The first couple days in Cote d'Azur

The bags have been packed and unpacked, the train ridden, the welcome at the station given, and now I’m sitting peacefully in my internet-less apartment, writing the my blog’s draft on Microsoft Word, so I can post it later. It was a wonderful last week in Nantes. After all my trials and tribulations at the start, I ended up being quite happy in that city, and very blessed and fortunate to have met the people that I met. My life in the past year has felt like a constant parade of goodbyes, and unlike everything else in life, they don’t get easier with practice! I was definitely sad to leave my French family, as they had been nothing but wonderful with me. And, I made some good friends at the University that I will strive to maintain in touch with. But, life goes on, I had many open doors waiting for me in Nice, and ultimately, I’m convinced I made the right decision.

Leaving for Nice Sunday morning, I found myself with a knot in my stomach, and with the same fast heartbeat and lack of appetite I had when I was coming to France. After a tearful goodbye at the Gare, I rode the train to Marseille, and then to Nice. It was really beautiful to see the change of scenery from the Northern flatlands, giving way to rolling hills, and finally turning into the craggy Alps of the south. My train wagon was nearly empty for over 80% of the trip, but knowing my luck, I had to have the only seat where someone else was sitting next to me. It so happened that it was a woman who had apparently never heard of deodorant, or showers, perhaps. It was a lovely experience to sit next to someone like that for about 4 hours.

I arrived at the gare with my multitude of bags, and the Bokkias family was waiting for my with huge smiles on their faces. Lisa, the little girl, had a “Bienvenue Maria” card, and it melted all my nerves away. We piled into their “station wagon” (I use quotation marks because I think it’s a travesty to call any car from the brand Mercedes a station wagon) and rode 5 short minutes to my apartment. My neighbourhood is one of the nicest ones in downtown Nice, it’s a grand boulevard lined with olive and palm trees. The buildings are all beautiful, with live colours, and very clean. Iannis, who had conveniently forgotten to mention it before, told me that my building used to be the old Russian Tsar’s residence in the 1890s. It was a 3 story mansion, which was converted into this 5 story apartment building in the 1930s. That’s when Iannis’ grandmother bought the place, and it’s been in the family since. It was un-inhabited for 3 years, until Iannis and Cecile decided to take on an AuPair, and voila, now it’s my home. The building has a grand marble staircase, and an old-fashioned elevator that can fit about 2.5 people in it. I love it!!

Cecile and Iannis spent the last two weeks tweaking and working on the apartment, and it really shows. The paint is fresh and crisp, the wooden floors waxed (original parquet wooden floors from the 30s!), and I even have a brand new duvet and duvet cover, and linens. The double bed is a welcome change from my little single bed in Nantes, which had a horrendous mattress. The other room is a dining/tv/living room with a table for four, and a bed-made-sofa for watching TV. I also have the nicest television I have ever had in any of my former abodes- a SHARP flat screen. Don’t ask me how many inches, all I know is that it’s pretty.. hahahah.

Sunday night was spent unpacking a bit, and going to bed early, since I had woken up early and had been traveling all day long. Monday I had off, so I could ease into the routine. I unpacked the rest of my stuff, and went exploring with my camera, since I had no pics. Nice is definitely a grittier, tougher city than Nantes, or even Paris. From the few cities that I visited in the North, I found them all to be very proper, and their architecture sharp and clean. Nice is the opposite… if Paris is your mom, where you go for comfort, Nice is your mistress, where you go for pleasure. The streets are lined with cafes, restaurants, live music, and people are warm and welcoming.The rugged peaks as its background, the city is filled with noisily colourful buildings, sporting hanging lines of clothes waving in the wind. Ladies dressed to the nines and walking all sorts of yappy little dogs seem to be the norm… as is their poop on the sidewalk. Apparently Mediterranean French have never heard of scooping.

Walking around downtown, I heard every language imaginable, except French. I heard a lot of English from England, some Spanish, and definitely Italian. The food displayed at bakeries and restaurants is deliciously Mediterranean, with lots of fresh herbs, tomatoes, olive oil, and fish.

Tomorrow is my first day of work… I think I’ll be completely fatigued by the end of the day, since I haven’t been used to working. My French courses start really soon also, so I’ll be busy right from the start. This is most excellent, since I’ll have no time to sulk around about not knowing anyone yet. But, I’m sure friends will come quickly when I start my classes… and when all of you come to see me in my sweet pad here in the French Riviera.

That’s all for now, folks!