We passed by a quiet town on the way back.  Vaullaris is notable for its pottery; when we entered the town proper, there was a large, colorful ceramic dish mounted in honor of Picasso.  Picasso stayed here in his 60s, going into ceramics just to prove he was a genius in any medium.  We passed by in fact Madura, Pablo Picasso’s former gallery.  It wasn’t hard for me to imagine the temperamental artist working there.
    Our dinner was set at seven.  We managed to reach it on time.  It was my last day with the other kids, so I went out with them after dinner.  The Ricaldes, The Baloises, Jojo and I (my sisters opted to go hang with my parents, in their words “stay with the money”) walked by the beachside.  Contrary to what Jennifer said, there was quite a bit of nightlife in Nice—on the bay walk, at least.  Two performance artists struck shivering poses reminiscent of yoga.  Skateboarders some ten years younger than me, and others twice my age were seen strutting their stuff every direction I turned.
    We did nothing but talk—turns out that everyone was connected by at least two degrees, barring of course the father connection.  Funky.  Our number gradually dwindled (the rest of the group was taking the train early next morning), and by the time I reached classy Negresco only Owen and Raffy were with me.
    Negresco’s lobby was super (pronounced ‘th’).  Seriously; it looked more like a museum with its collection of eccentric sculptures and furniture.  Amongst the eclectic art was an extremely fat cat, surveying all around her like a queen.  I later found out that she was a queen—Carmen the Siamese cat was born in that hotel, and from the moment of her birth was pampered and spoiled.
    When Raffy and Owen went back to the hotel, I caught up with Dad and Risa.  We ended up going to an internet café and writing an extremely convoluted message to Kuya. 

    In my little notebook there’s something scribbled about Notre Dame des Pins (our ‘Our Lady of the Pines’), but I can’t decipher it.  I dozed off somewhere in between St. Tropez and cannes, and when we did arrive in Filmfestivallandia I was pretty groggy.    
    Cannes is synonymous to its film festival, and to be honest that’s all I can remember.  Our only stop there was the Cannes Film Centre, where the walkway is accented with hand imprints ala Hollywood Walk of Fame.  My day was made when we saw a certain hand…
    For the rest of the day, I kept quoting Chuck Norris.
    On the way out to Cannes and back to Nice, there were gorgeous houses with unusual glass façades.  These were the vacation houses of Arabian princes, who loved the French Riviera.
    Oops.  I meant Côte d’Azur.  It was the Americans who gave that name (I think) to distinguish the 200 km long stretch from the Italian Riviera.  Naturally the French hated that so one man renamed it the Blue Coast. 

    I woke up in that shiny, four-star Nice hotel (still can't get over that) and went down for breakfast.  Saw actual sugar cubes for the first time; shut up, I was awed.  At 830 our group left Nice to visit several other areas.  The first was St. Tropez.  I never thought I'd get to go there.  Funny, but it was only when I saw their beautiful villas that I realized that.
   

White Night. 2152.

    I was talking about St. Tropez.  It's now mostly a place for the rich to party and show off their exceedingly expensive yachts.  A particular annual is the White Night Party, something that's done to welcome the season.  Everyone's supposed to wear white, or risk severe social discrimination.
    Yes, I'm hearing you high school classmates.  See Sir Gary?  Wet N' White was supposed to be posh. ;)
   
    Man, the yachts were sweet.  Gleaming sleek beauties, all of them, lined up like models in a fashion show.

    Nice, of topless bathers, rich people lollygagging on their yachts, and parties on sultry nights…On the way to the restaurant where we were going to have our lunch, I espied an aubergine yacht.  Jennifer said that it belonged to Roberto Cavelli, some fashion designer (do any of you guys know who that is?).  we passed by the old quarter, which had the former city hall and apartments which once belonged to Lady Sufferen.  Her husband, nicknamed by the English as the 'Admiral of Hell', has a statue in front of the aforementioned coffeehouse.

    Also in the Old Quarter was a church dedicated to the Virgin Mary (Sigh.  It's a sign, I'm telling you).  Near the old courthouse we saw a peacock resting on one of the high walls.  It was really pretty.
    This day was also Leonardo Siguion-Reyna's birthday, my dad's firm's senior/capital partner and one of the co-founders (he's the 'SR' in 'SRMO').  So he treated all of us—even the kids—to lunch in one of the pricy restos in Nice.  Le Table Du Marche's supervisor chef guy is Christophe Lamery, also the chef in either Club 55 or that White Night Party, I can't remember.
    Man, Sir Sig's cool.  He turned 85, and he's still fit enough to go on cruises and walks.  Sobrang hanga ako sa kanya.

