The first thing you need to know about the French Riviera is: it’s expensive. The second thing you need to know is: there is good reason for that. It’s so beautiful that of course everyone wants to come here.
When I went to check in to my hostel in Nice Sunday afternoon, my room wasn’t ready yet, so they asked me to store my bag and come back in a few hours. This was at the end of my three day travel marathon, so I was smelly and gross, but agreed readily enough, realizing this would be the perfect opportunity to pop over to Italy for those train tickets they insisted the couldn’t book in Spain. Well, maybe they couldn’t book them in Spain, but I am convinced that was a Spanish problem and not an Italian one.
The first train to Italy was cancelled because of the strike, so rather than waiting an hour for the next train to ride an hour there, book a few tickets, and ride an hour back, I figured I’d try my luck at the Nice station first just in case. And it’s a good thing I did. The ticket agent didn’t speak much English, but with her speaking French to me and me speaking a strange mix of Franco-Spanglish back, we seemed to understand each other fine. And now I have all of the tickets I need reservations for in the future. I hope.
By the time I was finished with that, my room was probably ready, but just in case, and because I have this insatiable need to explore, I decided to wander that extra hundred yards to the beach to see what there was to see. And there was a lot.
The entire city is like one giant water park. There’s the beach, of course, with water so clear it sparkles like diamonds, but I didn’t stop there. You see, beside the road along the beach there was a sign that read “Acropolis,” with an arrow. The original Acropolis, for those who don’t know, is the raised rock formation covered by the famous Greek ruins in Athens. So my mind went: “Ruins!” And thus we were off. I followed the signs for a good half hour, through fountains and water jets and street after street of families playing in the theme park that was really just a series of city blocks. Keep in mind, however, that I was well and truly exhausted, so sometime around that half hour mark I thought it might be a good idea to check just how much further this Acropolis was.
So I pulled out my phone, and it’s a good thing I did. Turns out the Acropolis was a good forty-five more minutes away. Not only that, but it was a conference center, and not ruins at all. I would have cried if I’d walked an extra hour and a half round trip in that state for a conference center. So I turned around there, went back to the hostel, showered, and went to bed. It was ridiculously early, but that did not stop me from sleeping through the night.
The next morning I slept in, finally, and woke up for a rather disappointing breakfast of pre-packaged plum cakes without any plum flavor to speak of. At least they had coffee though, and that’s the important part. Breakfast was followed by a beeline to the beach, where I lounged and read for the entire morning and a good part of the afternoon.
When I went to check in to my hostel in Nice Sunday afternoon, my room wasn’t ready yet, so they asked me to store my bag and come back in a few hours. This was at the end of my three day travel marathon, so I was smelly and gross, but agreed readily enough, realizing this would be the perfect opportunity to pop over to Italy for those train tickets they insisted the couldn’t book in Spain. Well, maybe they couldn’t book them in Spain, but I am convinced that was a Spanish problem and not an Italian one.
The first train to Italy was cancelled because of the strike, so rather than waiting an hour for the next train to ride an hour there, book a few tickets, and ride an hour back, I figured I’d try my luck at the Nice station first just in case. And it’s a good thing I did. The ticket agent didn’t speak much English, but with her speaking French to me and me speaking a strange mix of Franco-Spanglish back, we seemed to understand each other fine. And now I have all of the tickets I need reservations for in the future. I hope.
By the time I was finished with that, my room was probably ready, but just in case, and because I have this insatiable need to explore, I decided to wander that extra hundred yards to the beach to see what there was to see. And there was a lot.
The entire city is like one giant water park. There’s the beach, of course, with water so clear it sparkles like diamonds, but I didn’t stop there. You see, beside the road along the beach there was a sign that read “Acropolis,” with an arrow. The original Acropolis, for those who don’t know, is the raised rock formation covered by the famous Greek ruins in Athens. So my mind went: “Ruins!” And thus we were off. I followed the signs for a good half hour, through fountains and water jets and street after street of families playing in the theme park that was really just a series of city blocks. Keep in mind, however, that I was well and truly exhausted, so sometime around that half hour mark I thought it might be a good idea to check just how much further this Acropolis was.
So I pulled out my phone, and it’s a good thing I did. Turns out the Acropolis was a good forty-five more minutes away. Not only that, but it was a conference center, and not ruins at all. I would have cried if I’d walked an extra hour and a half round trip in that state for a conference center. So I turned around there, went back to the hostel, showered, and went to bed. It was ridiculously early, but that did not stop me from sleeping through the night.
