Day 17-18 – The Ravishing French Riviera and Monaco

or how we painted the town red and Brent ended up riding a bull in downtown Nice…

So yet again we found ourselves on the highway to adventure, not able to comprehend for a second that any other city could even come close to our last adventure. We were now off to the French Riviera,  and we were ready to explode with the excitement.

Well some more than others. As the photos show, the sight you see was a familiar one, that all man and beast were to behold every time we stopped at a service station. For some reason, toilet facilities in Europe left a lot to be desired, and to top it off there were a lot more girls than men on the bus. The look of frustration on local women who had to wait at least 15 mins; as they waited in line after all the Top Deck girls, was not a pretty one

Hell hath no fury than a woman spurned… or one waiting in line to use the toilet.

Again as the photo shows, I had a nice thick double glazed window to protect me from the girls wrath, or I may not be sitting here writing this blog. Though, enough toilet humour for this blog, I digress.

Personally, I wanted to see if the French Riviera lived up to its name. I was not to be disappointed. The weather was perfect, and we found ourselves staying right in central Nice. As soon as we’d dropped off our bags at the hotel, our lovely tour guide Lia led us to dinner  at a fabulous restaurant. We would learn many things from wise Lia on our trip – Lia was the one who taught us the technical term “der-ish-ous” – A term used to describe food so delicious, that a person would almost certainly be drooling while saying delicious – therefore the word coming out as “der-ish-ous”. The French local food at dinner was indeed “der-ish-ous”, and the matching wine doubly so.

After dinner we were led to our next evening activity. We arrived at Waynes Bar, where we were served by an Australian of all people who explained to us that it was compulsory to dance on tables once the music started. Hmm…. deja-vu? Memories of Barcelona immediately started rushing back. Before anymore could be said, Brent our illustrious leader (of trouble that is) flung himself on the tables and starting doing a gig – arms flailing  everywhere – he was on fire, literally and metaphorically speaking. Well, when you see how red-faced he looked you’ll agree, that he indeed looked like he was on fire.

A few drinks later, the next Australian trouble maker took up Brents challenge, Ben “The Karate Kid” Morrow was going to show everyone how it was done. He put on his best game face, faced down Brent for a dance off and the status of Alpha-male. Now myself, never being one to turn down a chance to represent New Zealand and save our national pride, wasn’t going to have the Australians dominate the night. With a swift and cat like grace I pounced on the table, and started burning up the dance floor. In this case the dance floor was an extremely solid wooden table. Before deciding to save N.Z’s reputation, I had wisely (having learn from many injuries sustained in the past),  utilised my detailed engineering knowledge (sure I did computer engineering, but it’s the same thing mostly…) and had thoroughly inspected the structural integrity of the table, to ensure that it could indeed handle the insane physics defying moves I was about to bestow upon it.

Before we knew it the entire tour group was on the tables, with a solidarity not seen since the ANZACs in WWII, which neatly brings me to the next part. There we were, representing Oceania, bringing the house down, on two of the three tables that the main area contained. At this point, it was getting quite crowded on our two tables, when I glanced over to the last table. The last remaining stronghold was held by a belligerent group of Germans who looked less than impressed with our high jinks. This would not do I decided, and after a quick pow-wow organised between the Three Musketeers (Brent, Ben and I), it was decided that the entrenched Germans on the Third Table would have to fall.

With a shrill war cry cutting through the reverberating night air, the Australians and New Zealanders (me at the forefront, and with my trusty 2nd in command Mary – who had more than held her own against the Spaniards back in Barcelona) charged/leapt onto the last table and gave the Germans a taste of our own Blitzkrieg. The unprepared Germans males were bowled over like stunned skittles, leaving their defenceless women for the taking. Triumphant, the bloody battle was over in moments, and the German women were up on the tables dancing with the victors.

Now one would presume that was the end of the night, but you’d be wrong. Surely there couldn’t be any more excitement? You forget I was with Brent “The Trouble Maker” Smith and Ben “The Karate Kid” Morrow. After being booted out of the bar at the end of the night (which was a disappointing 2 in the morning vs. Spain where I think they go all night) we decided to head back to home base. Along the way there was much round house kicking performed by Ben and shaking of heads by Brent and myself. All the while never suspecting that Brent was planning his next greatest escapade…

As we walked into the central square of Nice, Brent suddenly broke off from the formation, pirouetted and dove into the main square water fountain. Much to the applause of the rest of us, and like a demented monkey scrambled up the first statue he saw, which happened to be a bull (see pictures below). Thereby, firmly cementing his title of lead trouble maker of the group (which would continue to be cemented during the rest of our trip).

