Musings from Nice

It is very difficult -- relaxing. Society programs us to be always striving towards a goal, to always be on the go. And then you hit Nice and everything stops, proverbially dead in the water - and what a lovely body of water, the 'Baie des anges' or Bay of Angels, is. As you float along, checking out the tiny fish at the bottom of the sea, all of your stress seems to dissipate.

The cold rainy weather of Toronto seems to be very, very distant and of absolutely no importance.

We've been here almost a week now, and It's becomingly increasing more difficult to sit in front of the iPad and write down our escapades. It's not because we haven't had any, it just because we've been trying to enjoy them. Every day we have felt the need to have a plan, even though we are on vacation. So one day, we decided to do laundry, the next was finding the various bus station scattered throughout the city centre (not as easy as you would think) and the following day was culture day (visiting museums, etc.) as well as visiting the daily fruit market (Mom's personal favourite). Regardless of what was planned, unspoken was that we had to have our daily sea soak- returning to the womb, as you could call the sea. Bobbing in the sea like contented sea cows, admiring your feet is a fabulous way to spend your morning.

Laundry poses it's own difficulties. While our apartment has a washing machine, it creates a problem of how to dry the clothes without a dryer. At times, our apartment is strewn with assorted articles of clothing, ranging from tee shirts and pants right down to granny panties and bras. The temptation to hang the clothes on the balcony has been hard to resist but so far there are no intimate lingerie decorations. Towels are also problematic. Did you know that towels dry hard and scratchy as sandpaper. Rather rough on your tender parts, such as cheeks (I'll let you decide which cheeks).

The next day we visited the Matisse Museum, after figuring out the maze of bus lines. Bears a striking resemblance to spaghetti with nary a straight line to be found. Rocketing up the foothills of the baby Alps (les alpilles maritimes) we got off at a lovely villa surrounded by a grove of olive trees. A beautiful sight. Check out the photos. The exhibit of Matisse works was underwhelming but our lunch in the olive groves was lovely.

Entertainment was provided by a group of retired gentlemen who were playing a game called petanque (or bocci ball??). As we watched, we speculated that the game was really an excuse to get the men out from under their wives' feet. There were no women in the park, except for tourists but these men were enjoying their time outside. Petanque bears a striking resemblance to curling, Ann. You have two teams. The opposing team throws a tiny yellow ball down the playing area. If the ball doesn't go far enough, the thrower walks over and kicks it into the proper position. The objective of the game is to try to place your metal balls as close to the little yellow ball as possible. You are allowed to smash your opponent's balls out of scoring position. Please, no pee-pee jokes. However, Ann, as far as we could tell, there was no cussing or drinking involved, unlike some of the bonspiels about which you have told us. In fact, quite often, when this specific man missed his shot (which was quite often), the others were all very encouraging. Maybe it was because he held a heavy metal ball in his hand that he used to smash other balls, I can't say. You can decide.

Wandering down the boardwalk (Promenade des Anglais) also provides hours of entertainment. In the evenings, after dinner, we often wander there, watching most often the honeymoonin' couples, or as Mom says "love like dove". However, in the daytime, you see all kinds of sights. Shortly, after we arrived, we were walking down the boardwalk when the following unrolled before us. There is a company that rents Segways ???? Not sure of the spelling but they are the two-wheeled vehicles. Typically, they hire pretty young men and women to zoom around, demonstrating how easy it is to manoeuvre these machines. This time, a young woman was trying to convince this middle-aged man to rent the Segway. After a brief explanation, she let the man try it out. the first thing he did was run over his wife's foot and then proceeded to tip the machine over almost on top of the young woman. His wife was not amused, and in no uncertain terms, by hopping on her uninjured foot and slapping her husband on the arm. The end result was the young woman taking off on her Segway into the evening sun while the dutiful husband was listening attentively to his wife, probably wondering how much it was going to cost him.

I leave you with one final picture that Mom took. She's up to her old tricks again.

Photos of Nice

For more pics of Nice, see following link



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More to follow.

