Menton, France

The sky hovered low on the mountain sides of the Alps like a fluffy white impenetrable ceiling that surrounded Menton.  We slowly walked alongside the roadway leading to the Italian border nestled between the Alps and the Mediterranean sea. As we walked, we looked at the architecture of the buildings that were connected like century old Siamese twins. The colors of the buildings jumping out with their water colored tans, yellows, pinks, and oranges. As we passed by, both Deb and I noticed a mosaic stairway that criss crossed up between two of the buildings like an M.C. Escher drawing. At the top sat two churches. One a couple of hundred years old, the other, generations older. We were struck with the intentionality of the walkway and that it was a giant mosaic. Each stone, carefully set in place to slowly wear away with passing time. 

We made our way past and eventually were met with the Italian border. We looked at each other wondering what we would need to do and if we would be able to get across.  On, we continued and simply walked across into Italy. There were a few military personnel huddled together smoking cigarettes. One glanced over at us with bored annoyance but carried on talking about the important matters of the day. Deb mentioned that it was like going between states in the U.S. I grunted in agreement and the two of us continued on, passing through a parking lot that was overshadowed by the cliffs of Italy. On the tops of them were buildings precariously perched.  We followed the walkway that ran between a three story hotel that overlooked the water and a building across from it, built into the side of the cliff, that housed a three Michelin star restaurant. Deb wondered what could possibly make it so many stars. I stopped and looked at the menu advertised on the door that led to the restaurant. It described itself as an experiential menu, tailor- made for the customer. A menu that combines experimental cuisine with strong and refined flavours, for an exclusive and pleasantly unpredictable experience in which nothing is predetermined.  The menu proceeded to then explain that a party could indulge in a five or seven course meal along with a riviera or international wine pairing. If that was not to one’s liking, you could order á la carte which included dishes like: fantasy of raw fish and shellfish, local scampi cooked on olive embers, ‘Potage’ with vegetables from the garden and crustaceans. These in themselves were amazing but still it went on with dishes like spaghetti gentile with sea urchins and rosemary, roasted rabbit ligurian, or sweatbread & bitter herbs.

 Continuing on, we came to outcroppings that stuck out into the Mediterranean. The path followed them and we found a somewhat ‘flat’ space to sit. I pulled the blanket out of the backpack and made a place for us to ‘plop’ down on. Deb pulled out a baguette, cheese, and meat. I then began the most important task, uncorking a bottle of red wine. There we sat, eating our crudely made sandwiches, the surf hitting the rocks in front of us. Occasionally, our faces were kissed by the salty mist of the waves crashing. The rocks had a thick tanned brown color to them as if someone had covered them with a tan primer and then forgot to finish coloring them. When you looked closer, one could see crystalized white deposits that ran through the grooves. We both commented on the salt that had been left there. After an hour and half of sitting and watching, we packed our bags with the water bottles, blanket, and the little bit of wine that was leftover. Slowly we made our way back across the border to the French side, attempting to hold on to the moment that we had just experienced. Both of us spoke of how we were walking back out of a story, like stepping back out of that old wardrobe that led to such a mystical place.

“Water is fluid, soft and yielding. But water will wear away rock, which is rigid and cannot yield. As a rule, whatever is fluid, soft and yielding will overcome whatever is rigid and hard. This is another paradox: what is soft is strong.” – Lau Tzu