It is less than forty minutes by bus from my apartment in Old Nice, but feels like a world away. Life is slower here in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, and I sip a glass of white wine while waiting for my lunch. Sea birds and pigeons vie for aerial supremacy with wispy clouds, the soft sea breeze floats in over the marina, and nobody – not the diners or the servers or even the passers-by – seems to be in any hurry. And why would they be? The beauty here is incredible.

Cap Ferrat is a narrow jut of land into the Mediterranean Sea just east of Nice, and even connected to the city by standard bus (route 15). It is to Nice what Malibu is to Los Angeles, a peaceful escape, and a wealthy one at that. It is said to be one of the most expensive residential areas in the world, although I don’t stop by a realtor to verify such claims.

Saint-Jean is the only thing resembling a city on the cape itself (Villefranche-Sur-Mer and Beaulieu-Sur-Mer sit to either side of the peninsula), a tiny village of about 1500 residents and a couple dozen restaurants, both along its main street and the waterfront. I opt for the latter, taking my lunch of fresh seafood, naturally, with the views.

I’m here in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat not in spite of its wealth and status, but actually because of them, although I’m not interested in any of the current residents, as lovely as they may be. I am here because of one of the most famous past residents of Cap Ferrat, Beatrice de Rothschild.

(A note here, although it makes me both sad and a bit angry that it is needed. In recent years, the Rothschild family – a European banking family akin to JP Morgan and his heirs in the US – has become synonymous with “evil people controlling the world behind the scenes.” The reason for this is simple: the family is/was Jewish. These are the same anti-Semitic tropes used with George Soros, and are no different than just coming out and saying “Jews control the world.” It is a tale as old as time itself, blaming Jews for the ills of the world, and using one or two specific examples of Jewish families with money to “prove” that case, ignoring anyone else. So yes, the Rothschild family had (and some still have) a lot of money and the influence that comes with great wealth, but no, they didn’t and don’t control the world and its leaders.)

Beatrice de Rothschild was born in Paris in 1864, a great-granddaughter of German banker Mayer Amschel Rothschild. That founder of the banking dynasty’s son, James Mayer de Rothschild, was the first to move to France, and it is his descendants that made up the French branch of the family. Beatrice was one of those.

At the age of 19, Beatrice married banker Maurice Ephrussi, himself a baron, making her a baroness both from marriage and from lineage. She was a socialite in the purest terms, splitting her time between Paris and Monte Carlo, collecting art, and maintaining involvement in a variety of charities.

In 1902, her husband’s cousin built a villa on Cap Ferrat, and after visiting, the young baroness decided she would like one as well. She purchased a large plot on the top of the hill at the cape’s narrowest point (it widens as one approaches the tip) with Mediterranean views on both sides, and in 1907, construction began on what would be called Villa Ile de France, named for an ocean liner she had voyaged on. In 1912, the house opened, providing a winter escape for Beatrice (and her husband when they were getting along, which wasn’t apparently regularly) from Paris.

The villa is laid out in an Italian style, and surrounded by manicured gardens. Upon entering the house, one is welcomed into the central atrium. (It has a roof on it, although it looks unnatural, but I was unable to find out if it was built with that roof or if it was added later.) This columned square done with stucco, paint, wrought iron, and pink marble is easily the most impressive portion of the home, and doorways lead from it in all directions to various public rooms, as well as to both Beatrice’s and Maurice’s bedrooms. (Maurice’s was turned into a dining room later, and it is displayed as such now.)

The pink marble inspired the rose colored exterior of the villa, although signage indicates that it was originally yellow, and current restoration intends to take it back to that color, despite fairly common adoration of the pink.

An audio guide included with admission speaks less of the house itself and more to the artwork and furnishings, and with good reason. One needs only to move into the Grand Salon to see carpets once owned by French royalty at Versailles, doors and wall panels purchased at auction from ancient nobility, and even entire ceiling frescoes relocated from Venetian palaces.

Nineteenth century masters have their works on display, paired with fifteenth century religious iconography (despite the family being Jewish), and Roman statuary and mosaic. Furniture and porcelain are likewise impressively collected and upkept.

But it is the location of Villa Ile de France (renamed Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild later in honor of the couple) that is most impressive. Sea views are boasted from basically every room, looking out over the villa’s gardens at the bright blues of the Côte d’Azur beyond.

Upstairs holds a couple of guest suites, nestled between a patio that faces directly into the main French-style landscaped garden and its fountains, and after deciding that I will be staying in the Blue Room for the rest of my trip (sadly not allowed), it is time to return my audio guide and step outside.

Beatrice was apparently a lover of gardens, and her villa includes nine, each on a different theme. These range from the aforementioned French garden to a Spanish varietal with Moorish-styled grotto, a Florentine garden, a stone garden (with statuary), rose garden, and more. Maps suggest routes to wander, but with some closures for landscaping to be expected in all but peak tourist seasons, simply meandering with no real direction seems to work best.

My eyes are caught by flowering trees, fountains, and the ever-present sea views.

And of course, visitors gaze back at the house, standing magnificently beneath the hills of the French coast.

Beatrice de Rothschild died in 1934, and in keeping with the philanthropy preached by her family, donated the villa and its entire interior of furnishing and art to the French Academie des Beaux-Arts, of which her father had been an esteemed member for years, and it opened under its current name, Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild, as a public museum.

A fifteen minute walk away in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, I finish my wine, breathe in more fresh sea air, and slowly make my way to the bus to head back to Nice. I wonder what those who lived here during Beatrice’s age would have been like. I wonder what those who live her now think, and how they live. It is a life I can’t afford, will never be able to afford. But I can borrow it for a day with a visit.

A trip out to Cap Ferrat, from the incredible Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild to the more simple elegance of Saint-Jean, provides a welcome respite from the city of Nice and its million inhabitants only a few miles away. But wow does that short distance make a huge difference.

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