Magic on the Mediterranean Wednesday, August 4, 2004 Day 1 On the Road with MaggieMay... I love traveling! People are shocked when they discover my *hobby* (you do WHAT?), incredulous that anyone would WANT to see the same concert, no matter how fantastic, 21 times in one month. Touring is so much more than that! It’s new venues, new cities, new people arrayed across my path like a bowl of exotic fruit. And always, there is The Road. I’m perched on the edge of 50 with most of my life behind me. It’s clear that every minute must count. I love the metaphor of life as a journey, and while I’m always happy to reach whatever destination The Moodies have laid before us, I enjoy the travel experience just as much – the feel of the wind blowing thru my hair, the dust on my shoes and the taste of yet another gas station egg salad sandwich on soggy bread lingering on my tongue. I did not enjoy it today. I have many brilliant ideas. Some turn out to be as outstanding as they seemed at the moment of inspiration. Some work out ok. Some turn out to be god-awful! I spent a lot of time considering the best approach to Monaco, knowing all too well that my first choice – private jet- was *not* going to make it past Hubby. My second choice – first class airfare – was probably not going to fly, either. Sigh It came down to a choice: changing planes at Cincinnati and making a connection at JFK, then straight thru to Nice or doing the overnight flight from Cincinnati to DeGaulle, then picking up a flight to Nice. I spent days going over the pros and cons and finally decided that the wisest thing to do (considering my faltering French) would be to make all my connections in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. My unequaled command of the English language would allow me to sweep all possible problems aside and assured us of safe passage. WRONG!!! I packed Tuesday night after days of mental packing and cerebral lists while my dearest spent the evening at Evanescence. They’re quite good, but I had seen them and the opportunity to pack in silent concentration was terribly appealing. My Honey becomes quite chatty during the times I desperately need to concentrate fully, and when he appears at the door demanding to know if I have packed my passport (which I did a week ago), it erases from my luggage whatever item I was thinking of before he appeared. This item is usually my toothbrush, but sometimes it is my dress shoes. Even the dog is told to be silent and let me think and he flops on his bed, chewing his rubber ball mournfully. Packing went well, and while I was patting myself on the back, I heard a single word on the 11 o’clock news that made my heart stop. STORMS One doesn’t worry too much about weather delays in the summer when making travel plans, and I tend to forget those possibilities. Our trip home from Branson immediately came to mind, the long delay of our flight and the subsequent drive home through Tornado Alley. I tried to put the thought aside, but it nagged me like a small splinter caught in your finger, edging deeper and deeper. We woke the next morning to overcast skies and a long line of thunderstorms reaching back to St Louis. Hubby was confident they would move past us, and SueC was in an equally positive frame of mind. I stewed. The Delta website had set up a delicate and closely spaced series of connecting flights with a scant 40 minute layover between both our connections.  We
got to the Dayton airport in plenty of time to discover that our first
flight was on delay. There is no logic in the airline ticketing systems.
It was cheaper to start at DAY, fly to CVG and connect to JFK than to drive
to CVG and start there. I think it’s a lot of M I C K E Y, but a
buck’s a buck. The problem was Cincinnati! While the storm
line had moved past us, it had wobbled over the Queen City, and our plane
could not leave Cincinnati for the 19 minute flight to Dayton. I
came to know the TSA agents in Dayton quite well, as I made several trips
back out to um...scan the skies. It was critical that we hit Europe
on Thursday. I had reserved a boat (yes, an ENTIRE boat) and we were
going to be ON that boat come hell or high water. Hubby expressed
this urgent need eloquently to the Delta clerk and we were put on a flight
originally scheduled to leave before ours.
