Bonjour mes amis cyber. This week I have left sunny Barcelona, for the equally sunny French Riviera, to be precise, Menton, “La Perle de la France".
Keith Richards, he of the Rolling Stones described Menton as “an Italian town just inside France by some quirk of treaty making.” He is not wrong, but then Keef rarely is.
Nestled between Monaco and the Italian border, Menton has a flavour slightly different to the rest of the French Riviera, less hectic, less ostentatious and somewhat old-fashioned. And that is just the way they like it.
Skinny hippy chicks still freak out to blues bands in harbour-front bars, and with the number of proper Mini’s scattered around the streets, it is almost as though nothing has changed since the early seventies when the Rolling Stones were holed up down the road in Villa Nellcote recording Exile On Main Street.
Sometimes considered a bit sleepy, Menton now seems to be waking up, with big money being pumped into sprucing up the town, a stunning new seafront Jean Cocteau museum and a revamped university campus.
Unfortunately transport connections between Barcelona and Menton are not the best. The only flight to Nice is a €700 each way luxury jet. The train is OK, but it takes about eight hours with three changes, though this should improve significantly once the new Barcelona to France high speed rail line is completed.
There is a coach to Nice from Sants Station, but that is really only a suitable option for people who like to dress in rubber suits and have pins stuck into their wobbly bits, or students.
The drive takes about seven hours, and the scenery though the south of France is fabulous.
Factoid: The traditional, but nearly extinct Mentonnais, language is related to Aranese, Catalonia’s lesser known third official language.
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