Five places in five days

It's been a bit of a mad few days but I wouldn't change any of it for the world. P and I celebrated our six months anniversary (is that even allowed?!) on Friday and we spent the weekend in France meeting his family. Getting back to the daily grind this morning was a bit of a jolt to the system - especially when my heel snapped on my shoe at Clapham North station - so here's to a precis of the last five days in three different countries.

1 Client debauchery at Chiltern Firehouse. We took some clients out to the place to be seen on Thursday night. We kicked off with bottles of champagne in the bar where there's lots of plush fabrics, barmen in white jackets, flowing greenery and a well-groomed dog or two. Coupled with a celeb spot of Zoe Kravitz, Lisa Bonet, Jason Mamoa and Michael Fassbender, it was always going to be a good evening, right? We ate at the Kitchen Table - ordering round after round of seasonal martinis while devouring the bitesize crab donuts, carrot blunts, chicken wings and chunky tuna tartare. I had steak tartare for main and it was silky and smooth, with lashings of seasoning. No selfies but a quick sneak into the secret garden was worth the hype.

2 Anniversary eating at Bob Bob Ricard. Faced with mammoth hangovers, we contemplated cancelling our long-awaited table at London's finest English-Russian collaboration but after some stern words to ourselves and some bloody good Red Snappers at Mark's Bar, we made it. We made ourselves comfortable in the bluest of blue booths and naturally, pressed for champagne. Then we moved onto caviar and ice cold vodka, then indulged in the purest comfort food of lobster macaroni and cheese. An oozing, melting baked St Marcellin finished us off.

3 Wine tasting in Riquewihr. It was then up at a blisteringly early 3.30am to catch a flight to Basel to then drive to Strasbourg to meet the in-laws. But first, we stopped off at the beautiful village of Riquewihr, renowned for its cobbled streets and chocolate box buildings. And wine. The finest producers of Alsacien wine are based in Riquewihr with acres of vines circling the town. We headed to Hugel & Fils where Loic took us through their very best bottles. From Riesling to Muscat, Gewurtztraminer to Pinot Gris, I am now a total sweet(er) wine convert and I'll be eschewing the tired old Pinot Grigio for something a little different.

4 Tartes flambees and cheese on cheese and cheese.
Then came Strasbourg proper and more Aperol Spritzes than you could shake a stick at. One night, we headed for late night tartes flambees at Binchstub. An achingly hip hangout with industrial scaffolding seating and the most laissez-faire waiters you'll ever meet. For the uninitiated, tartes flambees are a regional speciality akin to white pizzas - crisp bases topped with cheese and a variety of toppings. We went for the comte, nuts and lardons; the munster (a very strong regional cheese just like Stinking Bishop), and the tommes aux vaches with nettles. So hot it'll burn the roof of your mouth but perfect when washed down with light, chilled Pinot Noir and a digestif of Ron Zapaca 23 before a slow wander through the tiny, stunning Strasbourg streets.

And of course, a weekend in France wouldn't be complete without the fullest cheeseboard you've ever seen.

5 Al fresco swimming at Resort Barriere, Ribeauville. What better way to end the weekend than two hours in an outdoor thermal spa looking over the Vosges mountains? Naturally heated to 34 degrees, the pools and jacuzzis washed away all our traffic-related angst and set us up for the inevitable easyJet delays and the torrential downpour that awaited us in London. It's open all year round and is set to be spectacular in winter when the mountains are capped with snow and the flakes settle around you in the darkness. Return flight, anyone?

St Tropez

Last but not least, St Tropez. Made famous in the 60s by Brigitte Bardot and other French starlets, St Tropez's actually a small fishing town tucked away on a peninsula between Marseille and Nice. We'd saved this until the last day, hoping it to be the perfect way to end our trip...but it wasn't quite as easy as its fake tan brand counterpart.

A friend of ours, who skippers this rather lovely yacht, recommended we take the boat from Nice port - a leisurely two and a half hour journey that takes you along the coast and back for around 60E each. Shaking off any hope of a lie-in, we were out bright and early to get our tickets but were met instead by a queue of very confused people. The wind had caught up in the night and the captain wasn't taking any chances so all boat bets were off. Disappointed but undeterred, we caught the tram to the train station, then the train to St Raphael (the nearest train station to St Tropez, 90 minutes between where we were starting and where we were going). Off-season timetables meant we had another 90 minutes to kill before the bus to St Tropez left so we sheltered from the blustering wind - the Mistral - with a hot chocolate at one of the hotels on the sea front.