Nice - Relaxation to an Art Form

There's something about the sunshine, crystal blue sea and sky that lifts your spirits and makes your cares go away - just like a shot of Demerol. The problems are there, in the distance, but you don't give a damn.

After all, is this not the image of a perfect apartment?

What else do you need?



With our apartment so supplied, we were ready to embrace the Nice lifestyle. Off we went to the Monoprix to get the more mundane supplies, such as milk, butter, bananas. As usual, we bought more than what we'd gone for; however, this time we took Mom's wheelie bag for the heavier items. We can learn from our earlier mistakes.
We decided to buy a roasted chicken (a la Swiss Chalet) and a salad for our first "at home" meal. We were just about to check out when I went to get the chicken. As I turned back, there was Mom, with the same look as a kid who's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Clasped to her heaving buxom was a bar of nougat. One glance at the stubborn look on her face and I gave in. What was one more bar of nougat when we already had four other bars of chocolate. I don't think that Mom believed my easy capitulation, because she wouldn't let go of the nougat bar. The poor cashier almost had to pry the bar from her clenched hands just to scan it. The nougat bar was then quickly retrieved and stuffed into Mom's purse, without a word.
I must add that Mom did share a piece of her nougat bar with me. Nanny taught her well.

The next day, we went out on a quest. A quest that proved almost impossible - to find Mom some worms. A word of explanation is needed, I suppose. Mom refers to the pool noodles (long styrofoam floaty thingies) as worms. She wanted one so she could float in the sea for her sea soak (and expend minimum energy). Anyways, we had checked out all the touristy stores along the newer part of Nice and not found them, although I'd found a pair of water shoes, a beach coverup and 2 towels.

To cheer Mom up, I took her to the market in the Old Nice, where she could touch the fruit. Apparently, the French are not as possessive about their peaches as the Italians are. We were wandering back when all of a sudden, my arm was almost wrenched out of my shoulder as Mom did a 180 degree turn and loudly exclaimed, "Worms!"
Nearby people jerked their heads around and then down before realizing that Mom meant the styrofoam version, not the squishy slimy ones. With a big grin, she handed two pink worms to me and proceeded to pat herself on the back (figuratively, not literally). Only four bystanders were in danger of being decapitated by a pink piece of styrofoam. Quick reflexes were all that stood between them and razor burn. As another piece of useless trivia, I have discovered that the French call them "frites" (fries). Leave it to the French to make a food reference to a piece of styrofoam.

We trotted off home with only a few near misses. I tried to keep to the open areas. Once home, we decided to have our sea soak. We were ready.

Off we trotted to the beach, worms in tow. Upon arrival, we settled in the only "sandy" beach in Nice. Some of you may not be aware, but Nice's beaches are not particularly nice. They are made of big stones, very uncomfortable stones to lie on. No sand here. Just smaller, screening-sized stones.

The large stones also make it very, very difficult to get into and out of the sea. Especially, when the sea is a bit rough and there are waves. Which happens every afternoon. We quickly discovered that with the incoming tide, there was also a good undertow. As Mom and I struggled to maintain our balance in the churning water, it quickly became evident that someone was going to get hurt, either by tumbling into the water as the tide sucked the feet from under you, or when you attempted to get out, the waves would spit you back on to the rocks like the rejected olive pits so liked by Nicoise cuisine. With visions of beached and bloodied whales, Mom and I reconsidered our options and decided to retreat.

Our first sea soak had only reached our thighs.

Disappointed but resolute, we gathered up our pink worms and assorted paraphernalia and returned home.
A Kir drunk under a canopy helped reduce our disappointment.

The next morning, bright and early, we returned to the beach and successfully launched the worms. Our sea soak in the azure blue sea was everything we had been dreaming about.

Just chillin' in Nice

Arrived safe and sound in Nice. Managed to (1) get on the right bus into downtown Nice; (2) make contact with rental agent, Jane, using a MOBILE phone; and (3) not lock myself out of the apartment.

You may laugh, but, as you can recall, it's not impossible.

