I spent a week in Nice and have the lay of the land, at least the dozens of blocks surrounding my hotel and the roads along the beach heading east and west. I like Nice, it‘s a resort town no doubt but it’s also a place where real people live real lives. I can’t imagine how they live them during the summer when everything I’ve read, everything I’ve heard, everything I saw pointed to the fact that the entire place is one teeming mass of humanity and their vehicles moving along an inch at a time in scorching temperatures. It was bad enough in April and apparently, that was nothing. It would drive me crazy.
Ok, confession time. I didn’t have a singular cultural experience in Nice. I didn’t go to any museums, I didn’t tour any of the sites, I didn’t learn any more of the history than I already knew from my guide books. There were four museums there that held interest for me – the contemporary, the Matisse, the Chagall, and the Asian Art. I’d heard the contemporary was ok, not nearly the quality of Maigt. I used that as an excuse for not going but the bottom line is that I’ve discovered I don’t like to see the sites. I just don’t. I like to walk endlessly around neighborhoods and avenues, I like to sit in cafes and watch people and write, I like to study my French for hours in the morning over coffee. I like to drive with the top down along the beach. But I don’t like visit buildings with stuff in them, I don’t like to shop, and I don’t like to walk around places where something happened but the only thing happening now is that people are walking around hearing about it.
My regular schedule now has me arising in the morning and hightailing it to wherever I have to go for café; sometimes in my room, sometimes in the hotel dining room. I’d hoped to do yoga first but I’ve found that it’s just too difficult to do anything before coffee. Ok, so I get my coffee and I grab the paper and my dictionary and I choose an article to read. I browse through the entire paper and then read one piece or maybe only a part because at the speed I read in French, it would take me an entire week to get through the paper. It’s fun to read the local papers. They are much like any other local rag: beauty pageants, police blotters, local and national politics, sport. Unfortunately, the first article I tackled was a review of the new Milan Kundera book which was tough going but I did get through it. Book reviews are dense things in one’s native language so it wasn’t perhaps the best place to start but I was really curious about the book. Other articles about a photograph at auction going for ten times the expected price, an editorial on the pending referendum for the European constitution and the race to see who would be crowned the Queen of Arles were easier. I also spend the morning studying a variety of things, verb tenses, vocabulary -whatever I feel is lacking at the moment. On good days I do yoga after study and then prepare myself for whatever the afternoon holds. So far my rule that I do only one thing per day has worked out well. I’ve learned the art of walking slowly and really seeing what surrounds me, I’m in no hurry so obstacles cause me no concern at all, I can sit in a café and take two hours to eat a small lunch. I can sit without listening to music, reading, or watching TV. This may not seem monumental for some but for me, it is. I’ve always had to fill my head with elsewhere it seems; now I can be, just be. It’s a good feeling. I have to say though, my favorite thing is to choose a local café with the right ambiance and write. I’ve written more than what I’ve posted here, just as I’ve taken many more pictures than I’ve shared (taking pictures is another thing I’ve found I love) and I battle with myself sometimes about whether it’s a good thing to sit and document my thoughts and experiences rather than going out and having more of them. Actually, I don’t battle that hard. I like this writing thing and I sure like sitting in cafes, so I do.