We adventured around the next day seeing all the beautiful sights and sounds of Nice, its beautiful beaches and lively markets. Visited Monaco, which apparently is the most dense country in the world? Hmm, I took offense to this, surely India wins this one?  No, apparently now as I check it up on Wikipedia, it may have been 1st, but it is now 2nd after China. Hmm, Indians time to start making babies methinks.

For our next adventure we were to head off to beautiful Italy and beautiful Tuscany.

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Day 14 – 16 – Astounding Avignon (France) and Barcelona …

or how the Spanish really know how to party, and we ended the night dancing on tables…

So we left beautiful Switzerland and headed back into France and to Avignon. This quaint French town was extremely picturesque, with one feeling like they had been transported back in time, with its cobbled roads and ancient buildings. We wandered around this beautiful town taking in all the history we could, and decided on having a proper French dinner. We settled on a small restaurant, and immediately everyone in our small group looked to me to attempt to speak to the waiter in my rusty French. Luckily for me and my reputation in the group, everyone (but the poor waiter serving us) couldn’t tell how bad my French really was, and all looked in wide eyed amazement (especially the ladies in our group). I was able to bluff my way well enough to ensure everyone got what they wanted as we sat back to an amazing meal and perfectly matching French wines. To finish it all off we had amazing French profiteroles filled with vanilla bean ice cream. These tantalising treats just exploded with flavours in your mouth and set off a thousand taste sensations when one chomped one down.

As the sun set into the French horizon we were treated to a sight I’ve never seen before, as hundreds of ghostly mayflies drifted into sight. It was a real sight to behold as they danced and pirouetted before our very eyes. For those who don’t know mayflies are almost like a cross between dragonflies and butterflies, but with a sad story behind them. For those of you who have never seen the Vodafone mayfly advertisement before, you can have a look here (Vodafone Mayfly Advertisement). The humble adult mayfly emerges with a vestigial mouthpart, and its digestive system is filled with air. So these short lived creatures, as the advertisement alludes to, makes every moment count. For the more curious among us here is some more info (Mayfly wiki information).

As soon as I saw them, I couldn’t but help hear the music from the advertisement play in the background (which is Love song by the artist Kos) and brought a sad smile to my face. It really is a pity that humans don’t follow the same approach and make the most of their lives, using our lives to do good. After a discussion on life in general one time, my mother passed on some words of wisdom to me, which have always stuck with me since she said them. I try to follow as much as possible and it goes a little something like this –

I expect to pass through this world but once;
any good thing therefore that I can do, or any
kindness that I can show to any fellow-creature,
let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it,
for I shall not pass this way again.

The consequences of our actions ripple out like waves in a pond don’t they? Ever since then I try to say or do at least one nice or good thing a day. Be it giving up my seat on the bus for a lady, or paying someone a compliment. It’s the small things in the world that add up eventually and make a difference I believe.

The next day we stopped off on the way at one of the last standing Roman aqueducts that are over 2000 years old, and then headed off to gorgeous and potentially dangerous Barcelona. Gorgeous because of all the jaw dropping Gaudi Architecture. Dangerous, due to the threat of light fingered pickpocketers. We were made to repeatedly promise (like a protective mom would) not travel alone at night. Heck, I lost count of how many times we were reminded to be careful actually.

When we finally arrived at our destination, we were as jumpy and paranoid as mice on speed, ready to pounce on anyone who looked at us funny let alone brushed up against us. Now, the hostel was extremely well laid out with all modern amenities one could want. The most important being a bar on the terrace that served sangria. Sangria is a highly refreshing wine and fruit mix that was perfect for the scorcher of a day we arrived to in Spain.
As the bone bleaching Spain sun began to sink behind the skyline, we made our way to a traditional Spanish dinner, with the main course being paella with a lot more sangria! Unfortunately, for me I can’t stand paella, and fought hard through the waves of nausea to breathe through my mouth (I’ve already told you about not being able to recognise my food in the Paris blog). A bit tipsy after knocking back my sangria, and mostly from not having a proper meal, we headed to the nights entertainment to watch a flamenco show. The staccato of passionate Spanish heels cut through the night in time to a live band and was as spectacular as id imagined it to be. Surprisingly, caracas weren’t used as id always expected. Maybe they don’t do that anymore, or it’s a used only for certain Spanish dances?

After the brief but action packed show we made our way over to a local bar in La Ramblas (The party area in downtown), however the mood really wasn’t right, mostly due to the wrong sort of music being played. So a group of women wanted to head back to the hostel. With me also not feeling the vibe, I decided I would shepherd these helpless women to the safety of the hostel. So a splinter group of us headed off to brave the dark Barcelona streets. As we trudged up the hill to the hostel, one of the girls in our group began to lag behind. Me being one to never to leave a man/woman behind circled back around and investigated what the fuss was all about.

