Upon conquering my first fortress

The early days of my travel experiences were destinations that you might call the greatest hits tour. I have ventured back to some of these cities to explore more, but in the beginning, we were more in and out of a city in 2 days or so. I believe I was getting the cliff notes of Europe. I could now say I had been to some great destinations and had seen the “big stuff”. I could now even return home sounding slightly more cultured and worldly. However, I did manage to grab a hold of some of those moments that your mind takes a polaroid picture of, so you can recall it down the road when you need it most. All I have to do is shake my head in the air and blow out of my mouth like you would on one of those old pieces of film that slowly rolled out of those old cameras, and I’m swept back to one of those magical moments.

One of my first trips happened to be a Mediterranean cruise on Oceania.  I adored that cruise. You never forget your first.   You will also learn as time goes on, I also have an unhealthy obsession with fashion which has a tendency to flair up when I travel, especially on a cruise.  Oceania has beautiful ships with lovely interiors and from what I can remember the food was a step above some lines I’ve been on since.

My partner, who had been before, knew we would be stopping in the mountain fortress town of Eze.  Have you been?  Put this one on the short list of places not to miss.  We were dropped off at the bottom of the mountain in front of a small bazaar of carts and tables loaded down with Herbs de’ Provence and bushels of fresh lavender. Nearby in the distance lies one of the oldest perfumers in France,Fragonard. By the way, I want to let you know that all of these travel stories come from my memory, not really looking back at photos. They are one of the few things in life that just imprint as soon as I see them.  Much like automobiles or fashion. Not much else seems to penetrate my temporal lobe as deeply. Before trying to conquer the fortress, we did a tour of the perfumery, and it was very interesting to learn about the occupation of being a Nose. The smells of florals and other captivating scents wafting gently for a free sniff of luxury. Obviously, you exit through the gift shop, so nothing is ever free, but by now you have found your signature scent and are ready for them to take all your money.

After the tour of the perfumery, we began our journey up the mountain through winding rocky foot paths that feel a bit more like you are in medieval times.  Only passersby with camera phones remind you of what actual year it is. With each step over another rock which has been worn to beautiful character bows in the path, you discover a wine shop carved into a piece of the mountain to perfection. A small cafe with only one table. I’m sure the coffee is amazing but somehow the place is not crowded. I chalk that up to French being so elegant in just about everything. Then most adorable little linen shops with the best French linens I’ve seen. I tell you this as someone who could sit and drool all day over the window displays in my local Yves Delorme. When I tell you I can make a good-looking table now, it’sthanks to the women in these little boutiques who helped me create the perfect pairing of tablecloths and napkins and placemats.

But what lies near the top of the mountain is one of those places that is so visually stunning and so special you understand why traveling is so important. We arrive at Château de La Chèvre d’Or, a Relais & Chateaux property. Lunch was served on the terrace overlooking the valley. The decor, the staff, and the service, impeccable. This is a 45-room boutique hotel began as a private residence in the early 20^thcentury, notably owned by violinist Zlatko Baloković in the 1930s, before being transformed into a renowned 5-star hotel in the 1950s thanks to a suggestion from Walt Disney. Back on the terrace melodic soft tunes are playing in background and the weather is just about as perfect as it can be let’s say 22 Celsius.  I know, I know, the metric system, blah.  Maybe one of the only drawbacks for a hopeless American traveler.  Ok so 72 Fahrenheit, no humidity.  The patrons all dressed in their French finery.  The men in their Maison Margiela and the ladies in Lanvin.  I spy a small dog in Birkin. Obviously, they are higher up on the list at Hermes than I. As I waited for my cocktail, I start to daydream. My eye catches a Schiaparelli handbag, the one with the face on it, which is usually quite serious but now looks relaxed with ease because of its surroundings. It is truly a sight to behold. All this is second only to the view of the French Riviera below. Feel free to join me in my daydream and pretend you own one of the super yachts docking below.

One of those moments I speak of above you can witness as well in this picture I snapped of a drink like I have never seen or tasted before or since. The cup alone with its sweeping silver handle is enough to place an order for another before the waiter leaves the table. Its arrival is theatre in itself. I recall this memory often when I need it, as it was just so peaceful and perfect.

This was just one port on one cruise, but the spark of wanderlust was igniting.  It would still be the beginning of a long journey on that trip.

The cruise came to a close in Monaco. We toured its gardens and city and the grounds of the castle along the waterfront. We saw the casino too, although it was a bit too commercial for my taste. We were due to fly to Brussels for a post cruise excursion, but an interesting proposal was made just before we were to take that flight. “Let’s cancel the plane and drive”. Could we really?  It would prove to be a 24 hour adventure in a BMW (station wagon).  A far cry from that blue Oldsmobile with the wood sides. We cruised through the Alps and made friends with a solitary cow with obligatory cow bell ringing to Swiss perfection, then descending into the Alsace region (the home of my mother's people) to a cafe with the most glorious sausages and sauerkraut.

The day continued on including getting stuck in a traffic jam on a mountain where we learned in Europe every traffic jam is the occasion for a picnic.  But that is the story for the next chapter of this Detour.  I hope you will come along?