Nice Day One

 The small amount of rain we were supposed to have today has been banished, praise be. An occasion to wear a T shirt for the first time in I can’t remember how long. I leave my hotel, get a quick shave, and a sandwich called a Chapati. These bear no resemblance to the Indian bread. They are a result of Tunisian influence and are packed full of mayo and tuna. For five euros it makes a fantastic grab and go for the train. Shockingly, the French Riviera can be cheaper than the American riviera.

The plan today was to take the bus to an old Rothschild mansion but I’ve gotten on the wrong bus and will instead be forced to watch the Cote d Azure roll by for an hour. I used to say that OCTA route 1 was the prettiest bus route I’d been on, Lignes d’Azur route 15 beats the Hell out of it. Maybe that’s just because the trees and mountains remind me of home.

The wrong bus dropped me in the old city of Nice, trying to decide what happened next. Since I had not done one for some time, I registered for a free walking tour of the city. Our group was intimate, just one other person aside from myself and the guide. He gave us a great overview of the city. It really is gorgeous here. At the end of my tour, I was standing in the Promenade des Anglais right where it dead ends into the harbor. After a while, it is good to think about what a place is missing. Nice has no history. Sure locals can point to the two houses where Napoleon stayed for a bit. Garibaldi was also born here, credit where it is due. However, they did not shape the city. This place’s heritage IS tourism.

I’m glad I came here in the off season. After Northern Europe, the weather here is fantastic even if I’m not seeing it at the peak. It has still been lovely. The dividend is the access to the city. The streets are hardly empty but there is space to move around. Getting in to a good restaurant without a reservation is never a problem. Mostly, I am thankful for the locals. There are plenty of people here who either snowbird in the city or actually live here year round. Their guidance has been invaluable and helped me tons.

After the tour I went to a shellfish specialist on Garibaldi square. For a reasonable price they were serving royal oysters and a glass of local white wine. Sitting in the sun, enjoying the local fruit of the sea was absolutely perfect. So perfect that the glass of white advised me to have some clams before I got the check. Who am I to ignore the words of a local?

After a nap it was time for dinner. Unfortunately my indulgent snack put me out for longer than I’d hoped and all the Nissard specialists were closed. I was stuck paying too much for okay Italian food by the flower market. I did have a Nicoise Salad for the take of crossing it off. Frankly there is nothing remarkable about this dish and I think it is kind of a shame that it is the only piece of the local cuisine that managed to break out into the public eye. The popularity may have as much to do with ease of replication and availability of ingredients in England as it does with anything related to flavor. To understand Nice, you must learn to understand the British tourists that make it famous and over the summer fill the streets of The Old City with vomit. 

After dinner I went to an Irish pub to try and talk to more expats. I happened to sit down to an interesting character, an older man who has been landlording in Nice for a few decades and makes an elaborate hobby out of tax evasion. He’s had a good run here, renting rooms to tourists and locals alike but is ready to head to somewhere with lower taxes. Apparently a single room with enough space for a bed and a washbasin runs for about 900 euros a month in the old city. Not bad at all.

I closed out the pub and I went to Wayne’s to drink beer and read. It’s unusually dead tonight. 24 hours ago you would not have been able to stand here, now nobody is at the bar. As I flip through Zorba The Greek people are asking me why I’m reading in a bar. Apparently it’s not a common practice here.