Completed in 1790 it is no wonder it took 36 years to build.

Our little taste of Paris was fantastic – only 60 more museums to visit…….

Tout est GRAND

So with a tear in the eye we sadly wave goodbye to our three lovely children and leave them in the capable hands of Jemma for the long trip home on the train to Weymouth. For us YAHOOOO. Child free and off to Pari!

1 train, another train, 1 bus, 1 plane, 1 train, ANOTHER train (remind me to catch the eurostar next time) and we arrive at our hotel at 1am and fell in to bed. Next morning Kathy takes over as tour guide as we throw ourselves into this amazing city.

The first thing that strikes you about Paris can be summed up in one word…. BIG. There are big statues, big buildings, big fountains, big roads, big churches and big baguettes. Kathy has come home with a sore neck as a result of spending much of her time looking up.

Any way – Day 1 was spent in the ‘Invalides’ part of Paris – you may know this better as where Eiffel tower is located. Now for a structure that was meant to be temporary this is BIG. The other thing that was ‘big’ was the queue for the lifts to the top. Not wanting to spend our entire three days lining up we decided to brave the 719 steps to the second level. No not the top but with the pollution and light winds, the idea of standing in a grey soup with poor visibility at the top was easy to miss. Worth every one of the 2.5 million rivets holding the tower together. We did venture back that night and it was even more impressive under lights.

So with the tour flag raised Kathy led us off to the next expedition of ‘big’. Now if you just happened to be Napoleon and you had lots of adoring fans it is no wonder they decided to place his crypt in the Church of Saint-Louis (1675-1706). The most impressive part of the church is the gold-plated dome (six kilograms of gold leaf were involved) which rises above Paris. Not to be outdone in the big stakes is the large red sarcophagus which covers the six coffins enclosing the body of Napoleon I. If only he left the tops of his 6 coffins open he would have looked up towards the top of the dome which is covered in some of the most amazing paintings by Charles de la Fosse.

From there a walk down past the grand palais to the ‘Avenue des Champs-Elysées. Did I mention how big the street was? The Champs-Elysées is bordered by cinemas, theaters, cafés, luxury shops and yes the odd hawkers selling everything from gaudy glow-in-the-dark Eiffel towers to betty-boo doll. What better place to sit and have dinner and do as the Parisians do and sit and watch the world go by. It is also a place to quickly empty your wallet as the bill for dinner arrived!!This impressive promenade stretches from the Place the la Concorde to the Place Charles de Gaulle, the site of the Arc de Triomphe. That bloke I mentioned before – Napoleon – now he must have had a real size issue based on the big arch he built for soldiers to walk under. While this was impressive what was more amazing was the traffic roaring and careening about seamlessly in all directions as 12 roads converged into the ‘biggest’ roundabout ever. This must be every Paris learner drivers nightmare.