It seemed Natasha like most typical women had sacrificed the looks of her shoes over comfortability. Nothing with women and their fashion choices surprised me anymore. Now she was paying dearly for it, as I pictured shady characters in the shadows creeping in closer for an easy kill. As I shook my head, I knew I was going to have to take drastic measures if the entire group of women were going to survive the night.

Ever the gentleman, and swallowing my pride, two words sprung from my mouth – “Piggy-back?” Natasha protested quite loudly, but I sure as hell wasn’t leaving someone behind to picked off like a sick gazelle. So yet once more, and more commandingly I demanded that she jump on my back so we could promptly rejoin the safety of the pack. This fortunately worked (for both of us), because I wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of giving her a swift karate chop and carting her limp body up the hill. After all, it would have been quite unbecoming really, and I wouldn’t have cut a very dashing figure with a Natasha hanging off me like a limp rag doll I mused.

So there I was, with a giggling almost hysterical girl on my back, wondering how I got myself into these sorts of situations, as I double timed it up the hardest part of the trek. Locals everywhere stood stunned, wide eyed and mouths agape; not knowing, whether to take photos of the spectacle, laugh or call the local constabulary. Our sudden and unexpected manoeuvre, took even the bravest of pick pocketers by surprise. For, as they beheld this strange behaviour, even they didn’t know whether they were coming or going let alone attempt to pick pocket us.

Now I’m sure mothers everywhere immediately locked up their daughters in haste just in case the cheeky darkie were to come back for their daughters. Spanish parents would forever tell bedtime tales of a mysterious cheeky darkie who would steal away daughters into the night if they ever caught being naughty.

And that’s the story of how I saved our merry group of women from pick pocketers. However, that’s not where the night ended. One of our group Mary, wowed by my cat like reflexes, and ability to save women in distress thought it would be apt to find a better place to go clubbing. She’d heard that the clubs at the Olympic park near the beach were the place to go. Why not I said? So off we shot off into the night to paint the town red.

We ended up at what looked like the most happening place at the beach – Shoko. Though immediately I felt quite underdressed, as I bowled on up in shorts and jandals, and everyone else lined up at the bar had Gucci suits and enough bling to dazzle a blind man. Utilizing my usual charm (well mostly Marys, as my charm doesn’t seem to work on men that well), Mary and I made our way past the menacing bouncer to behold a party that was really going off. Before you knew it we were on the dance floor and, in an ever shorter time we were on the tables showing the Spaniards how people really party.

This had nothing to do with the extremely strong drinks the Spanish pour mind you – as opposed to NZ and Australia where they measure out the drinks with surgical precision, in Spain bartenders tend to follow a bucket approach. Well after what seemed like 10 minutes, I looked at my watch to see that it was almost 4 in the morning! We’d come, we’d saw, and we’d conquered, so we concurred that we should make a dignified exit before the locals were completely embarrassed by our amazing ninja like dancing skills.

Now Barcelona was home to Ragnar and Lolita, the longest standing family friends I can remember. My first memory of eating olives, pineapple and walnuts were when Ragnar gave us little scrambling monkeys those treats when we were just little tykes. Memories of being accosted by rambunctious Lolita the moment we would walk into their place, being hugged to pieces and having my cheeks pinched like there was no tomorrow all rushed back as soon as I was to see them.

After a small lie in, or morning siesta as I like to call it, I caught up with Ragnar and Lolita at midday to be taken back to the Olympic park (where only a handful of hours ago Mary and I had burned up the dance floor). It was another scorcher of a day and we made our way over to a traditional restaurant and the feast of my life and Lolita ordered meal after meal of Spanish speciality dish. We chatted about the good old days and how each family was doing. After a meal fit for a king I hugged them both good bye and waddled back to my hostel to catch up with Ryan and see how his day had gone.

Now Ryan had spent most of his day at the beach, making the most of ozone filtered sunlight, but had unfortunately not taken the necessary precautions – like sunblock. Sure the sun doesn’t burn after 15 minutes like it does in New Zealand, but even in Spain it will after 15 hours. My first response when I first saw Ryan was – “Good God man! What happened to your face!” only to be met with Ryan signature resigned head shake. Oh well, I suppose a little bit of pain now, and when he got back to New Zealand all the women would be all over him and his Spanish tan like monkeys after a runaway banana cart.

As the sun set, we headed off to the Hard rock café for a normal western style meal as all the foreign food was beginning to pale in comparison to a simple good steak and fries. Lets say we ate pretty well as the photos show, with Janelle getting quite a surprise when her chocolate brownie turned up. The next day we were to pack up and see what all the fuss was with the French Riviera

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Day 12 – 13 – Stunning Switzerland…

or how I reached terminal velocity over the Swiss Alps…

We arrived in amazing Switzerland to be greeted by breathtaking ranges meandering out over the horizon, with natural beauty to rival New Zealand landscapes. We were also greeted by Switzerland pricings… After getting accustomed to things being reasonably priced in Paris and Germany, Switzerland prices were a real wake up call. The rumours hadn’t been exaggerated. Boy, my bank account was going to feel it that’s for sure.

