Duration: 4 days
Population: 1,005,230
Nickname: Nice the Beautiful
An hour and change after my delayed flight finally left Gatwick Airport, I strolled across the Promenade du Paillon, past the Lycée Masséna and up the stairs to a top floor apartment on Rue Gioffredo.
There was an inescapable truth all around: wealth. Even with a weak Euro and nearby London looking, by comparison, astronomically more expensive, this was the land of the rich. The South of France. The Gold Coast. I did not belong here. Yet, that didn't stop the owner of this penthouse apartment (via AirBnB) from welcoming me. She showed me how to lock and unlock the door and then she was off to Spain for a wedding.
I stepped out on the balcony, looked over the city, then walked downstairs to meet my traveling companion, Stu Smith, who was flying in an hour behind me.
"You're gonna like this," I told him.
Our apt. in Nice. A total A+ and still cheaper than a C- in London.
Stu and I switched into running gear and quickly got lost in the narrow allies of Nice's stupidly beautiful Old Town. We saw a sliver of daylight between buildings and went for it. The calm blue of the Mediterranean lay below. We sprinted left for a run around the Port Lympia and back, the sun setting over the hills in front of us.
It's just hard to say anything bad about Nice. The city looks problem-less. No poverty. No crime. These can't be true, but it's a hard sell given the evidence. The biggest issue we faced was trying to find a cab Wednesday morning to get us to the train station to go to Monaco. A cab never materialized, but hey, there was that bakery a couple blocks back, and 20 minutes later a day trip to Monaco seemed as logical as Mexico. We were thoroughly content one moment to the next.
Of course, food. Our host left us a thorough list of recommendations. We visited her favorite on day one and found that it was closed for a month-long holiday (during Nice's tourist season nonetheless, a decision we found refreshingly illogical and French). Instead, we stepped two doors down the alley to Au Resto and were blown away. If this was our luck with random places, the week was going to be A-Okay.
The duck at Au Resto. Incredible, as was Stu's fish (above).
The famous beaches of Nice are stone covered, crowded and calm. Most goers didn't have problems walking across the flat rocks. Not me. Every third step was agonizing. Eventually, I just gave up and waded in with my flip flops on.
Whattaya know, the beaches are also topless, but only about one out of 100 women exercised the right. They usually blended in with everyone else and seemed to draw no extra attention. The nudity, like most everything in life, turned out to be not that big of a deal. You'll find more flesh in Rio.
The Mediterranean Sea.
We took in the local ice cream options. I lost 30 Euro at the casino. We ate, and we ate, and we ate.
On our final night walking the streets, Stu and I knew this was going to be a tough place to leave. I didn't want to depart, I wanted to send for everyone else. One could spend a lifetime in Nice. I get the feeling that Summers there never die.
The narrow streets of Nice.
Another incredible meal, this time at La Maison de Marie.
Pastry.
Sunset in Old Town, Nice.
Stuart Smith, the Evil Genius.
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