You already know that early in the year, Brian went to London for work, and I tagged along, because how could I not? After the work was done, we decided to spend a couple of days escaping the winter in warm, sunny, Mediterranean Nice.
But then the rain passed and our luck changed and for the rest of our short trip, we were treated to the most glorious light and the most stunning sunsets, with Mr. B sipping on morning espressos and me sipping on afternoon Kir in crisp, light-jacket-weather.
We took a day trip to Monaco. Although the palace tours were closed for the off-season, the Monte Carlo Rally was happening that weekend. As we climbed the road to the famous Monte Carlo Casino, we stumbled right into a gathering of race stars and news crews, complete with flashbulbs and squealing tires and puffs of burnt-rubber smoke.
Back in Nice, we saw the sights and ate pretty good food and strolled along the main shopping street. We wandered Vieux Nice and I ogled the gorgeous citrus at the fruit and flower market. There was nothing bad about it. It was nice.
Here’s the part that’s a little hard to explain… As a resort town, Nice felt like it was carefully designed to please. This wasn’t bad. In fact, it was successfully pleasant. But in our few days there, I felt that something was missing. We didn’t get to experience the depth of the people and place, only the veneer created for the tourists that flock there every summer.
The thing I liked best though, and the thing I’ll remember most is the sunsets. We spent them on the beach, walking slowly toward the dipping sun, feet sliding on colored pebbles. We watched the buildings turn a dreamy pinkish gold as the color of the water shifted from aqua to navy to slate. Together we watched the shifting light and the glorious ocean.
And that felt deep and real and right.
As always, more photos can be found on Flickr.