The next morning I slept in, finally, and woke up for a rather disappointing breakfast of pre-packaged plum cakes without any plum flavor to speak of. At least they had coffee though, and that’s the important part. Breakfast was followed by a beeline to the beach, where I lounged and read for the entire morning and a good part of the afternoon.
Now, this is a new experience for me, because usually I get fed up with the sand on the beach after less than an hour and have to retreat to a porch or cabana. The difference in Nice? Pebbles. Perhaps you’ve heard of the pebble beaches of Nice? And if you haven’t, you have now. The beaches are made of stones instead of sand, which are mildly less comfortable to lounge on, but eons less frustrating when it comes to aggravating particles in unwanted places. Whoever thought up this whole pebble beaches thing (nature?) was a genius. Seriously.
Needless to say, I got a nasty burn, but I’m hoping when it fades it will even out some of my tan lines. I even tried my hand at topless sunbathing later in the day, just for the experience. When in Rome, right? I’m not burned there, thankfully, but I have been tempted to send friends and family some inappropriate pictures of my rear end which is now, comically, the last remaining pasty part of my body.
When I left the beach, I headed back to the hostel to eat and watch some World Cup soccer. I managed to get a little trip planning done too before I decided it was time for another early night, both for more catching up and because I had an early train the next morning. Alas, it was not to be. No sooner was I showered and settling in to bed than the dorm room door swung open to reveal two of my rambunctious roommates from Florida. We hadn’t met yet, because they’d been out all night the night before and I’d been sleeping, but suffice it to say they were chatty. It was nice, but I mostly wanted to sleep. Still, I find it difficult to just roll over mid-conversation and nod off, so we talked and talked and talked some more, until they got a last minute text message inviting them to an all nighter in Monaco. I thought this was my saving grace. So I waited for them to finish their whirlwind preparations before settling in to finish the chapter I was on in my book and nod off. Or so I thought.
I had reached the last page of the chapter when that door swung open again. The girls, much to their chagrin, had missed their train, and no longer had plans for the evening. So they whined for a bit, and drank for a bit, and were generally distracting and chatty in a decidedly less upbeat way. And I tried to go to sleep, and would get pulled back into the conversation, and this went on for quite some time. Like… quite a lot of some time. Enough to the last roommate in our dorm, a nice Australian girl, to come in, join the conversation, duck out of the conversation, and go to sleep herself. I was jealous, and somehow managed to extract myself at that point, but it was late, which was not the best setup for my very early Tuesday.
I did manage to wake up for my early Tuesday train. I’d even thought ahead and bought Greek yogurt and muesli for breakfast. I could not, however, find a decently priced cup of coffee for the life of me, setting me up for not the best day. To recap: sunburned, running on little sleep, with no coffee. In my book, that’s a recipe for disaster. Not to mention Marseille was a furnace.
I don’t think it was the heat so much as the humidity that got me. My plan was to take the metro out to Basilica Notre Dame du Garde and then leisurely find my way back to the station in the five or so hours I had in the city, seeing things along the way. I would argue in hindsight it was a pretty good plan, because if I hadn’t taken the metro I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. I’d have taken three steps out of the station, abandoned all hope, and found an air conditioned cafe in which to read all day.
As it stood, however, I had taken the subway, but it was still a decent uphill hike to the basilica. I was dripping sweat by the time I got there, enough that I had to find the restroom and wash my face. I skipped the museum because I could tell from the outside all of the information inside would be in French, and headed for the church itself, which was a refreshing surprise. First of all, the basilica is dedicated to seafarers, and as such is decorated in landscape paintings, navy medals of honor, and even ships mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Second of all, they were just about to start a service when I arrived.
Perhaps its a bit voyeuristic, but I like observing religious services. They seem to be some of the most authentic cultural rituals that you can find on a regular basis. I watched the service at Notre Dame du Garde for a while. The hymnals were gorgeous. I was already a bit lightheaded from my walk up though and decided before long that I should go find some food and a place to rest. Well, I tried, but it took a bit.
First, there was the hike down, but then there was the fact that the harbor, or at least the touristy, restauranty, fun filled part I was aiming for didn’t start where I thought it did. I hadn’t necessarily intended to eat there, but I thought at least I could find some ice cream.
