Nice little island you've got here...

Elba is part of Italy -- officially a Tuscan outpost -- though it's easy to get confused because its most famous occupant was (more or less) French and because it's pretty close to the Balearic Islands, which are Spanish.

The main city is Portoferraio. It, like the rest of Tuscany, was once ruled by the Medici family. The juxtaposition of Medici and Bonaparte is a fascinating element of Elba's culture. We had fun in Portoferraio -- once again getting off the boat with no real plan.

A block from the port entrance, we encountered Oscar, who had a cute three-wheeled jitney (sometimes called an auto rickshaw) and offered to drive us up the steep narrow streets to the big forts (one built by the Medici dynasty), then back down through town. For 24 Euros, and to avoid having to climb all the way, we took him up on his offer.

That was a very cool ride! Oscar, whose command of English was limited, zipped around the switchback turns and, whenever we came to a spot with a nice view, would screech to a stop, point, and say "picture!"

Here are a couple of those pictures -->

Oscar knew the staff at the old fort, so they let him take us into a few places not normally open to tourists, including a narrow corridor inside the walls where archers would fire arrows down onto invading armies. Oscar pointed to a set of wooden doors at the end of the hallway: "Five hundred years old!" he said proudly. Oscar also advised us to buy a day pass -- a ticket that would allow us into various buildings and galleries maintained by the historical society. We did, and it proved to be a good deal.

After poking around the fort/castle, Oscar took us to the house where Napoleon lived, past a theater that Napoleon built, and to a nearby chapel dedicated to Napoleon.

 He pointed at the small dome above the altar and had me use the cell phone camera to zoom in on the very top of the dome, where there is a small pyramid with an eye looking out of it. "Just like US dollar bill!" said Oscar. He couldn't explain the coincidence and neither can I.

Oscar took us back down through town to the waterfront, where we ended his tour and began the hunt for lunch. We had been advised by the nice ladies at the fort to go to the Piazza della Repubblica. Almost every Italian town has a Piazza della Repubblica, usually a lovely town square with monuments and churches and shops and restaurants and pigeons.

We found the square easily but it had been entirely given over to cars. The piazza was a damn parking lot! Well...

We knew of a restaurant next to the theater, having done a little research before our visit. It's called Teatro (check the web site here) and has a nice patio with a view over a small park, the sparkling sea in the distance. We found it easily (having zipped past with Oscar) and had a very nice lunch, including of course the local beer.

On the menu at Teatro, the owners are listed as Antonio and Fiona de Medici!


The day pass got us into the theater, which Napoleon ordered built inside a church. Several tiers of luxury box seats were sold to rich Elbans and Napoleon used the proceeds to finance his escape. The theater is still in use.

The obligatory visit to an archeological museum and shopping at a couple of nice pastry shops rounded out our visit. Fun and educational day!

Fun in Le Lavandou

This was, unexpectedly, a highlight of our trip along the coast.

Hyeres: From the port of Le Lavandou, we took a bus ride to this medieval village, passing through Bormes-Les-Mimosas on the way. Both are known for their flowers, although this is also wine and olive country. Hyeres is lovely, with its ancient ramparts and narrow streets and flowers.

One of my pet peeves is the use of fake shutters on modern buildings in a failed attempt to give them character.  Here, of course, the shutters are very real and very practical and, almost always, very charming. I took a close-up photo of a window in an old house -- planning to use the picture in a forthcoming magnum opus (read: rant) about fake shutters. As soon as I had snapped the picture, an old gentleman leaned out the window and yelled at me. I apologized, or tried to,  using my very poor French. In spite of his protests, I'm still going to use that photo in the forthcoming shutter screed. You've been warned.

Wandering narrow cobbled streets never gets old. In Hyeres, the views were stunning, looking out over groves of olive trees to the glittering sea.

The lanes, as advertised, are lined with flowers, blooming even in late October.

Of course, Hyeres boasts a town square with an old church and nice restaurants. I don't know quite what it is about these places, but I feel very peaceful (and a little snobbish), pretending vainly to act like a local, just hangin' out.

Domaine de l'Anglade: From Hyeres, we went back through Bormes-les-Mimosas to the outskirts of Le Lavandou and stopped at a small winery. A brief tour and a short presentation about winemaking and the history of this winery, then into the tasting room. Kathy's California cousins, because they are Californians, are wine experts. They pronounced the white wine very good (even ordering a few cases shipped back to California), the rose very good, and the red just so-so. I enjoyed the toast with tepanade (well, yes, and the wine, too.)

The winery was founded as a hobby by a family that had made its fortune in the reed business: reeds for clarinets, bassoons, oboes, saxophones, and English horns. The plants from which the reeds are made grow well in this microclimate. Vandoren reeds (sold exclusively from their Paris outlet) are, we were told, famous.


The hillside setting and the friends and the wine and the lovely weather -- such a pleasant afternoon!

Le Lavandou: Back to Le Lavandou and a stroll through the busy waterfront district. It's a warm Saturday and the place is busy but not crowded.

Sttraying a little from our usual practice of eating lunch in a small outdoor restaurant. We got street food instead -- a very nice big crepe with some kind of chocolatey fruity filling, from a one-man stand next to some boules courts (like bocce except the French use steel balls).

The pedestrian walkway was a delight because someone had constructed a half-dozen interactive sculptures which also served as games, made from reclaimed lumber, tree limbs, springs, string, tennis balls -- all kinds of clever and cool stuff.

