The South of France
March 28, 2012:
The flight from Berlin to Nice provided a stunning view of the mountainous coastlines, filled with magnificent yachts, fashionably dressed people, and construction cranes creating new structures. The roads were seemingly organically formed, allowing the greatest number of people the closest proximity to the ocean. The flow of traffic moved along in a current that required hawk-like attention. The roads dip underground and blast through mountains, compact arteries manipulating their way along the southern coastline of France.
March 29, 2012:
The second day in Monaco consisted of random, momentary decisions on how our exploration would unfold—my favorite way of traveling. Examining the map revealed that it was a 20-minute drive to Monte Carlo, so my Mom and I drove to this famous destination, so world renowned that it has been copied in Las Vegas. The most famous landmark in Monte Carlo is the casino, which was littered with tourists taking photos. Immaculate gardens welcomed you to the entrance of a building designed to provide you with the most fun while you lose every dollar it can squeeze out of you.
The harbor was lined with the most amazing array of yachts I have ever seen. The vessels ranged in style from sleek, modern pirate boats to a regal look suited for the finest Sunday outing following church—or maybe a drug heist. The ocean is truly a magnet for people, which is encouraging. Our love and reliance on this perpetually changing force is the lifeline of our future.
March 30, 2012:
When people asked me about my travel plans, they often found it surprising or strange that my mom was joining me on my adventure. For some reason, Western culture wants to distance itself from its family. Maintaining a strong relationship with your parents is one of the most challenging but grounding necessities. No one else in the world can tell you the naked truth while still providing unconditional love and understanding. It’s inevitable that those you love most also cause the most pain. Both of my parents have provided me with guidance and support, despite my repeated assaults on their trust, and they’ve ultimately motivated me to shed my destructive behavior and lead a more inspired life. There are no words sufficient enough to express my gratitude.
The first stop of the day was at Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild, a French seaside palazzo constructed between 1905 and 1912, which is famous for its seven themed gardens. Baron Rothschild courageously broke the rich banking family tradition by donating the palace Academie des Beaux Arts division of the Institut de France for the public’s benefit and appreciation.
After feeling the embrace of nature atop a mountain, we drove to the equally impressive St. Paul, a former fortress that has been developed into an artistic hub. Each shop grabbed your attention like a commercial designed by the best social psychologist. Some of the art was so mind-bending that it took a while to figure out what we were actually looking at.
However, watching the sun set over the hills made me remember that the best artist is constantly at work everyday with an invisible hand, creating the sky, oceans and mountains that are in constant flux—the true inspiration of art.
A day of walking helped us earn an appetite that we satisfied in Cannes. I have wanted to visit this city ever since the Entourage episode where the famous film festival was featured. It’s amazing to think how a few movie critics hold such a large influence over how a piece of art will be interpreted by the rest of the world. I try to maintain a healthy sense of skepticism, especially toward the views of paid critics.
March 31, 2012
The Saturday market in Old Town Nice was festive and full of creative artists, florists and entertainers keeping life easy and fun. One sculptor used recycled metal like pliers, bike gears, and bottle openers to create his art; if only we could all have an emotionally cathartic exercise that would benefit others. The narrow streets of Old Town seemed just wide enough for pedestrians and the shop contents spilling out their front doors, but it didn’t take long before you were quickly awakened from your medieval dream by a buzzing scooter darting between human pylons. You can never let your guard down, especially in a foreign environment.
We wrapped up the day after watching the Cohen brothers’ Burn After Reading, which is very captivating and disturbing. Like most of their movies, you wonder how it will all come together before suddenly being jolted by a twist that only the most ingenious of modern filmmakers could create. The film is very effective at pointing out how, when it comes to our crazy world, whether you are a part of the CIA or just an average civilian, it’s hard to really discern what’s happening on a global scale when we are lost in our selfish pursuits, without acknowledgement of the detriment to those around us.
April 1, 2012:
I am transported thousands of feet above the earth aboard an iron bird from the beaches of Monaco to the winding streets of Paris. I look down on the mountains drizzled with white icing and contemplate reincarnation; if this notion is true I hope my next life vessel will offer me the capability of flight. The view from up here helps place all of my human problems in perspective.
