Our Nice Weekend

This past weekend we took a one night weekend trip to Nice (pronounced like niece). Though somewhat of a spontaneous decision, it was a good one. The train ride from Lyon to Nice was about four and a half hours, but actually went by pretty quickly. Nice is located on the southern coast of France right after Cannes and right before Monaco then Italy. It never matters how long a train ride is, because you are too busy looking out of the window at the breathtaking scenery to notice time passing. With about an hour left of the ride, Roy and I saw our first glimpse of the coast. It was amazing- we had never seen water that beautiful before. It suddenly became quite obvious why the French Riviera is regarded with such attention.
We arrived in Nice around four to five in the afternoon. Though the sun doesn't actually go down until around ten p.m. here, we decided to wait on swimming until the next day. We did enjoy the beach that night though by walking along the Promenade de Anglais that runs along the beach itself. The promenade is home to many sight-seers, runners, cyclists, roller-bladers, and dogs enjoying a view of the coast. Although, our travel book advised us to be there at night, as this is when the "thugs and prostitutes" enjoy the promenade. Luckily though, night isn't until around ten p.m., as earlier stated, so we had enough worry-free hours to spend on the promenade. Across from the promenade is a street, then a line of rich and beautiful hotels alternating with various restaurants containing (as most in France do) an outside dining area in front of the restaurant. Roy and I had our first uninteresting meal then went on a walk to ice cream. Ice cream vendors are about as prevalent as the wine in France. We walked down one street in Nice that had no less than three ice cream shops. You pretty much have to stop in one. After getting our dessert, Roy and I walked back to the promenade and sat on a bench and people-watched the rest of the evening. We were sitting in front of a hang-glyding spot, so it was fun watching them propel people into the air and living vicariously through their adventure, knowing full well we'd never have the guts to ever do it ourselves.
The next morning we woke up, picked up some apple pastries, and headed to the beach. The beaches in the French Riviera are different from those I've ever seen at home in three main ways: 1. The water is a resplendent clear shade of aqua-marine unlike anything the gulf has ever offered. 2. No sand- only rocks. On the dry part of the shore the rocks are bigger (ranging from the size of walnuts to a size larger than my fists). Once you get closer to where the tide comes in they are reduced to smaller pebbles the size of fava beans. 3. Tops for women are completely optional. Though the majority of Nice swimmers kept theirs on, there were your handfuls of much older women who preferred to go sans bikini top. These three culminating factors made for an interesting, yet enjoyable scenic visit. Going into the water was an intense experience as well. It actually took me two tries. On the first try I walked over with my flip flops on, got them full of pebbles when trying to get in the water, then was given a cold shock when the water came up to my knees as I was battling with my flip flops. At that point I gave up and headed back to our 10 Euro towels we bought (one of which was left by SOMEONE on the taxi back to the train station). After laying out and getting too hot to remain sitting on the shore, I tried the water again. Though leaving the flip flops behind was a painful experience, it was worth it not having to deal with them and just be able to leap into the water. The Mediterranean is alarmingly cold at first, but once you immerse yourself and begin swimming around, the coolness actually becomes welcome. Roy finally decided to join me and we spent a good bit of the afternoon swimming. Once you're in the water, you never want to get out. We only got out when we saw a jelly fish drifting towards us...which turned out to be a vicious looking piece of plastic.
Overall, it was a pleasant weekend trip that was more than worth the four hour train ride and stone bruised feet. Next weekend: Switzerland!