I had a back up plan, and after another announced delay, headed for the desk to make sure there were 3 seats available on the overnight flight from CVG to Paris. While waiting in THAT line, Delta announced a BUS would take travelers on the cancelled flight to Cincinnati. I began to pull out tufts of hair in frustration. The moment I hit the counter, the familiar disembodied voice announced that our small plane would board now, as in, RIGHT now. LOL We grabbed our carry-ons and flew out the door. Oh, what a sense of relief! I knew we would just make it! HAHAHAHAHA No. Oh, no! The door was closed, we were buckled in for our 19 minute flight and the captain announced we couldn’t take off. I could have hitch-hiked to Cincinnati in the time we sat around that airport and stopped off for a bowl of Skyline Chili besides. We got up in the air, raced to Cincinnati, and I calculated we had just enough time to make our connecting flight. But no! Again we had to sit on the tarmac. Hell is an airport, of that I’m sure. Minute by precious minute passed, with my Roly ticking: click, click, click. There was no way we were going to make that connection. I was despondent, but knew we had the Paris option in our back pockets. We decided to go for it! The little jet’s door opened and we flew out, grabbed our valet bags and began to run. Well, Gabe and SueC ran. I trotted, wishing I could sling my full bladder over my shoulder with the rest of my bags and wistfully eyeing every lovely ladies room we zoomed past. A young athletic fellow with a similar look of desperation politely asked to squeeze by me on the 3 story escalator and I beseeched him to hold the plane. Thank God, he did! Our connection was mercifully slightly delayed too, and we were the last three on. We barely made it, but we made it. I don’t remember the 2 hour flight to JFK. It was not a good way to begin a vacation. Suspicious of Delta’s evil ways, I inquired about the gate for our connection. Oh, it’s only a five minute walk said our friendly flight attendant. What a lie! The damn thing took 20 minutes and we arrived at our next gate as the flight was boarding. Grrrrrrrrr I had thought perhaps a New York hot pastrami sandwich would be nice, but there was no chance of that. JFK is an ugly, dirty, crowded place and it in no way makes me think of Camelot. There were two really horrible things about the flight to Nice. I was horrified to discover that the seating arrangement was not the same as on the website. I had craftily put my fidgeting hubby across the aisle from me – a creative move selfishly designed to save my own sanity. What a cruel trick! He wasn’t across the aisle, he was NEXT to me for an amazing 7 hours and 53 minutes. It wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. After refusing to sleep on his first flight to Gatwick and arriving glazed, exhausted and close to insanity, he had learned his lesson: Always Listen to MaggieMay. LOL I spent the evening with Sarah Brightman (Dive) pushing up the volume to block out the screaming toddler seated next to Blueglow a few rows in front of us. Thursday, August 5, 2004 Day 2  We
had a little breakfast and a little coffee and soon saw Nice coming to
meet us. Hubby moved a few ahead of me in the immigration line and
I amused myself by torturing one of my companions, asking her her mother’s
maiden name ( I was once asked that on re-entry from Canada by our overzealous
immigration officials), and watching her eyes go wide in astonishment.
Gabe and I don’t go through together because of name problems. He
kept his own name when we got married and different names for a married
couple often lead to perplexed looks and extra questions. I don’t
mind because I want him to be his own person and have a sense of self-identity,
sometimes squashed in marriage. ; ) I wonder sometimes why
he did, since HIS name is almost unpronounceable, Magyar that he is.
We slid through immigration effortlessly and bypassed customs with nothing
to declare. Our group of tired travelers reached the door of the
airport and I heard 1000 lighters click as one. Our driver was there,
pulled up the van and loaded our luggage and us into it for the drive to
MONTE CARLO.
 It
was a beautiful drive in moderate traffic, less than an hour. I remember
tunnels. I don’t remember much else! Our driver was pleasantly
silent and we were too for the most part, barely awake and semi-coherent.
It certainly didn’t look like Indiana! LOL I was thinking we
could have driven this ourselves until we hit Monaco. There were
a number of turns and I was lost immediately. We reached our hotel,
and checked in easy enough. I was stunned to see an ashtray on the
counter and realized we had entered smoker’s paradise. LOL
We crawled to our rooms, whipped by the arduous travel, and I moved on
to the balcony to embrace the sea, closing the door behind me. That
caused an unexpected amount of excitement on the part of our non-English
speaking bellman. It was clear what he meant though! The balcony
door automatically LOCKED when closed and he wanted to make sure I realized
that. We nearly locked ourselves out twice during our stay, barely
catching the door in time.
