France

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The term “French Riveria” conjures up visions of enormous yachts, seaside cafés, sandy beaches and colourful coastal architecture. The stereotype is oh so true. Pedalling along the oceanside from glamourous Cannes to bustling Savona in Italy, we enjoyed days of sunny skies while passing through some of the most desirable real estate in Europe.

Cannes, home to the world’s glitziest film festival every May, boasts enviable views of coastal mountains to the west from kilometres of prime beaches. Sprawling patios encompass the posh port where immaculate cruisers and sailboats rest tranquilly. Trains slip silently up and down the coast, paralleling the route eastwards.

We cycled through busy seaside towns as we made our way to Nice, the biggest city in the region. Taking a “rest” day and riding an easy 30km, we spent the afternoon wandering the streets of the city and admiring the old town and buildings. We stumbled upon a bike store overlooking Nice’s port, somehow arriving just in time for a presentation about an epic Gran Fondo (mass cycling race/ride) in western Italy coming up this summer. We were warmly received, with the race organizers commending us on our cycling odyssey and providing us with complimentary jerseys. We felt humbled yet inspired to share our stories with other riders, and the complimentary food and drink was an added bonus.

Sporting our matching pink jerseys, we passed a marathon on our way out of Nice the following morning, feeling at one with the crowd. The road quieted as we headed towards the Italian border, but not before we made a pit stop in Monaco and heard the obligatory roar of expensive sports cars as we explored the tiny micro state. Real estate is clearly at a premium in the lavish city, as the main road runs below ground like some kind of subterranean labyrinth. Why waste the scenic view from a road when you could put a posh building in its place? The yachts in the harbour were as polished as the multitude of metropolitan buildings that clung to the hilly terrain about the sea. The entire city oozed affluence yet was eerily quiet.

There was as little fanfare leaving Monaco as there was entering it, with no signage to indicate that we had passed back in to France. We passed by one more scenic seaside town before stopping at the abandoned remains of the Italian-French border crossing to mark our crossing into the third country on our adventure. We had spent a full two weeks in France, starting and finishing on the ocean with plenty of inland highlights in between. But Italy beckoned. Our mouths watered with dreams of fresh pizza, pasta and gelato ahead, with maybe even a good beer or two as well.

Unlike coastal France, where towns felt very much separated as much by the geography as their municipal character, seaside Italy seemed to be one endless swath of settlement. Where one town ended another abruptly began. For some reason we had expected Italy to be quieter than France, but it proved the opposite. Traffic increased significantly as we navigated our way through busy streets.

We spent a night in the old town of Bordighera, it’s winding car-less streets a pleasant change. Oddly, our efforts at finding a restaurant for dinner were surprisingly thwarted. Although every establishment was open, there were literally no seats available. We had never seen anything like it. We started to wonder if there was some secret Italian handshake we weren’t privy to. As it turned out, it was the eve of the Italian national holiday commemorating the country’s liberation from Nazi occupation and the fall of Mussolini towards the end of the Second World War. A good reason indeed to celebrate.

The streets were filled the following day with Italians enjoying the sunshine and participating in parades. We passed thousands of locals walking and cycling along the ocean on perhaps the widest cycling lane I’ve ever seen, but it was still barely big enough to contain the crowds. Normally we would nod our head at passing cyclists but instead we dodged and weaved our way through the mass of humanity. It was like participating in an unofficial gran fondo, and it was an absolute joy.

Setting up camp just west of Savona, we chowed down on fresh gnocchi that could have doubled for fine dining. Although camp food usually tastes delicious, this was a new level of culinary delight with such simple ingredients. After having spent the past few days winding our way along the coast we would leave the Mediterranean the following morning to turn inland in search of quieter roads.