As it was, we almost missed our rendez-vous ('cause we are in France , you know) with Jane. Her instructions were to get off at the Promenade-Congres stop. Apparently, French bus drivers are competing for the same record as their Italian counterparts, and cars, pedestrians, and scooters only add spice to the attempt. Bus stops whizzed by faster than lingerie on a honeymoon but we persevered and descended at the correct stop.

We were told to look for a woman in white with blue rubber sandals, carrying an umbrella. I, in turn, told her to look for a woman wearing a fedora. Not really that difficult seeing as it had been raining and Mom and I were the only ones on the boardwalk with suitcases. Apparently, it was, as I spied her looking at the bus, without noticing us. What really drew my attention was the baby blue CROCS she was wearing. The new symbol of the American invasion. Really didn't go with the white cotton ensemble and huge English umbrella that could have provided protection for an entire soccer team.

The apartment is quite different from Venice, all modern, white, grey, and beige, with red accent pieces. Apparently, ithe owner is a fashion designer who works out of Milan. but doesn't have the Venetian flair for "fine art". It is just up from the main drag, and is quieter than most areas, not as quiet as Italian countryside quiet, but quiet for Nice standards.

And it is just around the corner from a boulangerie shop where we can buy our fresh bread and croissants.
And is is just off a street that has the most amazing (aka expensive) shoe shops. Sigh.
And it is just over a Peugeot scooter agency!

Will tell you more and provide pics next time. And if you haven't seen the rest of the Venice photos, check ou this link

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A teaser for next time --- Mom got worms.

Venice - The finale, Part Deux

The fat lady hasn't finished singing, so we haven't yet left Venice.

Our bags were packed and off we sailed to the bus station. We needed a ticket to the airport, kind of. Our overnight hotel was closer to the airport BUT where was the the burning question. Off we started, after having a discussion about whether we should go directly to the airport and then "rent a car". At least it was daytime and we could see where to go. That, was not necessarily a good idea. Our driver was obviously more interested in surpassing the fastest land speed record for buses. After the requisite hairpin corners that flung the occupants around like bowling pins and luggage being strewn around like rice at a wedding, we left the limits of Venice and headed down a country road which doubled as the main route to the international airport.

The bus continued down the way, and completely by accident, we saw the sign for our hotel. A screeching halt and we were left by the road, abandoned without even a "Ah, there it is" or even an "arrivederci".

Luckily there was very little traffic and we crossed the road and up the gravel driveway to our bed and breakfast inn. The absence of noise was quite deafening even though we had thought that our garden house was quiet. We were now in the Italian countryside, complete with a mixed up rooster that kept crowing throughout the day. But it was beautiful.
If only we had a car.

As intrepid adventuresses (?????), we rested and then headed back into Venice (aside - Did you know that you have to flag down the buses in Italy? Felt like Scarlett o'Hara waving at the cotillion to one really big suitor.) for one final dinner and to meet up with Liz and her mother. Don't you just love the symmetry?

A couple glasses of wine, great food, fabulous desserts and fantastic company in magnificent Venice made for a very good evening indeed. It was somewhat surreal, meeting Liz in a place so totally opposite to School, but we remained strong and steadfast in our determination to enjoy ourselves under such adverse conditions. Liz and her mother also have had some adventures, but that is for Liz to recount. Suffice to say, I only managed to lose a hat and an adaptor.

Back on the bus we toddled. It sure was a different experience in the evening. It was dark, really dark, dark as in no-streetlights-dark. Luckily, we had memorized some landmarks - before the town limits of Tessera, after the Avis car rental place, and across from the Jeep dealership. Try saying that in Italian. However, our second bus driver proved to be a bit more proficient and once again we were deposited by the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere.

The next morning we were up bright and early. Interestingly enough, the rooster didn't crow. As experienced travelers, we flagged down the proper bus and headed off to the airport.