Battling our way onto the bus (no queue etiquette and lots of people with the same idea), we finally made it to St Tropez - almost seven hours after we'd set off. We realised that we had just two hours to kill before we had to get the return bus so headed straight to the harbour to check out the yachts. With it being regatta season on the Cote d'Azur, there was no lack of beautiful yachts moored up.

Semi-accidentally, we ended up having lunch at the most expensive place on the harbour for lunch - Le Girelier. All white tablecloths and silver service waiters, it was understandably and reassuringly expensive. Mum had a courgette tagliatelle with crevettes, lime foam and jasmine rice and I had a steak frites (when in France...) With a large glass of rose each, we got little change from 100E...but we justified it as well-deserved.

From there, we explored a little of the town. Again, very Mediterranean with pale yellow walls, little flowers and cobbled streets, it's easy to see why people have been flocking here for years. We came across some visiting monks having their photo taken in front of the very choppy sea, and climbed up to the old castle ruins for a view across the bay. As our short but sweet time in St Tropez came to an end, we couldn't help but have one last look at the yachts...and fell in love with Shamrock V, a 1930 J-Class racing yacht. We both agreed we would have run away with it had we the chance.

After an extraordinarily slow and tiring journey back, we arrived in Nice 13 hours after we'd left it. With a last few glasses of red to bid adieu to the apartment, Nice had been every bit as nice as we expected...

Grasse and Cannes

Grasse - the perfume capital of the world. The setting for Patrick Siskind's novel (and film) and also the place of Edith Piaf's death. Nestled in the hills about 90 minutes bus ride from Nice, Grasse is another pastel-coloured town that is popular with tourists.

Grasse was originally known for its leather, and became the French outpost of the tanning industry. In an effort to combat the unpleasant odour of the tanned leather, a man called Galimard began using the perfume and, after sending a gift of scented gloves to the Royal Court, the popularity swept across Europe. Soon, the fragrance business took over from the tanning and Grasse was surrounded by vast fields of jasmine, rose and orange blossom. As trade ships brought exotic spices and perfumes back from around the world, the range of perfumes grew and grew...and now, there's over 2,500 essences in the world. Grasse still accounts for almost 8% of the global perfume production, and over 10,000 local residents are directly involved in the perfumery business.

We jumped on the 500 to Nice and wound our way inland to the small town. A lot of places were closed - it was a Monday - so Grasse was a lot quieter than it usually is. We meandered to the Fragonard perfumery, Grasse's oldest factory, and did everything backwards - the shop, then the museum, then the guided tour.

The tour explains how they create essences today (they still use cold water and distillation to separate the oils for the perfumes but no longer spend three months replacing jasmine flowers daily), how it is bottled (in distinctive aluminium bottles rather than glass, as sunlight degrades a perfume three times as quickly), and how all perfume noses are trained in France and can identify over 3,000 different scents. Perfumes can feature between 5 and 250 essences, combined in top, middle and base notes, and can take up a year to create. Responding to abstract briefs, the noses (mostly male) have to create something that will last and work on as many people as possible - perfumes settle and smell very different from person to person.

As someone who's worn the same perfume since she was 16 (Dior Addict), I'm not phased by the flippant new releases of floral perfumes but loved trying to identify the notes from the bottles in front of us. Perfumes are like signatures and I think it's tricky to get it right - we all tried one of the colognes for me (perfume for men doesn't exist) and all agreed favourably on the fresh scent. Agreeing on a majority choice for us women, on the other hand, was impossible. But I liked that.

After Grasse, and an obligatory stop for ice cream, we headed down to the coast to Cannes. Despite a promise of the boat show (always one to stop at yachts), we found Cannes pretty unremarkable and a little underwhelming. The film, literary and advertising festivals breathe life into the infamous coastal town but off-season, it's home to bumbling tourists and we left a little disappointed. Not before tracking down the various handprints of movie stars (Hollywood, eat your heart out) and snapping a photo of the internationally renowned Carlton - said to be one of the best hotels in the world...

