Nice was a sentimental last stop in France.  More than the architecture, or the beautiful turquoise water, or the myriad of other reasons that bring the world's rich and famous, I will remember hiking too far in the city with my backpack on.  It's not especially heavy, perhaps 15kg, but I was regretting the two euros a night I saved by choosing the hostel on the outside of town and then taking all day to walk there.  My toes were swollen little sausages the next morning.  I'll definitely watch for switchbacks on the map next time I'm planning a walk. 

I saw so much though.  I could lead walking tours of the city now.  More than half the time I was there it was raining, but I didn't mind.  It was never cold, and I had my rain jacket.  Supposedly the locals hate this sculpture, Square Head.  Inside the cube houses the offices of the Museum of Contemporary Art.  I have several grand vista views, but the city maintained its persistent grey. 

Thankfully, Monaco was all sunshine and jingling jackpots.  Behind me in the picture is the Prince of Monaco's palace.  The ports and hills of the tiny country were beautiful, but most of the time I felt about seven figures away from the right income bracket to enjoy the amenities.  There was a brief moment where I was asked to watch a 98 year old woman while her daughter got something from the house.  We sat and talked about how she carried her baby into the hills when the Germans came during WWII, then the daughter came back out and rolled her eyes.  I had a feeling the story lost its impact for her.