Though, soon the cost of living was to take a back seat to rumblings and rumours that there was to be an opportunity to go sky diving from a helicopter over the Swiss Alps. They didn’t have to ask twice as I signed up for this death defying activity in the blink of an eye. Here was my opportunity to tick off two items from my bucket list! Go for a ride in a helicopter and perform a sky dive. Ryan my trusty sidekick as always, signed up too (or signed his death warrant, we would soon find out). This was going to be our biggest adventure yet!

We had an amazing dinner the evening we arrived, and the night before our upcoming baptism of fire. Our last meal perhaps? Maybe that’s why it tasted like heaven on earth, who knows. We were served meals made by the expert Top Deck catering team. A mouth-watering chicken in a mushroom sauce topped off with traditional diced Swiss potatoes, which really blew all our minds. I had thirds. Heck the way I saw it; if I was going to make a crater tomorrow, I might as well do so with a full tummy.

Early next morning, the Gods smiled on us as we were greeted with spectacular weather, foggyish but still clear enough that we would be able to see the ground hurtling towards us at terminal velocity. For those who don’t know, terminal velocity is the maximum speed the human body can travel through the air before air friction prevents it travelling any further. It was going to be a good day to die I contemplated.

Suited up and ready to fly, we awaited for our mighty chariot to fly us into the heavens and to destiny! The familiar buzzing sound of a helicopter coming in to land suddenly caught our attention. Steffan (the owner of Skydive XDream) wandered up to us and mentioned that their dinner was arriving. Honestly, the first thing that popped into my mind was, “hold on, these Swiss are pretty extreme to be flying in their curries for dinner” – I don’t know why, but it did, more due to the fact that we had to wake up at 5ish for the jump, and my usually razor sharp mind was as blunt and effective as a plastic butter knife on a concrete wall.

All of a sudden a flying reindeer flew into sight…  No I was not high on the aviation fumes (well I’m mostly sure I wasn’t), and I was pretty sure it wasn’t Christmas time? If it was, I was probably better off with the parachute not opening, rather than face my moms’ wrath at not coming home for Christmas. No one else seemed surprised, as the reindeer came in for a landing, still fresh with grass still hanging out of its mouth. Theres fresh, and theres Swiss fresh I deliberated. There was no more time to consider whether children around the world were going to miss out on presents this Christmas, as we were jostled to our helicopter with military efficiency and German accented words of encouragement of “GO! GO! GO!!!” One could almost hear air raid sirens screeching out in ones head as we dove into the open doors of our helicopter.

Admittedly, I hadn’t really been nervous till the second I actually jumped into the helicopter. That immediately changed as soon as the engine sprang into life like, and shrieked like a berserk banshee out for blood. I could feel the adrenalin pour into my blood stream, my heart started pounding, and it felt like it would burst out of my chest at any moment. My breathing became shallower and sharper as the pilot whipped the banshee and spurred it on, causing it lurch into the air with a howl, in search of more terrified prey.

We careened between the sheer cliff walls of the valley, darting from crevice to crevice. All the while, I expected to meet our doom against the unforgiving cold rock face of the valley instead of the warm welcoming grounds of mother earth at the end of our fall. Luckily for us, the talented pilot and his trusty banshee were too good for the crushing death embrace of the valley and we shot out from the valley and its life ending cloud cover like a cork ascending to freedom. The views to behold were utterly astounding, with the Swiss Alps at spread all around us.
However, there wasn’t much time to let it all soak in as the helicopter door swung open and air rushed in, threatening to suck us out into oblivion. Not that it needed any help as we made our own way to the railing. Before I could get my bearings; the horizon suddenly swam past my peripheral vision, the crescendo of rushing air meeting my ears and face. We were free falling, soaring and diving like splendid eagles (or so id like to think). In reality, I looked more like a Saint Bernard that had just chased a cat into a wind tunnel. Mostly due to the fact that I was grinning from ear to ear and had air rushing into my mouth like the intake of a 747s engine. Id most likely have to photoshop that out in the videos later.

After what seemed like seconds, our death defying dive suddenly came to a halt as there was a loud crack like a whip, and our parachute clawed out at the all encompassing air that was to slow our fall. Then there was silence, as the only sound was the air gently breezing past us as we floated to the tarmac. As I looked up I saw Ryan had also successfully survived the drop and was making his way to friendly territory. There ended our first of many adrenalin fuelled adventures, to top of the rest of our day we made our way up to the top of Europe, or Jungfrau, which after our recent flight didn’t really seem so high anymore.

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