We awoke, repeating the first few paragraphs of the previous day. Thus, after eating, we met up with our groups—Anthea, again, standing on the steps, ready with a Marc Antony opening soliloquy. We readied ourselves for the bus to ritzy Monaco—half the girls in pretty dresses akin to our figments of the Monégasque style.

The musicians left for Monaco and were greeted by views of Corniche, Cap Ferrat, and… Bono’s private island! Suddenly, the terrain became something that you’d picture James Cameron sketching for Avatar. The water’s shine and glimmer were so powerful that it felt almost taboo to look at, as if the normal person was barred from such a sight. The mountains were streaked with the occasional cloud, only adding to this mystifying aesthetic. It was almost a pain taking photos; they never captured the significance of the experience—completely dishonoring it. Yet, there’s a silent acknowledgment from the musicians that only us—those there at that precise time—could collectively understand and appreciate this exact moment.

We then watched in anticipation for the Change of the Guards. They literally changed. That’s it. We waited an hour for a single minute of ‘man takes his break.’ BUT THEN, the drums started! But don’t worry! It was still underwhelming! You’d expect a performance with yelling and stopping—something of the British guards, y’know—but instead, the guards seemed somewhat lethargic, with commands sounding similar to a sigh. Our release for many was just as mediocre. For a country which flouts its unique qualities, like its wealth, princes, and Grace Kelly, many of us found it boring and inaccessible. After maneuvering our way through a stream of tourist shops with Grand Prix paraphernalia, many found the country lacking any real essence—its legacy resting on Kelly and a plethora of celebrity homes. However, the views were worth it all. Seas of blue and stacking buildings climbed the mountains, all the while the deep blue shadowed the city.

We then went to Èze, an ancient hilltop city formed to avoid pirates, and later destroyed by Louis XIV (again). The old village was rediscovered during the Belle Époque by the romantics and soon became the leading Southern French attraction, and for good reason! The entire experience felt curated like a Disney walk, yet you know it isn’t; it’s just naturally like that. And following the medieval steps, you can scale the scant ruins of the Èze Chateau. For only 4 Euros, you can get the million-dollar shot. To say I was touched would be too simplistic a phrase to describe its impact. You can see everything. The water stretches beyond what the eye can see into a fade, yet one knows it continues, and is thus reminded of existence beyond oneself. That, paired with an ice cream!

Much of the choir spent their free time at the water of the promenade. To quote Dr. Fryling, “IT WAS LIFE CHANGING.” For those of us on the south shore, rocks at beaches are foreign beings. But even for the north shore students, the rocks were brutal. The waves pull the rocks in and sort them by size, and one can hear the clashing of each rock, slowly deteriorating each one as it has for millions of years. Yet, when you get a little farther in the water, it becomes a magical experience. You hover just above the waves and are in a sky blue only of the French Riviera, only exemplified by the backdrop of yellow and orange homes and ‘Tour de France’ advertisements. Beyond magical.

And then we went off in small groups to explore and eat, offering the opportunity to either do a bit of sightseeing or food tasting. One of the best days so far.

See you next in Cannes!