Nice Going

I like Nice; you can take a bus to Monaco. Leaves a few more euros in the pocket for the baccarat table. In keeping with that spirit I took the tram to Port Lympia then hopped on a #15 bus to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. First stop, the Villa & Jardins Ephrussi de Rothschild.

Weather was forecast for thundershowers and cold. It was cloudy, that much is clear. But the rain, well it was a drizzle. And occasional. More irritating than drenching. Initially, there was no humidity. But by late afternoon Nice pulled a Vancouver; the clouds parted, the sun came out, and the humidity came back in all its glory.

At any rate, it looks gloomy at the villa, but don’t believe the pictures here, it was plenty nice. And I don’t need to get into how rich the Baroness Beatrice de Rothschild was when she married a rich man, or how much money he gambled away, or why she divorced him (he gave her a debilitating illness, she could never have children, say no more), or the astonishing wealth she inherited when her father died, because it’s all on display on a property that towers over the cape, all 17 acres of it. 17. Seventeen. Yes. Correct. I said it three times. Seventeen acres overlooking the east, west and south of the Mediterranean. Some of the most expensive real estate on the planet and she built a home on 17 acres at the top.

The home itself, with it’s Louis the 16^th furniture and belle epoque flair, and wall decorations lifted from the Hotel Crillon (when it was undergoing a reno in the early 1900s), is all fine and dandy, but the real treat is the property itself.

Outside the villa, on the south end of the property, the central gardens with their ostentatious fountains dancing to Wagner on a jarring loop, are flanked by a series of themed gardens on the west side. The Spanish Garden. The French Garden. The Stone Garden. The Japanese Garden. The Provencal Garden (which is really just olive trees and lavender and pretty dull). The Exotic Garden (a bunch of cacti). The Rose Garden. Etc.

But, oh my gosh, what spectacle, what views.

This is the grand reception room. Where they played tric-trac. Backgammon was played upstairs, in the backgammon room.

I know what you’re thinking about the slippers, top left. And you’re right. They are a collection of the tiny slippers that Chinese women were forced to wear, their toes bandaged under their soles, to create appealing and pseudo tiny feet, because that was deemed feminine and alluring. Tiny bondage feet fun fact: Under 8cm feet were considered “Golden Lotus” and 8-10cm feet were considered “Silver Lotus” but feet over 10cm, well, sorry, iron lotus.

And that picture of china. Don’t be fooled. On the top shelves they are basically piss pots, delicate pieces of china that ladies in elegant dresses would surreptitiously sneak under their dresses to piss in. During a dinner party. Without leaving their seat. Imagine being the lady in waiting on that!

That alcove, top right, one of two in a room for postprandial gossip.

Oh, and the custom built Louis XVI pet chairs? One was for her dog, but the other for her mongoose. I repeat, her mongoose. Rich people; so non-conforming.

Monkey room. Yes. Of course. Yes, of course there was a monkey room.

But as I said above, the star here is the property, the curated gardens.

Pretty standard stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree.

And, as mentioned, a host of specialty gardens throughout. For example: The stone garden, below.

Then there’s the Japanese garden which, against a forest of bamboo, borders the cacti or jardin exotique.

Hey, did I mention anything about the views from the 17 acres?

After a long and pretty casual visit at the villa, I headed down to the sea. The whole peninsula of Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat can be walked along a meandering seawall path overflowing in vines and scented with jasmine and (unfortunately) sumac. I just walked about half of it. At one point you pass La Fleur du Cap, a villa once owned by David Niven; modest on the front, it opens up spectacularly to the sea.

So after all that I headed back to Beaulieu-sur-Mer. My plan was to carry on to Menton. There is a commuter train and it only takes 20 minutes. I logged into SNCF, reviewed the schedule, and bought a ticket. On the platform I saw an announcement (that wasn’t online). Train delayed. Train delayed two hours. Two Hours! OK, no problem, I’ll suck up the cost of a ticket and take a bus instead. There is a #600 which runs from Nice to Menton. I worked out the stop, the schedule, and boarded with a dozen others. But I miscalculated: I got on the bus returning from Menton en route to Nice not going to Menton from Nice. Shite.

So, back in Nice, and now it was late in the day, and with my museum pass expiring, I checked out the natural history museum. Well… If Paris has a sensational natural history museum then Nice has something like a grade school version. Simple. Maybe not so much a museum as a collection. And why does the fox family have a child’s toy in the den?

If it’s natural, and if it’s French, it’s dead. Fun fact about the Eurasian hoopoe pictured above: its genus is Upupa. That’s right, genus Upupa, species is hoopoe. Easy.

Walked back from the old town to the hotel for a refresh. En route stopped by the train station to see the schedule for my super exciting excursion into the southern Alps tomorrow. That’s when I discovered the train I was going to take is on hiatus, due to track maintenance, until a future date in 2025. Wahhhhh. Oh well, so it goes.

Took a lovely evening walk along the promenade. When I got to Port Lympia I saw the city was celebrating Oktoberfest. It was free so I checked it out. Three booths promoting some sort of German French friendship alliance. Two booths selling French beer. Two booths selling hot dogs that looked suspiciously like French sausage in a croissant. And one booth selling pretzels that no one was lining up for. Plus some traditional German dancers. Live music to follow. All very weird. And that, as they say, was that; back to the hotel.