~Jean-Paul Sartre
I'm starting this post from the deep tan sofa of Baris' main room. Photography decorates the white textured walls and inspirational quotes catch my attention.
1. Talent is cheap
2. You have to be possessed, which you can't will
3. Being at the right place at the right time.
~Baldessari
Peering out his white shuttered window, I see faded turquoise shutters across the narrow street, pastel yellow walls and white trim. If I actually removed myself from the comfortable cushions and went to learn out the window, I would probably see men walking around partially clothed, women smoking cigarettes, and couples sitting around tables with bottles of cheap wine and oodles of tasty cheeses for their "apéro".
There are many lives behind the faded turquoise shutters. I could catch glimpses of them all day long, should I choose to sit at the table and pull a Jimmy Stewart (the road is so narrow that I wouldn't even need binoculars). Who knows what I would discover? How to bake a proper souffle? The answer to a murder mystery? How many bottles of wine it takes to put a Frenchman under the table?
I would probably discover that Dylan Moran is right and that French people do wake up and immediately start slashing yesterday's paintings.
The Russian left for the airport before eight o'clock yesterday morning. We shared a quick cup of Nescafe, our contact information, and an "it was great to meet you".
That's one of the hardest things about couchsurfing -- saying goodbye to someone after just an evening together. This sort of goodbye wouldn't be a problem in day to day life, but with couchsurfing, an evening is generally long enough to know whether or not your new friend is someone you'd like to keep in touch with. Someone you wished you had time to know better.
I wished I'd had the time to know the Russian better.
After giving me the spare keys to his flat and showing me on a map the tourist information office where I could acquire a map of my own, Baris walked his couchsurfer to the bus and took Sophia to work.
I had the day to wander. To write and wander.
Nice is hot this time of year. Humid, warm, teaming with old people in small bathing suits and golden young people running up and down the beach, still punishing themselves for last week's sliver of chocolate cake.
Nice is the fifth most heavily populated city in France and the second largest on the French Mediterranean coast. Because the weather has a habit of being perfect and the landscape is rather breathtaking, rich families from England have been vacationing in Nice for ages. The beauty of the landscape served to inspire many famous artists, including the fauvist French painter, Henri Matisse.
This populous Mediterranean city was founded in 350 BC by the Greeks and given the name Nikaia (meaning victory) and has been burned and pillaged on numerous occasions since (pillagers don't have as much appreciation for breathtaking landscapes as fauvist French painters).
From what I've seen thus far and what I've been told by hosts/friends, Nice seems to have transformed itself into a city for the retired and the tourists. It's a stellar place to visit, but an unfortunate city in which to build community.
As a visitor, I'm thrilled to experience all the history and food Nice has to offer. The museums here are supposed to be phenomenal and... well... I'm in France. Camembert costs a euro fifty.
I made it to the tourist office, picked up a map, and walked back to Baris' along a different route. I kept my eyes peeled for shops in which I could buy cheese and parks in which I could read my kindle. I was disappointed to find very few parks; Paris had been chocked full of parks and I couldn't understand why Nice would be any different. Perhaps it's because Nice has a coastline and the people who planned the city decided that its occupants should be content with benches around the beach.
We spent a relaxing evening in and Baris' French teacher came over to deliver some vegetables. They spoke English so that I could follow along, but I enjoyed listening to them slip into French and realizing how much of the language I still understood.
Preconceptions: People do smoke a lot. I've seen significantly more people with cigarettes in France than in Wales, England, or Ireland.
Challenges: Old Town (from yesterday -- I don't have any pictures yet, but I'll post some soon)
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