The coolest was a contraption that had a long metal arm balanced on a stack of old books. On one end of the arm a full-sized upright piano was suspended. On the other end, a platform with a red plush carpet on it. The operator would seat four or five people on the carpet, crank up the machinery to make the whole thing rotate, then climb onto the piano bench and play sprightly music as the magic carpet made slow circles. I took a video but I'll be damned if I can find it now. The still photo here doesn't do it justice.

Everybody was smiling and taking photos. Pretty neat!

Not the Usual Itinerary

I'd heard of Cannes and Marseille and Toulon and San Tropez -- famous places on France's Mediterranean coast where rich people go to play in the summer. But I had never heard of Sete or Le Lavandou. When we decided to join Kathy's California cousins on this trip, these two places were intriguing precisely for this reason.

From Menorca, Spain, we sailed the short distance to Sete, France. Pronounced "set" (emphasis on the only syllable), it's a quiet port known for its fishing, its canals (billing itself the Venice of France is a bit of promotional hyperbole), and its oysters.

Our plan, after doing some superficial research, was to go the market (Les Halles de Sete), buy some fresh produce and bread and cheese and pastries and have ourselves a picnic. It almost worked!

Using a fairly detailed map, we walked to where the market should have been but found instead a clothing store fronted by a small plaza where some musicians were playing. That was nice. We figured we'd misread the map so walked around in ever-widening circles until we had given up.

During the stroll, when our heads weren't buried in the map, we saw some cool murals, which the guidebook failed to mention. This is Kathy in front of one mural, looking intently (again) at the map.

Back to the square (square one?). The market really should be right here! On a hunch (and driven by hunger) we walked through the clothing store and, sure enough, the huge indoor market was there, filled with fish and bread and cheese and pastries and a couple of tiny bars and meats and lots of people. I mean LOTS of people. We abandoned the picnic plan, a decision I now regret (especially after having visited the web site of Les Halles de Sete) but at the time we were intimidated by the crowds and the noise.

Instead, we sat at a nice bakery next to a park and had some pastries, which would hold us until we could track down a real lunch.

Our second idea was a canal boat tour. Some of our traveling companions had booked one through the cruise line, but we are stubbornly independent and cheap, so we figured we'd find one ourselves. And...we did!

A local company called Sete Croisiers runs three canal tours. BUT..the ticket offices were closed for siesta, so we had to wait, which was fine, so long as we could get some FOOD. Across the street from the shuttered ticket booth was a restaurant called, incongruously, the Hippie Bar, with its own bizarre mural (see below).

I ordered oysters (the famed local delicacy) and tried to order beer, but somehow the server and I failed to communicate, so I ordered a glass of white wine instead. The oysters were very good, with a kind of raspberry vinaigrette for dipping. The wine never came. Hey, we're in France, for heaven's sake! No wine? Merde...

Anyway, after lunch we got on the canal boat. The tour was inexpensive and interesting. We saw a bunch of oyster beds in the bay, some cleverly engineered drawbridges, lift bridges, and bridges that pivoted.

The narrator, who looked like Jean-Paul Belmondo, spoke only French, but we followed along with an English illustrated brochure, and that worked OK. Each time we went under a low bridge (so low we really did have to duck), Jean-Paul would lean into the microphone and genially use the only English phrase he was sure of: "Oh my God!"

Despite the lack of wine at lunch and the market that was strangely hidden from view, we liked Sete because it was kind of funky and unpretentious and accessible.

On to Le Lavandou!

This is more like it!

The medium-sized cruise ship took us overnight from Mallorca to the neighbor island of Menorca. Menorca, as its name implies, is the smaller of the two. When it comes to islands in the Mediterranean, small is good!

From the port of Mahon (sometimes spelled Mao) we took a drive around the island. First stop, the tiny resort town of Fornell (pronounced FourNAY).

It's the last week of October. The weather is fine -- sunny and warm. But the resorts around Fornell are almost all closed for the season. The town is quite pretty; the bay reminded me of La Jolla (except no seals or whales). We sat at an outdoor bistro (S'Algret) on the small town square (Placa S'Algret), had a snack, and enjoyed the view.

From Fornell, we drove into the hills to the center of the island, dubbed Monte Toro (in Catalan, "toro" is derived from a word that means "high"[and that's no bull]) where centuries ago the Crusaders built a fort and a chapel, which later became a nunnery. I think the large gift shop is a fairly recent addition. From the top, you can see the entire island and, on a clear day, the peaks of Mallorca in the distance. It's pretty.

At the top of the hill, the Catholics built a big statue of Jesus, arms outstretched. The founders didn't count on cell towers spoiling the view.

Back down the mountain to Mahon, where we wandered the streets. Many shops were selling sandals made of cork and recycled automobile tires. Apparently this is a thing on Menorca.  We resisted the urge to buy sandals.

There were lots of stores selling gin distilled on the island. The locals are proud of their gin. We didn't buy any, but...there was a very neat little toy store, so the grand-kids benefited from this visit!

Pursuing our goal of dining al fresco at local restaurants whenever possible, we found a bistro -- Ristorante Santa Rita -- on a small square across from a church (of course).

A leisurely lunch of tapas and the local beer (Cerveca Alhambra) and a sunny mid-day -- nice combo. We had the albondigas (which was nothing like the Mexican soup of the same name) and something else. The restaurant was near the top of these steps, which we walked down on the way back to the port. Someone said there are 150 steps -- I counted 115.

After the unexpectedly busy port city of Palma, the size and pace of Mahon was very pleasant indeed.

On to the Cote d'Azur!