 
    After the scrumptious lunch, Jennifer gave us time to shop around.  We wanted to hit the flea market—especially the girls—but to our dismay it closed after morning.  I ended up bumming for a while.  Bought nothing in St. Tropez, but I did get pictures of cute doggies.
    On the way to Cannes (pronounced KAN) there were a couple of girls with no tops on.  Unfortunately for the dads though (and Raffy, and Erman >:) ), they were all on our side.  Steph managed to get a truly priceless picture—probably one of the best photos of the entire trip.

    At six o’clock we caught sight of the town of Nice (pronounced NIS)—and thus began a slew of puns that lasted until the end of our time in France.  I imagined a quiet little seaside town, a place where the rich and the famous sophisticatedly relaxed.  In the distance we could see Cape Ferrat, an abandoned castle, and a white domed observatory.  The picturesque scene only enhanced my perception of Nice.
    To my shock, once we crested a mountain I saw a large city, some streets littered with trash.  The streets we passed on the way to the bay had hair salons on either side.  A fixation on coiffure, perhaps?  Though our hotel was just a short distance away it took some time to get there due to the traffic.
    The city looked interesting though.  Right next to the city library was a grey block sculpture equal in height to the buildings surrounding it.  The Square Head designed by Sosno, was a building—inside were the offices of the city library.
    A lot of the streets, shops, and even a museum had Greek names.  This is because Nice like many other seaside French towns was founded by the Greeks.
    At 7 o’clock we reached the central station, and we stepped off the bus to walk to a dinghy Chinese restaurant.  All of us kids sat together, and we had fun lambasting the condition and ambiance of the eater.  By then though we were ravenous, so despite the dirtiness we chowed down on the un-Chinese fare.  An hour and a half later the bus driver, a somewhat grumpy man named Joseph, drove us to the West-End Hotel.
    Wow.  A four-star hotel!  First time I’ve been in one.  I was agog at the space they’ve given us, the beds, the bathroom, the space, everything.  It was über-nice.
    Eep.  I didn’t mean to pun.  So sorry.  
    At 10 my family walked around the vicinity of our hotel, and the Hidalgos walked around with us.  By that time most of the shops were closed, so we decided to have crepes.  For €1 apiece, they were ok; big, even.  After eating we walked around again, saw Tito Popoy (Owen’s dad).  The only souvenir shop open was rather expensive.  We went back to the hotel and slept.

    My mother has an extremely sensitive nose.  She can detect the smell of unwashed hair from maybe five feet away.  Staying in the elevator with people who in their culture don’t feel it necessary to bathe daily (then again, it is rather cold where they live…) is torture for her.
    Grasse is the perfume capital of the world.
    We only made one stop in that village—a perfume factory of Fragonard.  Papot’s mother and Mom stayed downstairs while we went on the tour to find out how perfume is made.
       
    Fragonard produces perfume, cologne, soap and cosmetics.  Once we were done with the tour, we were led to the factory shop.  It reminded me of that bad tour we once took in Shanghai, only this one was of course much better (at least here, they didn’t force us to buy something before leaving).  Funnily enough though the moms didn’t veer for the perfume, but for the anti-aging face cream that Fragonard presented at the last minute.
    Tee hee hee.

    So, our lunch was once again a sandwich.  My sisters and I split an enormous sub into 3, and each had a coke.  Then since Risa was in a bad mood, Mikki and I bummed around the shops with ice cream in our hands.  Naturally, we didn’t get much done (I managed to get a pin for Kuya, though).  What I loved about Mionaco was that there were cute dogs everywhere—huge labradors and tiny shitzus.  I oohed.  I awwed.  The only time Mikki and I bought something for ourselves was when we met up with Risa and our parents.  I got a really cute striped shirt.
    We reunited with Jennifer, our tour guide, at around 3.  And just in time too, for the changing of the guards.  It was funky, although nothing beats the costumes of the Swiss Guards in Rome.
    Our group went back to our bus, and we went to the famed Monte Carlo Casino.  It was there, even more than the Old Town that I realized I was among the fantastically rich and famous.
    Well, really.  Everyone I saw looked like they stepped out of a magazine.  Their clothes seemed expensively tailored, or perhaps branded.  The poodles and pugs and Pekingese dogs were just as manicured.  And the Porsches and Jaguars and Peugeots were lined up outside the posh, five-star hotels.
    The Ferrarris in particular were a huge hit—us refugee-looking tourists gawked around the sleek cars, in cherry red, lemon yellow, and licorice black.  Hey, us Filipinos weren’t the only ones posing for the cameras. :P
    Even their police station looked rich.
    My family pretty much just walked around the park, and then we boarded our bus once more, this time heading towards Nice.