We flew Darwin Airlines, or as they are more commonly known as "Fly Baboo". I don't remember the last time that I flew in a turbo prop airplane. Only about 60 other brave souls accompanied us into a small plane that was decorated with bright orange flowers reminiscent of the VW camper vans from the 60's. Talk about reassuring. However, it did the job quite nicely and even provided a good lunch (fresh ham and cheese sandwich, drink and cookie). I thought only positive thoughts and never once considered the condemned man's final meal allusion.

Thus ended our Italian portion of our journey to enlightenment.

So far, we have discovered:
Wine can help survive anything.
Chocolate in the morning is a good thing.
Strong cafe con latte can brighten any day.
People survive on pure dumb luck every day.
The sun shining in Venice and Nice is very, very nice.

On the road again

Just a quick note to let you know that we have left Venice more or less intact and have settled in Nice for the next couple of weeks. We'll bring you up to date with our earth shaking adventures and careening through the Italian countryside in the dead of night. Will also, hopefully, upload more photos in the next few days.
Until then,

Doing quite nicely in Nice.

Venice -the finale

Our last few days in Venice were less eventful, maybe.

The weather continued to shine on us, so much so that we had to have afternoon siestas (yes, I know, that's a Spanish tradition) but we are quite flexible. In fact, we had to in order to make it to suppertime. After getting a number of disgusted looks and resigned sighs, we quickly learned not to ask for dinner before 7:00 p.m. So we just had to go to a neighboring square or cafe and start pre-drinking. Youngsters will know what that custom is.

Mom quite enjoyed her sip of Muscati or Reciotto and watching the world go by. Although, the Reciotto did give her a very rosy outlook on life. We played our favorite game of guessing who came from where and who was the most ridiculous-looking. We saw a woman wearing beige leggings that bore a striking resemblance to that fine piece of art on the wall of our apartment, only less agreeable - talk about 20 pounds of potatoes stuffed into a 10 pound bag. I am sure that Dave could have given us the stress stats if he'd been able to look at her long enough. We couldn't, but we giggled.

And how about this fine specimen.

While wandering through the campos, I got Mom to sit down beside three other ladies. I then asked if they minded me taking the picture. They were very enthusiastic and one even mentioned that she had a nephew in Montreal. Then one pulled out a pen and paper and wrote down her address - her postal address, not email. Not sure it will get there, but I'll try. Here it is:

Bet you can't tell who is who.

All this is not to say that there was peace and harmony in the Gardener's house. Quite the contrary. Mom was up to her tricks again. First, she tried to feed me granola that came with extra protein - ants. I guess you couldn't leave sweet things out. Mosquitos weren't the only insects around. she did admit that she tried to pick them out, however, there were too many. That's when I decided to have breakfast at the cafe just outside our front entrance.

And then there was the time she took my eye mask and put it in the freezer, to cool it, down. Ever had an icepack slapped on your eyes, then have to try and bend it to the contours of your face? When I protested, quite vocally I might add, she excused her actions with "Oh, I was wondering why you could have the frozen mask on your eyes for so long, it would have hurt me". I advised her through gritted teeth that you put the eye mask in the FRIG, not FREEZER to cool it down. I think that I must have been the only person in Venice to be suffering from frostbite that night. She just laughed, "Ohhhh".

And this is even after I was rubbing her feet and legs every night as well as putting frozen toilets on her ankles. Some gratitude. That's my mom.

But revenge is sweet, even when not intentional. Or, Karma is a bitch.

Did you know that Mom is very uncomfortable in tight spaces? The only way up the bell tower at San Giorgio Maggiore, is in a little elevator that holds six people. Add four Frenchmen and you have a very nervous Mommy. I could tell by the certain wildness in her eyes and the way she kept looking around for an exit. She did survive. The view was magnificient. (Of course, the battery in my camera died.) And we did not have to share the elevator with anyone else on the ride down.

Did you know that Mom doesn't like going on boats in rough water? I didn't .... honestly. The next day, we decided to visit murano, the island where they make the glass. After shoving her on the Vaporetto, I then realized that the trip would take us around the tip of Venice, past the Lido island, into open sea. It got a bit rough, but she survived. As a reward for not getting sick all over me, I fed her gelato - Mom will do just about anything for a gelato.