Though I didn’t intend to, I spent my first two hours in Monaco taking a nap. It had to have been one of the worst travel days in my life! It’s amazing how a two hour nap can revive The Dead. I snapped to with purpose, ready to take on all of Europe. It had been overcast when we had arrived in Nice, and God didn’t intend to make things easy for me. I’ve found She rarely intends that! LOL I hadn’t fought my way across the ocean to be denied my sunset cruise, sun or not. (Frankly, I frighten myself sometimes!) I called LivenupMonaco, or rather, ATTEMPTED to. It was a good trick to figure out how to make a simple phone call. I had printed out my correspondence and the phone number was clearly listed, but what the heck should one dial? There were 20 numbers there. My first ten tries resulted in a phone company message in French which I could not even attempt to translate. Sigh A call to the hotel concierge for help was no help at all. I finally called the hotel operator who saved the day with this simple trick: all Monaco numbers begin with “93”. Aha! I called LivenupMonaco (check them out at LivenupMonaco for all your future yacht rentals) and was greeted warmly and beautifully in French. LOL It may be the most beautiful language in existence, and I never tire of hearing it, but it’s not what you want to hear when you need to conduct business. I asked to speak to Pascale, hoping that the mention of my contact name would be sufficient. It was! The next piece of information I gleaned was that Pascale was a gal. Was our sunset cruise still on, despite the threatening weather? She didn’t know! LOL Pascale gave me the captain’s cell phone number which was similar to giving the barnyard hen a pedicure. It didn’t begin with 93, so I didn’t know what the heck to do with it. A few calls found him out to sea. Oh well! The only thing to do was appear and see what happened. I was never able to find a map of Monaco in the States. AAA laughed hysterically when I asked for one, and finding a nice one online was no better; I couldn’t for the life of me get it to print out. I was flying blind. My email said to be at Fontvieille at 6:30. Fontvielle? I did the best I could under the circumstances, using the hotline to the concierge’s desk to inquire how long I should allow for a taxi to the marina. Ten minutes? (Thank God, time isn’t metric!) Knowing my companions, I lied and told them we “needed” to be there by 6pm. We went thru a tunnel (which proved to be underneath our hotel), noticed signs for the Auditorium Rainier III and past one marina. SueC DID have a map and pointed out Stars 'N' Bars to us. We whipped around a corner, past some lovely apartment buildings and quickly arrived at the picturesque Port de Fontvieille. 
Our driver pointed out the harbor master’s building, a small, very old
structure on the south side of the marina. The clouds had mercifully
broken and the scene was breathtaking. “Breathtaking” is a word I
could use over and over to describe Monte Carlo. Boats of all sizes
and types filled the water, generally white with streaks of blue or red.
It was at the harbor that I got my first GOOD look at Monte Carlo and it
is an impressive sight. The beautiful marina is surrounded by high
cliffs stretching hundreds of feet to the sky. I stood at the far
southwest end of the harbor and looked directly back to see the edge of
the city rising on the cliffs, the light terra-cotta structures dotting
the side of the mountain and its craggy summit towering in the background.
Turning slightly, I gazed northwest to see the city view with its pristine
buildings rising from the sea up the mountainside in a stairstep fashion.
 Directly
across from me was the huge cliff that formed the opposite side of the
marina. The cliff itself was an incredible sight! It looked
ancient and eternal and reminded me of an incredibly old oak tree that
had been stripped of its bark, the naked wood weathered over thousands
of years. It even had a “knot” to make the picture complete!
A long wall ran along the top of the cliff and it was easy to imagine its
importance in fending off invaders; a number of trees softened its foreboding
appearance. I could see a beautiful church at the very top, and was
told later that it was the Cathedral where Princess Grace and Prince Rainier
had been wed. To the east lay the Mediterranean Sea.
I turned in that direction, finally sated with the magnificent surroundings,
to watch a long white boat pull to and moor. I admired the way its handsome
captain in his Key West polo shirt and bare feet nimbly leaped on shore
and made the boat fast, thinking what an attractive view it was in every
way. ; ) I had quite forgotten our purpose in being at
the marina until the same captain shyly approached and inquired if we were
The Grayson Party. OUI!!!
