For my last night have decided to attend a concert, open air. Here I can vent my emotions and generally get in the spirit of the occasion.
It has started to thunder and lightening and my performers are being rained on like myself.
Instead, i decide that it may be better in the casino which may have a black jack wheel or something I can get my fingers stuck in.
I move on again, this time to another casino where they just have the monkeys putting the money in the machines. now this may seem like a good pastime to some people, but to me from the outside it simply looks like a load of people sitting in front of machines putting the money in. Where’s the fun in that?
I move on again ,this time to a nightclub called the dancing club, which i’m afraid to say looks astonishingly crap. after what has preceeded tonight this is overlooked and moved to the back of my mind as I pay the 16e entry fee.
On entering I am in fact the only customer and the aged club owner/cloakroom attendant, takes it apon herself to aproach me and attempt to show me a good time, french style. this fails, but I manage to get a cigarette off her before she gets the picture and goes back to handing out the cloakroom tickets.
Now the night is young and i am not having a good time swaying in this dancing club and although there are people arriving I just can’t be arsed hanging around, drinks are pricey and the place is shit.
I decide to leave and take a joant down past the Negresco, this is where if there are any celebs in town, they might be staying.
Nothing flying out of the windows or motorcades indicates tonight might be a quite one.
I decide to skip a drink in the bar and move on to the central area of town.
I think i’ve probably passed about two hours since the concert got rained out.
I decide to try one more a place called the klub, where they turn me away for not being a homo. I insist on my homosexual credentials, splaying of the the buttocks etc. but to no avail the door is slammed in my face.
This is my last night in Nice. I’ve had better ones.
For no other reason apart from that I’m sat at the computer thought I ought to mention Euro 2004 and those rediculous monkeys they let wonder round the pitch when people are wanting to watch the football.
If I was in Portugal, I would have been throwing bottles.
Nice has its fair share of Musuems. Due to failing weather, I felt that these museums would be a worthy way to while away the hours.
Kitting myself with cagoule, camera and other shoes and stuff I set out bright and early to this museum of one of the most famous artists who has hailed from Nice. That famous artist Matisse.
Taking the bus, not the bugger bus, but a normal one no. 15 or 17, (for those bus spotters out there), up to the important stop which is Cimiez Monastry. This was quick and effective and took me to the top of the steep hills which sorround Nice in little time or effort.
There where 3 museums to see on the way back into town. These three museums where:
The Musée Matisse
The Musée Marc Chagall
The Musée d’art Moderne et Contemporain.
Without going to much into boring detail. There were all worth visiting, especial if the weather ain’t great. The best, I thought, was the Musée d’art Moderne et Contemporain, becuase it had such mad and varied displays.
I also went to another museum, that was the musuem of Asian art.
These i usually find really interesting because
a) we stole all the stuff of them and they can’t get it back.
b) because their cultures are different.
At this museum they gave you a funky headphone which would tell you stories as you wandered from statue to statue. This i found on reflecting made the whole expreince much more valuable and wandered what was the point in having those little bits of paper next to things when they don’t tell you anything at all.
For this day, due to failing weather conditions, I have planned a bus trip.
For this in Nice you have a choice of modes, you have the small white choo choo bus, shaped like a train, favoured by very old and very young. Views aren’t great from the choo choo bus, pasengers simply have to satify themselves that they are making a spectacle and crawl along at exhaust pipe level until they reach their destination.
Alternative two is the big bus, the bus with no roof, what i call the bugger bus. If you have little else to do, you may find yourself on this bus, which is not in itself a bad thing to do. Headphones keep you company throughout your journey, and you are free to come and go, board and disembark as you please.
Below is a picture of this bugger bus and a view from across the port in Nice. I found the journey pleasing, the only thing I would recomend is that if you are planning to journey on the B bus get your ticket early on in the day this way you can get on and off many times at the points of interest. i.e. make a day of it.
The French have a national obsession.. with dogs.
A Frenchman owns a dog much the same as anybody else would own a car, he buys it from new or secondhand, drives it around for a little showing it off. This is the French way.
I have included this picture of a classical French dog and pose. When visiting French parks, especially city parks, you will becomes aware of just how important the social role of the dog, A canine represenative is essential when going forth breaking down and breaking down those froggy social barriers, sniffing, biting, frolicking when no-one is looking..
With the dog of course comes the dog poo, which again comes in all shapes and sizes as I’m sure we’re aware. This is one of Frances ever present hazards and should not be underestemited. The danger of mistrodden poo, especially under load or at perculiar angle can lead to slippage much to the amusement of onlookers. Be warned.
After little wandering between beach and hotel, have stumbled apon this Pitonnere area place, all narrow and magical, authentic window boxes, french smells, bohemian style town houses, and dog poo. The real France..
After strenous previous days travelling around, found a cheap hotel 52e per night up by station area.
Nice was one of those cities to which I took an instant liking.
The people and place, attitudes of the big city refreshing after wandering outback D’azur.
I have 5 days before I fly back to England, plenty of time to explore the city, kick back and relax.
Took a little time to write up some blogs whilst waiting for the bus, Croque Monsueir in hand.
As with many things continental, bus timetables cannot be relied apon, and my maticulous timing in finishing my mid morning snack had not co-ordinated with the real arrival and departure times of the bus to St. Raphel.
Taking this as a glitch to add another few travel hours, I decided rather than hang around I might be able to catch the bus up in Martinez by getting a boat round the coast and rendezvous.
Found out there where different boats departing from the docks all the time, even more regularly than the buses. Made my way down there.
After Chinese whispers games with French nationals, followed my nose, stuck to my guns and managed to get a fare of 11e right the way to St. Raphel, much quicker and cheaper than the bus. Plus met lawyer girl who wanted to show me her apartment in Paris. Didn’t bother but this would have been the first time since leaving Barcelona that I’d met a ‘proper’ English speaker.
She tells me they used to do helicopter trips, but there was so many helicopters flying around ,it annoyed the locals and had to stop. Most of the bigger boats had their own helipads which you could see, moored outside the main St. Tropez waterway.
Didn’t see P Diddy or any other hanging out the back of any of these huge yachts.
Stopped in St. Rahpel for about 20 minutes, just long enough to get a ticket and get out of there to Nice.
This is the last port of call on my journey.
St. Tropez renowned playground of the rich, famous, Bridget Bardot and Harry Seycombe, liggers and hangers alike gather to bask in St. Tropezs’ opulent reputation.
The port areas yachts intimidate the promenade as you walk along the sea front.
My hotel cost 121e per night so I decided only to stay for one night.
Spent a little time walking around designer boutiques and amongst exclusive galleries, between the beautiful people and their well dressed children.
For those with enough money to enjoy, St. Tropez represents a French crash pad, nice spot for a few drinks and a meal amongst like minded people.
Average Joe needn’t bother.
I found it obligatory passing through, but with drinks @ 20e a throw, wearing a T-Shirt and Trainers, my credibility threshold would not have sustained a full on St. Tropez dipping.
Tommorrow I’m moving on to Nice. This should be more up my street.