Flowers In Windows

Sunday, very very early in the morning, I ventured far south to the border of France to see what there is to see in Nice.

I was lucky because the train wasn't very full, and just after departure, the two women sitting just opposite of me changed seats. So the gentleman next to me moved over, and we all got our own space.


Not to mention a delicious sandwich jambon et beurre during the journey.



A lovely part of train travel is the opportunity to get up, stretch, and have a coffee at the bar, watching the world go by.


Halfway through we got stuck, so I got out and enjoyed the different air of Tournon.


And the inexplicable joy of peeking a view of the ocean, blue and bright, when we finally reached the south.


When I arrived in Nice, I quickly found my hotel, Hotel Rex, truly a charming little place to stay, perfectly located near Vieux Nice and the Mediterranean.




Not a bad view to wake up to in the morning, church bells and birds filling the air.



Then I explored. Here is Place Massena, just outside of the hotel. Grand and lovely.



From the beach I walked around Vieux Nice (the old village), which was lovely indeed, reminding me of Venice. Most of my photos are just of painted walls, windows, and flowers. And that's all I need to be happy.






At Fenocchio, I had some totally, totally wonderful lavender glace.









After a quick rest at the hotel, I went back out as dusk fell and enjoyed the hazy, dreamy horizon, the sea disappearing into sky, or vice versa, reminiscent of a Turner painting.






Then back around town to explore and find some grub.





The next morning started off right, with pain au chocolat et café in front of a fountain.



I tried to go to Nice's museum of modern art, but of course it was closed (despite the words of my concierge).



I walked around this neighborhood twice in two days, accidentally, and even accidentally took photos of the same beautiful sights.

Day 1:


Day 2:


Day 1:



Day 2:


So I continued on, trying to find the Marché Aux Puces, a giant flea market (I'm such a sucker for old things).



And climbed a great hill, and got lost in a great park as the fog lifted and retreated back into the sea.


This is me being lost.


I finally found the Marché Aux Puces but VOILÁ it was closed, of course! So I walked back around to try to go to the beach.



And wouldn't you know, fate took care of me because as I attempted to find some lunch I happened upon a massive vide grenier.



You could also call it a Tentanus fest waiting to happen.


I went to the beach afterward, met some nice French boys and spent a good three hours talking and hanging out with them.

That night I had a dinner that was okay, and a creme brulée that was damn good.



The next morning brought brutally bold light and shadow as I prepared to leave Hotel Rex.




And, ah, yeah, I walked around again. I can't get enough of finding my way around a twisting area like Vieux Nice, of succeeding in getting lost and getting found again.








I love this sign. I think they must have a contractual obligation to the makers of Samoan beach lavalavas, and are required to mention them among their wares. There's not much enthusiasm.



Holy dear, this meal was magnificent. On a secluded street away from the tourists, I found an empty restaurant - La Pierre Bise - that gave me an utterly wonderful carpaccio de bœuf and an even more incredible, simple, olive oil-laden plate of vegetables.


Ahhhhhh it makes me hungry just to see it again. Get into my belly! And not a bad view upward, either.


And the perfect ending to a meal.


Afterward I got one last taste of the beach, because who knows when I'll see the sea again? This couple was cute, and the girl was reading her book out loud to her man. This would have been obnoxious if it weren't in the luscious, sensual language of French.


And on home again. On the train back I talked to some greasy young men from Marseilles who were extremely muscular and didn't understand why I detest Facebook. They were nice, but there was no need for me to make a lasting connection with them.


This old lady was just standing in between cars, watching the scenery, very serenely.



And now it's the final week. "Now we're in the home stretch, going on to buttock tucks," as Jane Fonda would say.

avec l'amour,
*jenna*