We were ticketed to go to Nice, France from Barcelona, Spain on Littoral Airlines. The problem? Nobody (taxi drivers, airline personnel or the information desk) had heard of Littoral Airlines. It took over 45 minutes to make contact with this air carrier. It is not very encouraging that no one had seen or heard of your airline. I was philosophic but concerned and Lorraine was just frightened.

We finally uncovered it and we boarded a jet with no markings. The flight was 45 minutes and it was wonderful. The pretty French stewardess set everyone at ease. The baguette of brie sandwich was delicious.

Two lessons learned:

1. Get to the airport in plenty of time.

2. Trust in a higher power.

The French Riviera is truly magnifique. The Promenade des Anglais (Avenue of the English), the central boulevard, looks a bit like Collins Avenue, Miami with its many bright and luxurious pastel hotels. The flavor is definitely French.

We did not have to convert money as both Spain and France accept the Euro as currency. When we left the USA the dollar was higher than the Euro. Because of the slump in the American stock market we found it had dropped 10 percent. Our vacation would now cost 10 percent more than planned.

C'est La Vie!

On the next day we went to Monaco, the tax haven. We learned of all the scandals in the ruling Grimaldi family. Since I am not a scandal monger you will have to get the details from Liz Smith's column. We also saw Princess Grace (Kelly's) tomb.

We toured the countryside and wound up in Cannes. The beaches had turned from rocky and pebbly in Nice and Antibes into coarse sand at Cannes. We saw the film festival building, dipped our feet in the Mediterranean, viewed the stars' handprints and scooted back to Nice, where almost all the women wore tops to their swimsuits. Our rooftop hotel pool had perfect temperature water and we didn't have to deal with the rocky beach.

Salade Nicoise is the usual lunch on the Riviera. The seafood suppers were boulliabaise, paella and iced servings of oysters, clams and shrimp perched on wire trays. Kronenbourg 1664 is the beer of choice.

The Rothschild House on Cap Ferrat, a peninsula, was both luxurious and furnished in excellent taste. This unexpected jewel featured Spanish, Japanese and stone gardens. The mountain views of both harbors were glorious. Money is a necessity when speaking of real estate in the south of France.

The Chagall Museum with its huge panels of biblical stories was like doing a puzzle. Each Old Testament story had symbols and figures tucked into corners that required interpretation. This Russian-Jewish painter lived to be 90 and spent his last years in the south of France. He is buried in Vence.

The Matisse Museum capped our day of "culture." It was a disappointment. Not many of his better works were on view. The Barnes Museum in Philadelphia has a stronger selection.

Because it was blazing hot we scurried back to our rooftop pool paradise.

The French Riviera - a beautiful place; a very expensive place.

Au Revoir Nice! - Hello Jericho!

It's nice (not Nice) to be back home!

P.S. To paraphrase Abraham Lincoln, "You cannot please all of the people all of the time." I am sorry we didn't please C. Peters, but we will do our best in the future.