Our beach day gets off to a rocky start quite literally after Dan's many conferences with the concierge to locate a sandy beach nearby result in the pebbled Anjuna. Still the incredible Indian style beach hut, surrounding cliffs and our scenic voyage a Eze sur Mer make it impossible to be disappointed.
**After a short break of a few days exploring Paris - it's time to finish this story.
My pen left off at Eze when I left off for an excellent train meal of croque monsieur and some sort of brie pesto concoction melted within a baguette; crusty, dusty and doughy. Yum.
Returning to day three and the smooth pebbled beaches of Eze- with cliffs on either side and clear warm water - it was indeed impossible to be disappointed as we alternated between bobbing in the salty Mediterranean and basking, drink in hand, in the fleeting sunshine.
Unfortunately the clouds moved in and we moved out before evening, taking the train back to Nice and stopping to do some souvenir shopping on the way back to the hotel.
For dinner D. had a fierce craving for fruits de mer, which I related to our concierge in Italian as frutti di mare (who knows why) but Italian was what we ended up with at Boccaccio, a gorgeous Italian restaurant with the interior of a yacht.
After a kir in the lounge, we were seated out front where the patio spills onto the street next to the glow and briny smell of the raw bar where oysters where shucked and sublimated clouds hung around ice filled platters.
Dinner was a feast of oysters - fritto misto for D. and sole meuniere for me. The oysters were fresh and salty, D.'s fritto misto: all things crispy and delicious and my sole: delicately browned and buttery accompanied by a torte of asparagus and a snowy mound of potatoes drizzled with even more butter. Everything washed down with the now habitual Cotes de Provence.
Our last evening in Nice continued with a walk over to old town where we ducked into the recommended Distilleries Ideales for a Pelforth (D.) and Monaco - beer, grenadine and sprite (Moi).
Of course this bar was conveniently located adjacent to Fenocchio for one final gelato - a hybrid of favorites: caramel beurre sale and avocat - Au Revoir Nice!!
So - off we go to Paris on a train where I alternately sleep open-mouthed with my head flung back and write at length about the first few days of our honeymoon.
We arrive in Paris via Gare Lyon and then Metro a la Bastille - schlepping luggage all the way. By the time we reach Place des Vosges, we are more than ready to relax in our super-plush room at the Pavilion de la Reine while music pours in the windows from street musicians below and champagne chills in a bucket.
Before long, we are out and about in the Marais, marching about and trying to jog my memory of streets and cafes from five years ago.
After several blocks (20) and some advice from a man on the corner, we located favorite tomato tarte tatin locale, Les Philosophes, with plans to return later in the evening, but first more walking, more memories and a citron presse near the Hotel de Ville.
Despite all the sleeping on the train, we call it an early night after canard confit and brochette d'agneau at Les Philosophes - and of course, the tomato tarte tatin for me. Bonjour Paris!
