By Stephanie Sommers
Concurrent with Nice’s great Carnival that I’ve been blogging about, Menton, the pretty French town sitting between the Italian border and Monaco, has been holding its annual Lemon Festival. If, like me, you have visited the Cote d’Azur many times but for some reason never thought to go to Menton (known as the City of Lemons), allow me to twist your arm a bit.
Menton distinguishes itself from the rest of the pack by having a subtropical climate that allows it to grow citrus fruits (particularly the lemon) and holds many French awards for being the top ‘floral’ town in France. According to the Tourist Office, botanists have been coming here since the 1800s to plant rare species of flowers and plants because they can thrive in this climate. About 115 acres (46 hectares) of park space surround the town, with contemporary gardens created in the very heart of the city, which is where I was last Friday evening, viewing the “jardins illuminés” (illuminated gardens).
I spent an afternoon checking out Menton last week, and what strikes me as most special about the town is that although it’s on the coast and therefore should be loaded with tourists and little old ladies with tiny dogs, it isn’t, so you can walk through the pedestrian area without having to watch your step.
Menton isn’t quaint per se, but it has an elegant feel that is sometimes lacking in Nice. It is one of the few towns in France where the population is actually getting younger, and it also has a clean feel to the downtown area.
Another thing I like about Menton is its restaurants, at least the ones I’ve tried so far. They are rarely overpriced and I have yet to have a bad meal there, unlike in Nice, which is nearly always overpriced (even my teachers complain about this) and the food and service in Nice can be a bit hit-or-miss.
This year is the 76th Lemon Festival. It runs about three weeks and ends on March 4. The theme this year is “Menton celebrates the Music of the World.” And indeed the night we went everything from African tribal to American country music was being played in different venues in the gardens. My friends and I were delighted; a town that actually encourages music and dancing is a town that we can love.
You should know that my army of friends marches on its stomach and that my friend Gabriela in particular can’t pass a tarte au citron (lemon meringue pie) without wanting a taste.
We stopped at an Italian restaurant across the street from the beach and promenade. This restaurant, called La Tagliatelle, was absolutely fantastic and came complete with two huge Italian waiters. They’re brothers and they look like Mama breast-fed them pasta from the day they were born. Jolly as they were it was the clientele who spoke volumes: La Tagliatelle must be a badly kept secret amongst the Italians as I heard no French, only Italian spoken at all the tables. (Remember, Italy is only a few miles away.) We each had a different pasta and left nothing behind. The tarte au citron was fabulous, but fellow student Andre and I went for Le Colonel, a lemon sorbet topped with lemon vodka topped with a tiny bit of whipped cream. Did I mention that this is why I will never be skinny?
With renewed energy we attacked the night garden event, and five minutes later a big stuffed clown thing (see the picture—your guess is as good as mine) was flirting and dancing with me. “Vous êtes mechant, vous. Arrete!” I said, shaking my finger at him when he tried to touch my bum while we were dancing. Only in France.
Swiftly moving on, we came upon a quite good mariachi band which had us shaking our booties once more. Through the evening we visited (more like frolicked) amongst several other musical venues: country, disco, tango, rock-‘n-roll, etc. The venues themselves were each shaped a bit differently—there was a house, a chateau, a boat, a car, even a ‘moulin rouge’—but they were all composed of lemons and oranges! I must ask the tourist office later this week just how many citrus fruits are actually used in the fabrication of this tiny village-cum-garden.
Open for dégustation throughout were small stands selling some of the best limoncello (sweet digestive liqueur made of lemons) I have ever tasted, and at the far end of the gardens Grand Marnier (makers of the superb orange liqueur) had set up a creperie that was serving warm Grand Marnier and coffee. By this time it was late and we were tired, so we all had a glass of Grand Marnier, tipped it in admiration to the magical music village, and caught the last train back to Nice.