Nice, in typical French-laid-back-cigarette-hanging-from-i
this is the first thing that greets you at the Bus Station:
and my response: a fast dash down to the promenade and a quick beach-towel-shuffle later
I figured the thin line they skirt betwixt sports and fetish wear would bedazzle the fashion police long enough for me to make my escape.
Our Hotel was fantastic. It was the exact opposite of so many snooty hotels that try to wow you with an amazing façade, columns or a marble reception area. No, this one was a doorway and it didn't even have all the letters of its name stuck on so good.
but the reception staff were amazing. Interesting fact: the_jen speaks French to a reasonable level of fluency. A fact the entire French nation is still blissfully ignorant of... all except the old receptionist at Hotel De Verdun; after the umpteenth time I turned to Jen to translate 'breakfast' or something equally infantile he kindly held up his hand to stop me. 'Elle parle' he said (or something, remember; not my forte) and after starting off shy and at almost a whisper away she went. When they were done he gave her a big smile and a round of applause, then he gave us sweets. Take note Parisians! this is how someone's first conversation with an actual French person should go. SWEETS!
Food, food, foood. my biggest regret with only being there for three days was how much that limited the eating time. I had to get inventive, here I am enjoying that famous mid afternoon snack between lunch and dinner: Linner
and whatever you call it when you start eating at 10pm, I call it awesome.
also, we fell in love with the waitress in the background. She looked really like Isobel Cambell, allowed me to baffle her ears with my own particular brand of two-cocktail-loosened-french, spoke to us in fluent English when the former failed and then, without batting an eyelid, turned to the table beside us and nattered away in German. Then when we accidentally broke a wine glass she came over and petted Jen's back telling us it was ok because we'd gone bright red with embarrassment. and the wine was only five euro per half litre! Love I tells ya!
But you can't be perfect can you Nice?
...then you went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like 'The feelings of Wolves' and Russians in Black Face. Keep it classy France.