 Jean-Marc
was quick to assist us in getting on board and had no comments on the tired
and jet-worn appearance of the party. The boat was very comfortable
and each of us settled in to enjoy the ride in the spacious u-shaped aft
seating. Soon the wind was in our hair and we were speeding out into
the Mediterranean. I felt the rigors of the long trip melt away.
Jean-Marc pointed out the Cathedral and the Musee Oceanographique of Jacque
Cousteau fame as we pulled out of the marina. The Oceanographic Institute
is quite an interesting building from the ocean view and looks like it
is part of the cliff. As we turned southwest I made a mental note
of the heliport where we’d be picking up our ride to Nice at the end of
our stay.
 Jean-Marc
was a delight! What good fortune it was to be met at the beginning
of our trip by a lovely man who spoke exquisitely accented English and
who had an obvious fondness for America and Americans. LOL
I wish I had studied my non-existent map more before the trip, for Jean-Marc
did an outstanding job of pointing out the towns and landmarks to us and
other than knowing we were heading in the direction of Nice, I had no idea
WHERE we were. Not that it mattered! I remember Eze and Cap
Ferrat (“cap” means cape in French), passing Princess Antionette’s home
(Prince Rainier’s sister), Bono’s waterside house and David Niven’s home.
There were threatening clouds, but a fair amount of beautiful blue sky
and Jean-Marc kept us in the sunshine.  The
scenery was gorgeous! At one point, Jean-Marc chatted on his cell-phone,
slowed the boat and began waving. He pointed to an apartment on the
cliffside and said he was waving at his teen-aged daughter there visiting
grandmama.
Our captain finally stopped at a spot in a sheltered area surrounded by multi-million dollar homes and served us glasses of champagne. The rest of our travel nerves unfrazzled in the Mediterranean sunshine. It was a perfect moment! SIGH Jean-Marc was a big music fan, a big Elvis fan, and had made the pilgrimage to Graceland. We understood! After a few glasses and nibbles, Jean-Marc turned the boat back toward Monte Carlo. I hated to think it would end, but was too mellow to effectively protest. LOL Unfortunately, the clouds were between our boat and home and we came upon light rain. Angel and Hubby made their way to the cabin at the bow, but SueC and I refused to seek shelter, preferring the bracing elements and the water to anything enclosed. Jean-Marc was prepared and threw us a couple of parkas – he had already gotten soaked twice that day.  It
never poured, (Ed: It poured!) but I
was very glad I had packed my John Lodge baseball cap! The rain lessened
and we were blessed with an incredible sight: a full double rainbow!
Jean-Marc said he had never seen anything like it on the water before.
I didn’t have to search for the pot of gold, obviously, we had already
managed to find it.
We were back too soon! If I could have found ANY block of time during the rest of our trip to go out with Jean-Marc again, I would have gladly emptied my purse on the seat cushions. He helped us off the boat, and warmly said goodbye with kisses on both cheeks. I have to say, I was thrilled. I felt officially welcomed to Monaco! What a fabulous way to begin our stay in Monte Carlo. : ) As Jean-Marc was easing away from the dock, a thought suddenly occurred to me. How would we get back to our hotel? In fact...WHERE was our hotel? I called out to Jean-Marc, inquiring about a taxi, and he waved vaguely toward the front of the marina, saying oh, any restaurant will call one for you! Hmmmmmm, I thought. But how do I ASK them? LOL!!! All my little phrase books allowing an American to fracture French were safely back in my hotel room. I thought perhaps there might be a taxi stand near the restaurants, but no. We hardly had the strength for inquiry. We thought we knew the general direction, decided that it wasn’t far and set off to hoof it. Angel proved to be the best at approaching total strangers and getting information and a pleasant passerby told her there was an elevator in the tunnel to our hotel. I put one foot in front of the other mindlessly. It was a pleasant evening to walk! We reached the tunnel and found a likely elevator. I felt uneasy about it – wasn’t our hotel at the far side of the tunnel? However, I was in no shape to argue, and we took it up, coming out in a nice little park. Where the heck the park was, we had no idea. The decorative map of Monaco from 1657 was not a great deal of help. HAHA Angel inquired again (the only one with strength left to do so) and another in a long series of pleasant people waved her finger in the general direction of our hotel. We started off in the light rain and immediately realized that walking on the ubiquitous sidewalk tile of Monte Carlo in the rain is akin to walking from your parking place in the Kroger parking lot to the front door in midwinter, after the sun has melted the snow and slush and refrozen it into something so slick it can’t even be called ice. My natural reaction is to stiffen up like a board thereby insuring that I will take a hard fall. Sigh There’s one big difference between Monte Carlo and the Kroger (Let’s go Krogering!) parking lot. Monte Carlo is on a hill. NUMEROUS hills. Numerous, ungodly STEEP hills.  I
don’t know how long it took us to get back. Hours, perhaps days.
