The Riviera That is not a Car From Detroit

The coast of France continues to ooze beauty and charm. Seamlessly blending from the Cote d’ Azur into the French Riviera the ports of call continue to be some of the best in Europe. Punctuated in the middle of this stunning coast is the tiny principality of Monaco. Presided over by the oldest continuing ruling royal family, the Giramaldi’s. They have governed this little kingdom for centuries by figuring out how to extract more money from visitors than most. With their copper domed Casino where fortunes are won and mostly lost in a single evening and upscale shops lure people off the streets like a diamond crusted worm on a hook, few people leave Monaco without leaving a piece of their bank account with them. Red Ferrari’s and yellow Lamborghini’s roar up and down the tightly looped roadways that every May becomes part of the Grand Prix. Everyone has some kind of fluffy ball attached to a leash. The streets are so clean that the 5-second rule of dropped food does not apply. The entire country less than the size of Central Park in New York.

We continue to anchor out away from the marina’s where possible, but can’t always find a sheltered cove in this part of France. After 10 days aboard, Jody leaves us at Nice to fly home. A couple of days later, we are hanging out in Menton, famous for its lemons. Each year they have a festival where they build huge sculptures solely out of citrus fruit. This is our last stop in France and where John leaves us to return home.