I ended up buying tabouli instead from a grocery store that seemed to rise out of the midsts like fate at the moment I wished to find one. I also sprang for a large bottle of water, because I was out and hadn’t found a tap, only to be hugely dismayed that it was actually sparkling. Sorry to those of you who like fizzy water, I have always found it unpalatable and gross. I drank it anyway, because hydration, but not as quickly or refreshingly as I would have liked.
Once I had my tabouli, however, the problem was where to eat it. I wasn’t exactly in a neighborhood full of park benches, but I was starting to feel beat. My next stop was supposed to be the Pharo Palace, an old palace turned mansion at the tip of the harbor, and it was supposed to have a garden attached, but I was so disoriented when it came to distances that I hadn’t a clue how close or far it might be. I eventually convinced myself to try for it, and ended up in the gardens not too much later.
The palace was pretty, but I didn’t go in. Nor did I go in to the Fort of Saint Nicholas a little further along. In fact, by that point, with the heat of the day and my preexisting conditions, I was more or less wandering like a zombie. I still had a few more buildings to see on my list, but I made the judicious decision to can them and headed back for the train station instead. That gave me time for a coffee before boarding my train away from the French Riviera.
Now, I don’t want to say that my less than stellar day in Marseille has anything to do with the city. Having had some time to rest, if not sleep properly, I realize it’s important to point out that the entire harbor area of Marseille is swarming with castle-like structures. The fort, as well as old stone fortifications at each entrance, and a small cluster of towers out on a nearby island. It’s all quite picturesque, and on a cooler day where I felt less like crap I think I would have enjoyed it thoroughly. Alas, not all days can be good ones.
Still, my day did get better.
That train away from the French Riviera brought me to Valence, my last stop in France before I hop the border to Switzerland in the morning. First of all, the route was astounding, following the calming meander of the Rhone River north through a valley watched over by breathtaking castles every little bit. Once I disembarked, however, the beauty didn't end there.
Valence is a tiny town in the Rhone Valley just where the Alps begin in the south, and horrible terrible no good very bad mood or not, I already adore it. I only stopped here because it made sense for the budget. Neither Marseille, nor Geneva where I’m headed tomorrow, had a wealth of hostels or cheap hotels, and Valence has provided me with a lovely little hotel room in between for not much more than a dorm. Nevertheless, in the short time I had to explore, I’m kind of in love.
I only made it down a tiny street of shops and through a lush park on the Rhone, but the little wooden bridges over romantic green canals surrounded by trees and bushes and flowers all set against the backdrop of the Alps is almost too stunning to exist. It’s definitely excited me for the days ahead. I even felt good enough to splurge on a baguette with Camembert for dinner. Still, I will feel better with a little (or preferably a lot) of sleep. So it’s off to bed for me. Good night!
Needless to say, I got a nasty burn, but I’m hoping when it fades it will even out some of my tan lines. I even tried my hand at topless sunbathing later in the day, just for the experience. When in Rome, right? I’m not burned there, thankfully, but I have been tempted to send friends and family some inappropriate pictures of my rear end which is now, comically, the last remaining pasty part of my body.
When I left the beach, I headed back to the hostel to eat and watch some World Cup soccer. I managed to get a little trip planning done too before I decided it was time for another early night, both for more catching up and because I had an early train the next morning. Alas, it was not to be. No sooner was I showered and settling in to bed than the dorm room door swung open to reveal two of my rambunctious roommates from Florida. We hadn’t met yet, because they’d been out all night the night before and I’d been sleeping, but suffice it to say they were chatty. It was nice, but I mostly wanted to sleep. Still, I find it difficult to just roll over mid-conversation and nod off, so we talked and talked and talked some more, until they got a last minute text message inviting them to an all nighter in Monaco. I thought this was my saving grace. So I waited for them to finish their whirlwind preparations before settling in to finish the chapter I was on in my book and nod off. Or so I thought.
I had reached the last page of the chapter when that door swung open again. The girls, much to their chagrin, had missed their train, and no longer had plans for the evening. So they whined for a bit, and drank for a bit, and were generally distracting and chatty in a decidedly less upbeat way. And I tried to go to sleep, and would get pulled back into the conversation, and this went on for quite some time. Like… quite a lot of some time. Enough to the last roommate in our dorm, a nice Australian girl, to come in, join the conversation, duck out of the conversation, and go to sleep herself. I was jealous, and somehow managed to extract myself at that point, but it was late, which was not the best setup for my very early Tuesday.