LOL I see on the map I purchased the last day I was there that there
is a taxi stand near Hotel Hermitage, which I’m sure we passed. We
lucked upon the Grand Casino and found it to be a VERY active place.
I discovered later that a crowd forms outside the casino to star watch.
It was particularly slick there (more tile) and by that time Harrison Ford,
Keanu Reeves and Billy Idol could have arrived simultaneously and I wouldn’t
have cared nor glanced up. Angel and I had fallen behind Gabe and
SueC, and made our difficult way together (Ed:
Gabe and SueC are used to navigating difficult ways together - we learned
in Cornwall!). There was a fairly long staircase down from
the Grand Casino to the Grand Hotel and Gabe called up from the bottom
with the surprising statement – It’s slick! We went down carefully
and discovered the reason for the extra warning. SueC had slipped,
God bless her! It’s all right folks! She wasn’t badly hurt
and was immediately tended to by a physician. Then again, she probably
*could* use some chocolate in her recovery, and if you send it to ME, I’ll
be happy to take it to her. (Ed: What a friend!
I am just TOO lucky!)
It was the longest day of the year – the Maggie Solstice. I had been up since 6:00 Tuesday morning, and it was 9:00 Wednesday night. It wasn’t over! We caught up with Blueglow and CL and decided on an easy dinner at Le Pistou. I think that’s what it was. They were happily willing to do 5 at a moments notice. The food was good, the service was pleasant and very French. The grilled giant prawns with avocado relish were to die for, but the pasta in fresh tomato sauce was al dente and I made a mental note not to order it again. I don’t CARE what’s proper. I don’t want to chew my pasta, I want it boiled into submission.  Eating
it should be effortless! Angel joined us for dessert and the cigany
with violin strolled over, played a half dozen unrecognizable pieces and
refused to leave such beautiful women. We all were very tired and
I’m sure a few more moments and we would have been pelting him with euros
just to get him to leave. The highlight of the evening was provided
by SueC and me. It was a simple thing! All we did was order
coffee, as is our usual custom.
Coffee there is NOT coffee here. Our server ceremoniously placed in front of us two Barbie-sized cups of the strongest espresso I have ever tried to drink. Everyone stared at our miniature porcelain prizes and broke into hysterical laughter. It was, in a word, god-awful, and NO amount of Sweet and Low was going to make it drinkable. I threw SueC a bottle of Bailey’s that I found in my purse, but nothing was going to save it. Sigh I laughed so hard, and was so tired that I blithely walked off without my nearest and dearest. I’m not talking about my darling hubby! I’m talking about my VISA card! Yes, it was that kind of day. There was no partying after dinner. We couldn’t have partied to save our lives. You could stick a fork in us – we were DONE. Gabe was out the moment he hit the bed, but I had gotten my third or fourth *wind* of the day. I puttered, made a drink and sat out on the balcony watching the moonlight on the water. Does it get any better than this? MaggieMay Captain Nemo swam away, Five four three two one... (Sarah Brightman/DIVE) Photos courtesy of SueC, MaggieMay, and Gabe |
August 6, 2004
Day Three