This summer, three days after saying our “I dos”, my husband and I (with my six-year old son) embarked on our honeymoon.
We had booked rooms and restaurants and rental cars in Calabria, Italy. But … the airfare never came down to a manageable level. About four months before the trip, I had canceled everything and booked something else. We were headed to the French Riviera.
Now, I had traveled to the French Riviera before – Monaco, Nice, Eze, Villefranche sur Mer. But, there were a few little places I’d been chomping at the bit to visit, and what better time than late June on a romantic (and Hot Wheels-filled) honeymoon?
Our main port of call was Menton, a little lemon-filled village on the sea. Just 15 minutes by car from Italy, Menton is filled with colorful houses and churches, shops and apartments – ochre, terracotta, rose and bright, sunshine yellow. The Tyrrhenian Sea provides a natural border to the town on one side, and the other is winding streets that slither up and away to the other tiny French villages stacked along the Riviera, one after the other, like dominoes.
We spent the majority of our days on the rocky beach, as did the rest of the visitors and villagers. Rain or shine, towels were thrown down, umbrellas plunged into the pebbly sand and everyone would proceed to bake in the sun. The temperature was perfect for the beach. Warm enough that laying around in your suit all day was comfortable, but not so hot that you’re miserable or sweaty. The water was pleasant and fresh, the only downside being the odd sharp rock beneath your feet that can’t be glimpsed from above.
Tourists abounded, almost none of them American; mostly French tourists from other parts of the country, many Italians, some Germans and British visitors. And though there were tourists around, it was not cramped or crowded. We had the sense that many people treat Menton as Michiganders do “up north.” It served as many French and Italian citizens’ “holiday spot.” And it was obvious why.
The food was delicious, mainly Italian-type cuisine with some Niçoise and Mentonnaise thrown in to make it their own. The Aperol and Campari spritzes were flowing and though not as over-the-top friendly as Southern Italian tourism hospitality, the general aloofness and indifference of most of the townspeople was refreshing.
In the medieval old town, the Basilique Saint-Michel and La Chappele des Penitents Blancs sit high above the city, catching the eye when driving by or gazing up from the beach. To reach them, you can take a series of circling roads, or bite the bullet and take the stairs clear from the beach to the tippy-top.
Although Menton had everything we could want, it was also a great home base from which to explore the rest of the Riviera, the medieval city of Ezè and with it, the famous Fragonard Parfumerie. A 20-minute drive took us to Ventimiglia, Italy for a stroll through a gorgeous farmer’s market and a quick pasta. We journeyed to St. Jean Cap-Ferrat to see the Villa Ephrussi, and finally drove back to Nice for a lobster roll at the world famous Hotel Negresco, which, unfortunately, was limited to a lobster roll, for after two weeks in Southern France, €1100 euros for the room for the night seemed like a poor plan.
So, although it wasn’t our first choice for our post-wedding getaway, it ended up perfectly. Warm days, delicious cuisine, a storybook old town. Also, toy stores, croissants and palmiers and gelato for a six-year-old sugar monster. It is no surprise that Menton is the Pearl of the Riviera, for it is truly a precious and rare kind of place.
