The Corniches, France

Mon 26^th May

The drive from Nice to Lake Maggiore in Italy was worth a travel book in itself, but I was the passenger so Bevan may have an entirely different opinion considering the number of hair-raising turns and cliffsides he drove on Monday.

The day started off with a drive through the Corniches, which refers to the three roads – high, middle and low – between Nice and Menton. The views take in Nice and Monte-Carlo, with the many posh resorts, mansions and private beaches in between along France's Cote Azur.

The lower Corniche travels along the coastline, stopping through all of the beach resorts but is also known as a snail crawl filled with fancy cars doing the Wheat Ridge, Colorado equivalent of a high school cruise from Taco Bell to Dam Park.

We took the middle road, thanks to Tom-Tom's recommendation and the views were stunning at a price – white-knuckle, oh-shit-bar gripping terror. The roads were still fairly busy and slow but it still wasn't as high as the upper Corniche or so low that everyone stares at your purple caravan amongst the Ferraris. But if you have a Ferrari, definitely go the lower route.

The upper Corniche, otherwise known as the Grand Corniche, is what vertigo terrors are made of but the views are supposed to be incredible. This is also the infamous road that claimed the life of Hollywood legend Grace Kelly, otherwise known in these parts as Princess Grace of Monaco. Back in 1982, a car carrying Princess Grace and her daughter, Stephanie, swerved off the Grand Corniche. Stephanie survived but Princess Grace did not. In other words, take care.

We finally arrived safely at sea-level in Menton, a beautiful French seaside town but one that you can't pass through without noticing its geriatric charm or joking about the fact that the zimmerframe is its official symbol. It's also the last town before crossing the border into Italy.

FINALLY a new country! While Spain, Morrocco and France were fabulous, we'd spent 2 months speaking only broken French or Spanish and feeling like we'd barely moved on the map. A dire need for change in food, language and atmosphere was in order and Italy was just the ticket. As we passed the border, I hung my head out the window like a dog starved for the wind in its face and screamed every Italian word I knew. “Ciao bella! Grazie! Gelato! Espresso! Pizza! ” Ten minutes later we rounded a corner in the hillside and crossed back into France. Damnit.

The road continued to swerve between France & Italy for the next few hours but the views out the window made it all irrelevant. Plush green mountains spilling down into an aqua blue river filled with light grey smooth rocks chased us the entire route. With only 1 hour to go to our destination, we finally reached Lake Maggiore and Bevan begged to slam on the brakes and pick a campsite on the spot.

I insisted that the guidebook said the best spots were further north, but it was hard to believe given the incredible view of a crystal clear blue lake surrounded by steep cragged cliffs of green mountains with tiny butterscotch and raspberry sorbet coloured Italian towns nestled along the lake. Bevan gave in and an hour of winding around the lake later, we pulled into Cernobbio – a mountain girl's dream.