I’m going to try to get down the basics of my time in Nice here, so I have it. Oh yes, I promised to tell you about being locked in a room with the pregnant, crying dachshund, so I’ll start there. After arriving in Nice I did my usual and tracked down an Internet café, so I could grab email, pay bills, and post. I found a place with access that was made up of two storefronts. When the WiFi didn’t work in the one place, Madam took me over to the other and set me up with a hard connection. After doing so, she rambled on rapidly in French that she was going over to the other place, that she could hear and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t catch. She left, locking the door behind her and me inside with the dachshund who immediately began whimpering. She was great with tiny dachshunds and I had no idea if she needed to go to the bathroom, whether she missed her mistress or whether she was preparing to give birth. I tried to let her out, finding of course, that the door was locked. I tried to finish what I was doing which was proofing a long email but her cries became more persistent. It was obvious she was feeling a great deal of discomfort around whatever it was that was bothering her. I start banging on the door to get the attention of Madam next door. Nothing. I banged on the adjacent wall. Nothing. It was very hot in the room and the dog, who was very dear and looked at me with large trusting eyes, and I were becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. After some time, I caught the attention of a passer by and motioned for her to tell the people next door that I needed them. The tiny, fifty something, blonde French Madam entered in a flurry of excuses. She could hear me, I should have done something else (I couldn’t quite figure out what it was she was saying I should have done.) I went on a mini French/English tirade about the dog about pounding and yelling and shouting to no avail. I stormed out as she asked innocently if perhaps I was finished. I didn’t send the email as my entire time was spent trying to figure out how to get me and the dog out of our predicament and I didn’t bother wondering if I was expected to pay for the privilege, I just left. I was worked up in a way I hadn’t been for some time so I spent the time walking it off. I discovered that a great deal of space in my neighborhood was a pedestrian mall with a plethora of cafes and restaurants. I slowed my pace and began taking pictures and adjusting to my previous state of contentment.
As I started to cool down, the weather changed and it began raining, hard and then harder. I headed for Le Prado, a café I’d seen before, one that didn’t look nearly as touristy as some of the others. I made it under the cover without getting too wet and ordered a panache, a lovely concoction of beer and lemonade (yes, I know it’ a shandy but they’re different here). I sipped my drink and watched as others made it through the rain in whichever way they do that particular thing. The best thing I saw and one for which I’ll always regret not having my camera ready was a man and a women, each pushing a stroller with a toddler in it, each with a tiny umbrella covering them. The café was half full and after a time, the group next to me engaged me in conversation. They were Nicoise and curious about where I was from and what I was doing in Nice. One young man was particularly attentive and while I had no interest in meeting men, I was interested in speaking French. He was willing to put up with my broken French and helped me find the right words. He was also interested in practicing his English so it was mutually agreeable situation. He was a painter and was born and raised in Nice. He loved the idea of the United States and made it very clear that he couldn’t care less about the current state of world affairs – that was politics and best left to the politicians. He told me he would love to show me around his town and we agreed to meet the next day.
As it was one of the first truly beautiful days, I wanted to take the convertible out for a spin so we headed to Antibes. Antibes is yet another charming, old Roman coastal town and we spent the afternoon wandering the streets and the port, taking in the numerous multi-million dollar yachts. Once again, I passed up wandering around the Picasso museum, though I did stop to view the building, an old chateau. We had a fabulous meal at the Vieux Mur (everything is a Vieux something here) and drove back home along the water.
I agreed to meet him again the next day for a trip to Menton, a coastal town past Monaco, bordering Italy. While I didn’t get to live my dream driving the grand corniche opting instead for the safer lower corniche along the water, the trip was extremely beautiful. As as in Antibes, there were snow covered mountains in the distance and steep hills towering over the very, very blue water. Both days were spent wandering aimlessly and speaking French. It was most enjoyable and it amazed me how much my French improved, having to speak it all day. It was all very nice and while I think Sami was interested in finding an American bride, I was grateful for the chance to improve so much.
The last couple days I spent wandering around old Nice, seeing a movie, doing laundry and eating leisurely meals. I plan to attend as many movies as is feasible as watching the movie in English and reading the French subtitles (since my reading ability vastly outstrips my listening ability) is a great learning experience and I get to catch up on the latest cinema to boot. I’ll probably try to take in a couple French films as well, though I get a lot of it on the TV. I noticed today that I reached a new plateau as I can follow conversations much more easily.
I’m in Avignon now, after a night in St Remy de Provence. I’m waiting for my friend Colin who arrives from Paris by train. More later with loads of photos. Love to all.
Libby!! That entry made me laugh out loud! I could just hear your half english, half french, mostly broken french tyrade with that lil madame...so france, eh? at least you don't have a killer canadaiene accent when you speak french - like me!! lol...miss you loads and LOVE your tales of adventure and culture. i'm jealous sister!! xxxxx
Posted by: Chris Bussiere | May 01, 2005 at 11:21 PM