Nice (again)

Sundays are meant for relaxing. And eating. Something that the French take very seriously. Whilst us Brits see Sundays as another opportunity to hit the shops, the French shut theirs and are nowhere to be seen. Knowing that this also applied to public transport (which can be patchy at best normally) we decided to stay in Nice and venture slightly further afield than before.

We decided to walk to Cimiez, which now stands on the ruins of Cemenelum, a Roman city built to rival Nice back in the day. Uphill and winding its way past some evidently affluent residences, it was nice to see another side of Nice. We were heading for the Musee National to check out the Marc Chagall exhibition. I'd briefly touched on Chagall at university as part of artistic representations of war, so was intrigued to see an exhibition devoted to Chagall's self portraits, as well as his famously bright creations.

Entry to the museum is 10E for adults or free for under 26s (like a lot of galleries, museums and landmarks in France) but we skipped in without having to pay anything. The exhibition charts over 40 years of Chagall's work, from quick self portrait sketches on napkins to vast painted religious scenes. Born in Russia, he moved to France before fleeing the persecution during the war. As part of a group of other persecuted artists, he was amongst some of the most prolific artists of the time.

From there, we battled onward uphill to the 16th century Franciscan monastery of Cimiez. We ducked into the church briefly and were met with heavily incensed air, lots of gold, faded artwork and even the remains of a saint. There's also a Franciscan monk buried in the church, having gone on a mission to China to spread the word, and returned burned to die amongst his brothers. The monastery gardens are well-tended and full of rosebushes and herbs with views all the way down to the bay.

And as part of both, the old cemetery overlooks the foothills. The French are renowned for their mausoleums as memorials to their dead. Particulary evident in la Pere Lachaise in Paris, it was a sign of wealth and prestige as well as somewhere to mourn (Oscar Wilde's tomb is covered in lipstick kisses from admirers). We sought out Matisse's final resting place but weren't successful, but these are picturesque nonetheless, non?

Eventually we headed back down the hill (after some lengthy waits for public transport), grabbed a baguette and a tart from a boulangerie and made it back to the apartment just in time for the skies to open and the rest of the day to be clouded with torrential rain. 

We spent the evening indoors with baked prawns in garlic and herbs, baguettes and wine, practising some very unmonklike decadence.

St Paul de Vence

Saturday, we decided to go inland. France is renowned for its medieval villages and St Paul de Vence certainly doesn't disappoint. After a slightly stressful wait for the bus (the English really are the only ones who know how to queue), we hopped on the bus for another 1E50 and headed away from the sea into the foothills of the Alps.

St Paul is one of the oldest 'towns' on the French Riviera, and its quintessential feel has attracted many an artist. The village's most famous hotel and restaurants, La Colombe d'Or used to host struggling artists such as Matisse and Picasso, who used to pay their bills in kind, leading to an impressive art collection.

Tiny cobbled streets wind their way around this rocky outcrop, and you can even step up onto the old ramparts for some amazing panoramic views down to the sea. The village is full of art galleries so pop in on a few and meet the locals.

When it came to lunch, there's also a lot of choice - from crepes at the main gate to restaurants at 5* hotels, there's no wrong pick. As we stopped to look at a menu or two, we were captivated by this very friendly pup.

We couldn't refuse that face so popped in and sat on the terrace, underneath grape vines, with a glass of wine and a humongous salad each, and the amazing view.

Energy restored, we pottered around for a bit more then waited for the bus (this is definitely a pattern in the south of France). For some ridiculous reason, we decided to hop on the bus going further afield to bring us back (the constant pushing and shoving drove us to it). Upon arriving in Vence and having to wait a rather miserable 45 minutes, we vowed to learn from our mistakes.

That evening, the port was hosting a large celebration to celebrate 10 years of the party, Lou Festin. Hosted by the local government, there were three stages dotted around the port with food stalls and parades entertaining the crowds in between the live bands on the stage. We danced around our apartment until fireworks heralded the end of the evening and we closed the shutters on another successful day's adventuring.

Monaco and Menton

On our third day away, we decided to venture a little further afield and try to get to grips with the French public transport system - no mean feat. Always a gamble as to whether you're at the right stop, going in the right direction or even going to get on (or off), it makes for a slightly less relaxing holiday experience. Nevertheless, costing only 1E50 for a single journey - can you really complain?

