CHAPTER 15
We are not French, but after ten days of calling Menton home, I think we could be. Our apartment was afforded with a tiny balcony overlooking the beachside promenade. The sidewalk restaurant across the street was busy from brunch till well after we went to bed. Our view looked east, and the moon was spectacularly full and present for the majority of our twilight vistas. Our daily regimen of balcony chorizo, gouda, bread and rosé felt apropos. AMs spent on the rocky beach, followed by an hour or two at the park, and then a stroll through the hilly old town became our MO. Pizza nights out were cherished few, but the omnipresent carousel, revolving constantly on our path home, necessitated a bulk ticket purchase, and a three scoop gelato shared by all- you can guess who got the lion’s share.
