Posts Tagged ‘nice’

Recuperating (Not) on the French Riviera

Friday, November 13th, 2009

Toward the Corniches

I don’t have many photos of Nice because I was sick for most of the time I was there. I’ve been trying to think about and remember this day in particular, though, how I wanted so badly to visit the little town on that outcropping, but just couldn’t. I was too weak, too unsteady on my own feet. So I contented myself with this one photo, a little piece of it that I could remember and take home.

I’ve been thinking about Nice because I’ve been sick lately, because I am starting to get that horrible antsy feeling that the world is sliding by while I’m stuck in bed, taking my temperature, washing down pills and sucking dutifully on my inhaler. But I’m soothing myself with this thought: The antsy feeling? That’s the one that creeps in right when you’re on the brink, when your body can understand—finally—what it means to be better, when you can see the world getting a little brighter. That’s how I started to feel in Nice, on that day, feeling so gross in such a beautiful place. That longing to be myself again.

Mal au Ventre

Sunday, June 15th, 2008

J____ thinks it was the quiche and it probably was the quiche. The actual culprit of the thing. But for me, the thing that finished it was beignets de fleurs de courgettes and even saying the words makes my stomach flip over onto itself, makes me want to curl into a ball and stay there for a month.

I would describe this culinary delight for you, but I can’t. I’m sorry. Maybe someday.

We feel horrible. We feel horrible in The Safari Room of a hotel in Nice, France run by crazy people who attempt to clean our room no fewer than four times a day and who will not tell us a specific check out time, and who insist that we need to switch rooms. Twice. Except we haven’t switched rooms yet. And we’re leaving tomorrow. And no one seems to have noticed. The owner will not speak to me in English, which didn’t seem like a totally weird thing until I heard him through the door, speaking to everyone else in English.

Also. Safari Room = Antlers.

Yesterday, we found a store that carried Canada Dry ginger ale and bought up their entire supply for fear that we may never find it again in France. Or maybe in Europe. When we saw it, winking at us through the beverage case like a gleaming green eye, J____ got more excited than I’ve seen her get in a week — a testament to the general timbre of things here in Nice.

Our current diet consists of the ginger ale (Sprite was holding us over, until we found the amazing secret Canada Dry store), rice cakes, “biscottes,” which basically amount to small pieces of profoundly dry toast, and the occasional banana, for when we’re feeling adventurous. Culinary boredom and fear of protein deficiency drove us to buy an overpriced jar of French peanut butter — it ain’t no Skippy, in other words — but neither of us has the heart or the stomach to actually eat it. We bought it along with two bananas, and the guy at the counter winked knowingly when we put them on the belt.

“Ah,” he said. “You’re going to eat these two things together!”

Finish the sentence: You stupid Americans.

It’s difficult to articulate how much and how hard this sucks, although at least we’ve discovered the secret to visiting the French Riviera on a budget.

Stay tuned for our next action-packed episode: We’re Taking a 5-Hour Ferry and We Have Food Poisoning.

Doubled Over

Saturday, June 14th, 2008

Toward the Corniches, originally uploaded by Miss Laura M..

And in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Water like a jewel and pastel-colored houses and villages clinging to the cliffs as though even a breeze would nudge them into the ocean. I am sick too.

Awesome. Awesome!

I am not Deathly. Not Horrible Miserable. But still. You don’t want to be sick in the Riviera. Sick in the Riviera and lugging 20 kilo of luggage in an enormous purple suitcase. Sick in the Riviera when there are so many beaches on which to be lazy and tanned. Sick in the Riviera when hikes between those villages seem once-in-a-lifetime.

More reports when I’m out of bed.