You can't go to the south of France without visiting Monaco. A principality with its own royal family, Monaco is synonymous with wealth and it's not difficult to see why. With capital city Monte Carlo being home to one of the most famous grand prix, the rich and famous flock here to follow in Grace Kelly's footsteps. We jumped off the bus after a very scenic (but busy) journey along the coast, that took in Villefranche-sur-Mer, Eze-sur-Mer and Roquebrune, and headed straight for the sea. On the way, we passed the infamous Cafe de Paris, the Casino and the Hotel de Paris, all flanked by gleaming supercars and sunglasses. And, of course, Monaco wouldn't be Monaco without all the designer brands - Hermes after Celine, after Chanel, after Gucci...

But, it was all a little underwhelming. We jumped on the bus and headed east to Menton, a smallish seaside town on the way to the Italian border. With the bluest sea and the quietest beach, we strolled along the promenade (the French love their promenades) and shared a pizza at the table below. I grabbed a bikini from a local shop and we hit the beach for some serious sunbathing and snoozing, before stopping for a kir royale and ice cream.

We caught the train home and indulged in enough wine and baked Camembert to feed the five thousand. After all, being a wannabe Monaco starlet's thirsty work...

Nice: Day II

After our first night, we decided to try and get our bearings in Nice before planning adventures further afield. So before breakfast we set off around the old port (which our apartment overlooks) coveting all the yachts, big and small alike.

Sadly we didn't manage to catch a ride on either boat so came back to the apartment for breakfast on the terrace, with a still-warm baguette from the boulangerie. After UN petit dejeuner des rois, we set out to explore the remains of the old chateau, le Lou Casteu. With settlers dating way back to 3BC, but more recently an 18th century stronghold, the ruins of the castle stand proud above the city. Although it's nothing more than rubble, the winding staircase to the top gives you the most incredible views of the bay, the town and the foothills of the Alps.

There's even a waterfall tucked away to discover too...

We then headed down into the Vieux Ville amongst pastel pink buildings and thick heavy doors. We picked up some essentials from the local épiceries and whipped up a quick and easy meal (with a not so easy to access bottle of wine) and watched the sun go down on our first full day à France.

Nice to see you, to see you Nice: part ii

I'm about to jump on a plane to Nice for the week! We're staying in an apartment overlooking the port, right beneath the castle ruins - you can actually see it in the picture above! We're planning some daytrips to Menton, Grasse, St Tropez, Monaco and other places in between - we haven't got it pinned down yet but top of the list wherever we go is to consume my bodyweight in cheese. And wine. In the meantime, must dash, croissants call...a tout!

Nice to see you, to see you Nice

It's booked! My mum and I are going to be spending a week in Nice, in an apartment that overlooks the port, Le Bassin Lympia. In fact, its one of those warm ochre buildings nestled at the foot of the hill, right in the lower middle of the photograph above!

We wanted to go somewhere late summer but still warm, picturesque and not too heavy on the travelling (or the pocket!) We've both been dreaming of heady Mediterranean evenings coupled with great food and fine wine, and so with my degree to hand, centred our sights on France.

We quickly started drafting our list of requirements: rural gite or urban hotel? countryside or citywide?  bus, train or a plane ride away? sea more or see more? We started to whittle it down and found that Nice had everything we wanted - coastal with a gorgeous beach, great architecture and history and mere bus rides from Grasse, St Tropez, Cannes and Monaco (we're aiming big). Hotels are a bit of a premium and so we turned to airbnb and began combing potential places to be our home away from home.

Airbnb's a simple premise and something akin to a social network where people rent out their rooms, apartments or even treehouses all over the world. You can browse through all sorts of places, locations, durations and liaise with the hosts directly; everything's kept safe and secure by airbnb taking care of the money side so you can relax in the knowledge that you're not about to get swindled and left high and dry.

We booked our apartment this week; a gorgeously bright flat at the foot of the castle, we have a terrace that overlooks the old port and is a stone's throw away from everything that Nice has to offer. From the markets to the beach, the castle to the opera house, there's a lot to get excited about. With all this inclement weather we've been having, the thought of a glass of wine on the sunkissed balcony is, well, Nice...