Dec. 28... Barcelona to Nice

“Home” to France

I’m delighted to discover that after a week in Spain, I feel relief to be back in France, and once again able to walk into restaurants and shops, confident that I can make myself understood. Progress!

We’re staying in Nice through the New Year holiday, and truth be told, almost everyone I’m likely to come into contact with speaks excellent English. The advent of EasyJet and RyanAir have made the south of France an easy weekend get-away for even the most budget conscious Brits. While I groused at Ceil for ordering crepes in English last night (Me: “C’mon, Ceil -- use your French!” She: “I tried, but the look on the lady’s face made me think I was hurting her.”) most of the shopkeepers don't let us get very far in French.

Nice is a lovely little city… twenty or thirty blocks of trendy restaurants, high-end designer shops and three- and four-star hotels. It’s too cool to swim, but walking along the beach is terrific. Note: the beach itself is a touch disappointing – very coarse sand and stones. I was expecting something a bit more… Caribbean, I guess.) There are casinos and high-rise hotels along the water-front, and the Christmas ice-rink and ferris wheel will be up through the first week of the year.

We’ve rented an apartment for the weekend… this has been a terrific discovery for us: less expensive and more comfortable than a hotel. Making the reservation requires a bit more work on the front-end, searching the web, emailing the owner, sorting out how to pay the deposit, etc. but aside from those small hassles, I’m convinced this is the only way to travel, especially with grouchy kids in tow.

This afternoon we’ll head over and explore Cannes – maybe that’s where I’ll discover the glamor I was anticipating – and visit Annie, a woman Ceil befriended during aerobics class. Annie and Ceil get together for lunch once or twice a week, ostensibly to practice conversation skills in English and French. Annie has a vacation house in Cannes, and we’re meeting her for lunch.

On the way home this afternoon we’ll stop in Boit, a town known for it’s glass-blowing. Miles has heard that glass blowing can be very dangerous, and he carries high hopes that we’ll see someone burned or disfigured. Morbid, yes, but if that’s what it takes to get our budding-teenager on-board with our tourist agenda, then I’m not too proud to play it up. (Me: “… and so, anyway, Miles, ever since the accident, Dale Chihully has a huge hunk of colored glass stuck behind where is left eye used to be, and if you pull off his eye-patch and shine a flashlight in his mouth, a beam of blue-green light shines out of his eye-socket.” He: “Cool! Can we go there again tomorrow!”)