    I woke up and finally got up at 7, despite the constant ringing of my cellphone's alarm clock at 530.  Breakfast was a hurried affair, since by 830 we were supposed to be out of our cabins.  At 10 in the morning Costa Romantica disembarked in Savona, and the rest of the SRMO group (Dad's firm) that was taking the post-cruise trip boarded a bus to Nice.
    Fun.  Unlike the last time—when my brother, my sisters, and I preferred keeping to ourselves—I actually interacted with the other kids more. :D But more on that later.
    At 12 noon, we reached Monaco.  Everyone was simply pole-axed.  Imagine cresting a hill to suddenly discover a gulf several fathoms below, glistening like polished lapis lazuli.  There are small white flecks dotting its surface, which as you go closer realize are actually gleaming yachts.  Surrounding the gulf are living mountains, and soaring up from the green canopy are buildings with sculptured, ornamental grace.
    On the outskirts of Monaco we met up with our tour guide, a woman named Jennifer, formerly of Hong Kong.  She was somewhat of a relief, since she spoke with a clear, if a little halting accent.
   
    The first thing we did was to ride an elevator up to the Old Town.  Immediately we saw a grey building decorated with bas-reliefs of marine life.  Prince Albert I, the current one's grandfather, was a man of many interests, and in 1910 he founded Le Institut Oceanographique (Museum).  While we weren't able to go inside, I was happy with the stone fish-statues and the yellow submarine on display.
    Our next stop was the Palais Cathédrale, built in 1875.  On the way we spotted Princess Caroline's and Princess Stephanie's houses.  They were huge.
    Our Lady of Immaculate Conception Cathédrale (I know you people.  I can see you grinning) was just as majestic as a royal church should be.  A side chapel was devoted to St. Devote, an early roman female martyr who became their patron saint.  In the center of the cathedral, surrounding the altars, were the tombs of their royalty.  Among them were Prince Albert II's parents, Rainier and the luminously beautiful actress Grace Kelly.
    Princess Grace died in a car accident in 1982, on the way back to Monaco.  There were some rumors running around about her death, which were quashed when Princess Stephanie emerged with an official statement that her mother was the drive.
   
    Depressing.  Wasn't the kid traumatized enough with her mother's death?  Paparazzi are sad.

    Right outside the Cathedral are two buildings.  The Consúl National had a red and white flag for St. Devote, and the beautiful sandy-colored domelike building turned out to be the Courthouse of Monaco.  Unfortunately, it wasn't opened to the public, so the lawyers couldn't look inside.
    It was time for lunch, so Jennifer just showed us the meeting place—right in front of the Royal Palce—and we went our separate ways.

(written April 20, 2006)

    I woke up gloriously late, at least compared to the last few days.  I had breakfast with Mikki, since everyone else's schedules were so disparate.  At 1130, we attended mass.  Attending mass with four languages was certainly more interesting than celebrating the Eucharist with a language I know only minimally for a whole night (oh, that was fun).  All parts of the service were divided into language, and foe every couple of minutes we would hear Spanish, Italian, French or English.  All songs were sang in English; I wished that they would throw in some Filipino for good measure, considering that we were a large group.  But alas, nada.
    Oops, cancel the breakfast.  I actually didn't eat, since we ended up rushing for the mass.  After it ended, Mom Risa, and Mikki ate in the pizzeria for lunch.  Dad went to the infirmary to tend a pain his left hip, and I attended the lawyers' cocktails.
    Tee hee.  Lawyers are amusing especially when they start to get tipsy.  For awhile I hung out with the Baloises, but Dad came in and I once again drank alcohol, this time a fruit-punchy Tequila Sunset.  It was pretty sweet, too—they celebrated Sir Sig's birthday, though that came a few days after.  The cake looked delicious, even if I didn't taste it.  By then Dad and I were really hungry, so we ate lunch.
    Afterwards, I finally got to play cards.  It was a stroke of luck that I saw Raffy, Michelle, and Sam.  Pusoy Dos, Heart Attack…Tong Its, Black Jack.  Little by little, more players came; Carlo (Sam and Michelle's cousin), Owen and Bika, Mikki and Risa.
    By four I grew sick of playing cards with everyone, and Raffy and I went to the gym (Gossiping all the while about our batchmates.  Eep).  Man, I'm out of shape.  There's going to be hell to pay when I get back from this trip.

