Beside the Seaside

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In Which I Go To Tea

May 10, 2008 by Mike

Valbonne

Route: A Campsite Quite Near St Tropez - Cannes - Antibes - Juan-les-Pins - Valbonne

I have an aunt and uncle who own a home in the hills overlooking Cannes and Nice. Which is nice.

What's even nicer: they're down here from Norway this week, and they invited me to stay.

I recommend it: everyone should have an uncle and aunt with a house round here. (In fact, I have two.. and no, you can't borrow either of them. Get your own!)

I'm sure you don't want to know too much detail of life in a private, gated estate of 90 individually designed and complementary houses, close to one another but not so close you can hear the neighbours jangling their jewellery, built in the grounds of a castle, with two communal swimming pools, discrete security guards and garage space for some seriously large cars set in acres of clean green gardens beyond the sound of the traffic, the waft of pine and lavender in the air. That can't be why you read the blo-- I mean diary of an indigent biker camping his way round the coast of Europe?

So I'll draw a polite veil over it, and you'll have to be happy that I'm happy.. and I am. Eivind and Vibeke have been perfect hosts -- generous and funny and interested and full of news from home. Hopefully I've been a good guest: I made sure I was wearing clean socks when I arrived.

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I reached Valbonne via some of the most expensive coastal real estate in the world. From St Tropez north, nature at its loveliest, and lots of rich folk who had the same idea as me and want to be besidetheseaside.

The road towards Cannes isn't all about big houses, though. It curls under the Massif de l'Esterel, strong and tall and proud hills coloured a deeply rich red and quite the most handsome set of cliffs this side of a Shadows look-a-like contest. I know the road was designed by a biker because it sweeps and twists and turns to left and right, up and down, while the railway line (designed by committee) just thunders straight ahead, tunnelling through the cliffs while we cling to the outside.

(I almost convinced Eivind to pass his motorbike test, buy a Bonneville and join me on the road, just by describing what today's ride had been like. He loves this road too. He's a car man: drives a very nice Jaguar, which is as close to being a Triumph on four wheels as it's possible to be.)

Cannes itself was nothing to write home about. The Croisette is the famous seafront strip: I didn't even realise I'd reached it. Grand hotels - check. Towering apartment buildings, a little worn and frayed - check. A little corner of green space - check. A walkway overlooking the beach - check. Lots of traffic - check. Fat tourists in unbecoming leisurewear - check. So far, like 100 other towns in France alone. What made me realise I was here, were the enormous film posters everywhere, and a lot of building work constructing temporary platforms, lights and marquees. The Cannes Film Festival starts next week. (Yes, I know. If I'd planned all this I'd be arriving next week.. but I haven't.)

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Who is this bloke stealiong my name? (The 'Mike' bit, not the Love Gnu ;-)
.. and yes, i know I just typed 'Gnu')

I worked my way round the coast to Antibes and Juan-les-Pins. Classy.

Sadly the Picasso Museum is closed for repairs, so I couldn't add to my collection, but I found a good, if small, Napoleon Museum instead. Happily, it doesn't have a selection of paintings from his Blue Period. It commemorates his arrival back from Elba in 1815 -- he landed just up the road, and may have visited this building, a fortress with stunning views over the bay, before heading north for his dramatic bid to win back France.. Europe.. but that ended with his Waterloo.

The visitor (singular -- I was quite alone in the museum, bar the staff) gets a taste of how things must have seemed for the confused citizenry through a fine collection of the posters, proclamations and manifestos of the time. Lots of shouting and promises, claims and counter-claims. Politics hasn't changed all that much.

And to round off, a walk in the gardens from the fortress down towards the sea. Beyond the high fence, families were sunning themselves on the rocks. As they looked up and saw me wandering through what seemed to be the huge grounds of an enormous house, the other side of a high iron fence, did they fancy they'd spotted a gazillionaire wandering in his private garden? And if so.. why doesn't he do something about his hair..?

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