I did manage to wake up for my early Tuesday train. I’d even thought ahead and bought Greek yogurt and muesli for breakfast. I could not, however, find a decently priced cup of coffee for the life of me, setting me up for not the best day. To recap: sunburned, running on little sleep, with no coffee. In my book, that’s a recipe for disaster. Not to mention Marseille was a furnace.
I don’t think it was the heat so much as the humidity that got me. My plan was to take the metro out to Basilica Notre Dame du Garde and then leisurely find my way back to the station in the five or so hours I had in the city, seeing things along the way. I would argue in hindsight it was a pretty good plan, because if I hadn’t taken the metro I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. I’d have taken three steps out of the station, abandoned all hope, and found an air conditioned cafe in which to read all day.
As it stood, however, I had taken the subway, but it was still a decent uphill hike to the basilica. I was dripping sweat by the time I got there, enough that I had to find the restroom and wash my face. I skipped the museum because I could tell from the outside all of the information inside would be in French, and headed for the church itself, which was a refreshing surprise. First of all, the basilica is dedicated to seafarers, and as such is decorated in landscape paintings, navy medals of honor, and even ships mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Second of all, they were just about to start a service when I arrived.
Perhaps its a bit voyeuristic, but I like observing religious services. They seem to be some of the most authentic cultural rituals that you can find on a regular basis. I watched the service at Notre Dame du Garde for a while. The hymnals were gorgeous. I was already a bit lightheaded from my walk up though and decided before long that I should go find some food and a place to rest. Well, I tried, but it took a bit.
First, there was the hike down, but then there was the fact that the harbor, or at least the touristy, restauranty, fun filled part I was aiming for didn’t start where I thought it did. I hadn’t necessarily intended to eat there, but I thought at least I could find some ice cream.
I ended up buying tabouli instead from a grocery store that seemed to rise out of the midsts like fate at the moment I wished to find one. I also sprang for a large bottle of water, because I was out and hadn’t found a tap, only to be hugely dismayed that it was actually sparkling. Sorry to those of you who like fizzy water, I have always found it unpalatable and gross. I drank it anyway, because hydration, but not as quickly or refreshingly as I would have liked.
Once I had my tabouli, however, the problem was where to eat it. I wasn’t exactly in a neighborhood full of park benches, but I was starting to feel beat. My next stop was supposed to be the Pharo Palace, an old palace turned mansion at the tip of the harbor, and it was supposed to have a garden attached, but I was so disoriented when it came to distances that I hadn’t a clue how close or far it might be. I eventually convinced myself to try for it, and ended up in the gardens not too much later.
The palace was pretty, but I didn’t go in. Nor did I go in to the Fort of Saint Nicholas a little further along. In fact, by that point, with the heat of the day and my preexisting conditions, I was more or less wandering like a zombie. I still had a few more buildings to see on my list, but I made the judicious decision to can them and headed back for the train station instead. That gave me time for a coffee before boarding my train away from the French Riviera.
Now, I don’t want to say that my less than stellar day in Marseille has anything to do with the city. Having had some time to rest, if not sleep properly, I realize it’s important to point out that the entire harbor area of Marseille is swarming with castle-like structures. The fort, as well as old stone fortifications at each entrance, and a small cluster of towers out on a nearby island. It’s all quite picturesque, and on a cooler day where I felt less like crap I think I would have enjoyed it thoroughly. Alas, not all days can be good ones.
Still, my day did get better.
That train away from the French Riviera brought me to Valence, my last stop in France before I hop the border to Switzerland in the morning. First of all, the route was astounding, following the calming meander of the Rhone River north through a valley watched over by breathtaking castles every little bit. Once I disembarked, however, the beauty didn't end there.
Valence is a tiny town in the Rhone Valley just where the Alps begin in the south, and horrible terrible no good very bad mood or not, I already adore it. I only stopped here because it made sense for the budget. Neither Marseille, nor Geneva where I’m headed tomorrow, had a wealth of hostels or cheap hotels, and Valence has provided me with a lovely little hotel room in between for not much more than a dorm. Nevertheless, in the short time I had to explore, I’m kind of in love.
I only made it down a tiny street of shops and through a lush park on the Rhone, but the little wooden bridges over romantic green canals surrounded by trees and bushes and flowers all set against the backdrop of the Alps is almost too stunning to exist. It’s definitely excited me for the days ahead. I even felt good enough to splurge on a baguette with Camembert for dinner. Still, I will feel better with a little (or preferably a lot) of sleep. So it’s off to bed for me. Good night!
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