    EDIT (July 16, 2006):  I didn't gain a pound.  Ha!

    My exercise lasted for 45 or so minutes, and then I went back to my room to change for dinner.  Only, dinner was really confusing.  Originally, I was just going to go to the buffet or the pizerria, since I had no desire to dress up for the last dinner (which required formal wear).  After some more ado, however, it turned out that the Boticelli Restaurant was the only place serving dinner.  I grimly wore fancy attire.

    It was all good though.  Since Risa was hanging out with the Lichaucos, Mikki, my parents and I ate with Papot and her family.  Tito Mario and Dad and Mom kept talking about UP dorm life—funny.  The food, of course, was delicious.  For some reason, the ice cream I received for dessert was larger than any of the other ones (so naturally I gave half of it to Mom, and didn't eat a third of the remaining).  Chocolate Egg was yummy.  I excused myself to hang out with Steph and Jojo in their table, ended up going with the Ricaldes to watch Cinecitta Oscars, the last show.
    It was horrible.  Philip would have had a field day with it.  Basically, the mediocre dancers showed the worst of their acting chumps.  Bika (Beka?) even said our regular class projects were far better.  Owen noted that the only interesting parts were the little movie bits meant as fillers.  I found it utterly kitschy, boring, and sad.
    Afterwards, to rid the taste of the tackiness, the Ricaldes and I played Scrabble.  Poor Raffy—his ates really ganged up on him.  Poorer me, with my surplus vowels; I managed to be the fourth winner.  Bravo, Dana.
    Steph and Erman arrived then, and I had to say goodnight to finalize my packing.  By then it was midnight, and I was pretty tired.  Our malletas were outside our room by 1, and I promptly fell asleep.

    Soon, we were rocking in the Kasbah.
    The Old City, otherwise known as Medina or La Kasbah, was named so because ‘kasbah’ in Turkish meant ‘fortress’.  I wish I could say more about the place, but our tour guide only took us to the Main Street of the Marketplace.  Our group went inside one of the shops and climbed up the stairs to view the city skyline.
    It struck me how different it was from most of the countries I’ve been to; in lieu of skyscrapers and Baroque cathedrals, there were flat-roofed white buildings, minarets, and weathered domes that made up the landscape.  Just at that moment, while we were admiring the view, a gong sounded.  Then voices of priests called out all over the Kasbah, marking the afternoon prayers.            
    We went back inside then, and a man (everyone except the tourists were all male, since traditionally the women all stay at home and make handicrafts.  In the more modern part of Tunis though, as we returned to the port, I saw women walking around in Western business suits and the current tight-fitting fashions) showed us the different types of carpets.
               
    We were given an hour and a half to shop before going back to the boat.  The marketplace was a more cramped version of Sidi Bou Said, and a sinister one at that.  Or was it just my paranoia?  As I’ve mentioned earlier, the vendors and the non0tourists were all men, save for the odd middle-aged mother running errands.  I did NOT like the way they stared at us, the aggressive pursuit of a sale, and the fact that many of them called me ‘my lovely’.
    It frightened me that a few of them even grabbed my arm.  I tried to stay as close to Dad as possible.  Even the young handsome men, with their slicked-back hair and expressive eyes, unnerved me.
    Back on the boat, I quickly changed into my jogging pants.  Risa, Mikki and I stayed in our cabin watching Monster In Law until we realized that it was time for dinner.  After leaving the buffet table I tried to arrange a massive game of Heart Attack with all the lawyers’ kids, but it was in vain.  After buying the shoulder carpetbag in the ship’s store that I’ve been eyeing, I watched TheMalambo Show with Owen and Raffy.
    Luis Viana, ‘El Gaucho’, was frigging cool.
    Dad and I joined up after the show, and I coerced him to buy me a drink.