I don’t know how Clive is going to fit this into his carry-on.

But first, our visit to the town of Menton.

Menton, population 28,231, is the last community of the French Riviera before the Italian border. We caught the train there this morning, and walked through some of its old streets. Along the way we passed this impressive looking building.

The Orient Hotel is one of the oldest palaces in Menton with its history beginning as a smaller building somewhere between early 1860s to 1870s (the information I’ve found is a bit conflicting!). It was transformed at the beginning of the twentieth century with the arrival of a wealthy clientele who would sometimes stay there for several months. A British lord used to send his wallpapers to redecorate his apartments before his arrival – as you do. Today it is used as apartments and I’m guessing the residents probably have a bit of dosh.

Making our way further upwards (there is a lot of upwards when seeking out historical things in France) we found the beautiful old cemetery of Menton. It is built at the top of the Colla Rogna hill, on the site of an old castle. The castle dates from the Middle Ages. It was abandoned and fell into ruins during the first half of the 18th Century. The cemetery was first built in 1808. With the arrival of railways up to the Riviera, at the end of the 19th century, Menton became of bit of a winter getaway for many wealthy European tourists, including British and Russian aristocrats. Many of these wealthy tourists came for medical reasons, seeking the sun and ideal climate to battle tuberculosis. I’m presuming the sunshine brough healing to many, but there were also a lot that weren’t so fortunate. The names written on the graves of Menton cemetery are from all over the world. Near the summit of the hill there is a magnificent Russian Orthodox Chapel. Apparently Prince Trubetskoy of Russia is buried here. It is an amazing and interesting place to walk through – filled with stories of lost loved ones. Many grave sites have multiple family members listed on their beautiful headstones. The surrounding views are glorious. A peaceful and precious place to be laid to rest.

Wandering back down through old streets – and melting in the heat just a wee bit – we headed to la gare (the station) and caught another train to Monaco. Bit of decision for me at this point. It truly was very hot – well for me as a Kiwi who is unaccustomed to this type of weather in May – and the late nights/early morning blogging sessions were beginning to take their toll. Although tempted to return to our shack on the hill and let Clive go on alone, I decided that Monaco was a must, even for a Funcargo driving girl like me. And we were nearly there. So to Monaco we went – together.

The Monaco Formula One race has just happened this past weekend, so there were barriers, grandstands and other obstables all over the place. Getting around wasn’t the easiest but we were still able to walk part of the F1 track.

Crossing said road/race track we walked past the temporary F1 grandstands to the harbour where all the luxury launches are moored. I’m guessing there are a few extra boats here due to racing. Do people actually use these boats to travel in, or are they just to sit in and have drinkies, while moored at the wharf?

Anyway, bouyed on by a gelato (thank you Mal and Rache xx) we followed signs to the famous Monte Carlo Casino, just to have a squizzy. We passed A LOT of very flashy cars on the way.

To our surprise we were allowed into the Casino foyer (after a bag and pocket search). It certainly was grand although there was something about it that just didn’t sit right with me. Not sure why.

Interesting place Monaco. The parts I saw didn’t appeal to me. It seemed overly flashy and pretentious. We passed designer shops that had security guards at the doors seemingly only letting a certain number of people in at a time – or was that only certain people? The gelato I mentioned earlier amounted to six euros. I nervously handed the assistant a one hundred euro note, as Clive wanted to break it. She just waved my apology away saying it was no problem at all. (Clive had said to me, “Honey, it’s Monaco – it won’t be an issue. He was right.) We certainly haven’t had that reaction at any other french shops. It seemed that the valets at the Casino would bring the patrons cars around to the front when they were ready to leave. But obviously not just any old patron nor any old car, if the line-up was anything to go by. No Funcargos to be seen here!

No, I don’t think Monaco would be my happy place, but as Clive is planning on being a racing car driver when he grows up, you never know – we might be back here again one day.

Monaco was ticked off the list. So we caught the train home (love it that they are air-conditioned!) to our lovely place in Villefranche-sur-Mer and enjoyed another wonderful meal, this time prepared by Keith and Margaret. Delicious! I guess that makes it our turn tomorrow. I wonder if they sell baked beans in France.

Then amidst thunder and lightning (yes, we had a wee storm here this evening) all six of us sang happy birthday over the phone to my Dad – it’s his birthday in New Zealand today.

Happy birthday Dad. I hope you have a great lunch out with Mum. Love you lots and lots. xxx