I’m not a beach person. During the summer, the roads are incredibly busy, there are no parking spaces and restaurants are so full, it’s almost impossible to get a table. So when our friends Chas and Christine arrived for their annual pilgrimage to our part of the world this year, we decided that we would bury our predjucies and go and visit them in the villa they use so a trip down to the coast was organised for the Sunday.
They had arrived at our place on the Saturday for lunch which stretched to dinner and when we discussed where we’d go the following day, J took over and the next thing I remember is her saying something about ‘Royal’. I didn’t sleep too well on Saturday night!
The word ‘royal’ to me means ‘expensive’. We used to stay in the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead in England and that was expensive, as was Royal Henley (the regatta on the Thames) and so going somewhere ‘Royal’ for lunch meant a huge bill. Now I’m not particularly mean despite what the vast majority of my friends (and even my family) say but I draw the line at ‘royal’.
We’d decided, sorry J had decided, we’d lunch in Antibes and so we set off and headed for the Royal Beach Club. There’s only one thing which is worse than ‘Royal’ and that’s ‘Club’ in the same sentence. I feared the worst.
|The Royal Beach Club Antibes|
It was a stunning day. The sun was shining, the beaches were full as were the restaurants, particularly the Royal Beach Club (see picture), but I have to say it was a great location and to her credit, J had managed to book a table right on the beach front. In fact, it was so close to the water, I could have fished from our table. Indeed, at one stage I was feeding the mullet who seemed to know that there was a piscean eating only a couple of feet from their watery environment and who was sympathetic to their needs and threw copious amounts of bread into the bay for them.
Despite the eye watering prices, lunch was terrific. Christine had a mixed grill of different fish. Chas had some sort of pasta, as did J (with clams), whilst I also had pasta, a ravioli in a rich creamy, cheese sauce. But I did notice that whilst we all probably needed bibs to keep our shirts (and blouses) clean, only J was given a wrap-around bib (pictured) which I also noticed, the waiter took great delight in fitting around her neck and body! Why are all these beach bar boys tanned, good looking hunks?
|All 'Bibbed' Up|
When we’d eaten, us boys disappeared off to watch the Grand Prix, whilst J and Christine stayed to pay the bill (yes!). Chas’s apartment (it’s a bit mean to call a €1 million pad an apartment) is in an amazing location looking over the bay at Golfe Juan which is the next bay east of Antibes.
Situated high on a hill, the view is spectacular (see picture) and on Sunday the breeze had allowed the yachties to set sail and so the Med was covered in sail craft of every description.
|The View of Golfe Juan|
It was a lovely day out. The only downside was that the greasy Spanish whistleblower, known as Fernando Alonso, won the Grand Prix. Still you can’t have everything.