Thoughts On Nice - Re-Discovering The French Riviera

A walk towards the MediterraneanLiegeard described it in 1887 "la Côte d'Azur",
When I landed in Nice in my tiny Fiat back in the 70s,but still warm and inviting, perhaps even now
I could not avoid being mesmerized by a city soenjoying a Blue Flag status.
charming and majestic, so full with the colours of itsLike an ancient pagan ritual, breasts and legs were on
people, of its painted façades. I learned to lovedisplay to uninterested passers by, hoping to steal
the oozing perfumes from the flowers of its gardens,the last precious rays of an already distant sun.
the pungent smell of its spices and the subtle aromaJoyous dogs were trying in vain for a good foothold
of its herbs: so much different from the Paris Ion the round beach pebbles, flattened by the rhythm
adored.of tidal waves.
Nikaia as the Greeks called it when they first setI gazed towards the landing strip of Nice Cote d'Azur
foot on these shores, is now a blend of gentleAirport; where were the fishermen? "Helas"long gone
climate, African influences, Mediterranean experienceswas the time when Nice's all embracing bay was
and a trail of an Italian past still engrained in itsknown as "la Baie des Anchois" - the bay of
people, their accent, patois, gestures their warmth.anchovies . By "divine" intervention, it was decided to
As, in a more recent past, I ventured out of mycall it "la Baie des Anges" - the bay of Angels, or was
hotel in Nice, I looked up at the plane trees lining bothit a sound marketing decision?
sides of Boulevard Victor Hugo: so majestic and soMy gentle walk was an enjoyable luxury despite my
maternal in their huge embrace. They reminded mecasual clothing. I was now under thespell of a sea of
of the same old plane trees that still line the ancientaristocrats, nouveaux riches, playboys parading the
roads of my Po Valley, planted back in the 18thpromenade des Anglais in their immaculately tailored
Century when Napoleon colonized it. I rememberoutfits. I could smell their joie de vivre but perhaps it
climbing them, admiring their patched bark, gatheringwas Chanel Number 5. I could detect their
the fallen twigs to light up our stove on dark winterindistinguishable proud walk copied by the trotting
mornings. I used to play hide and seek behind theirpoodles beside them.
huge trunks, climbing them and enjoying them soThey no longer showed off their diamond encrusted
much in my happy distant youth; in a way it was likejewels, their Chanel Scarves, or their Panama hats. It
coming home.is now "à la mode" to show off perfectly
Waking down towards the sea, past the Negrescobleached teeth, tailored implants, evenly tanned skin,
Hotel, and the Palais de la Mediteranée, Ithe envy of any north African citizen.
could not refrain from thinking that the breathtakinglyNice's Carnival had come and gone but I could still see
splendid Promenade des Anglais used to be, only afaces and aging wrinkles masked by not so skilful
couple of hundred years ago, a short, bumpy narrowsurgeons. Like in a circus, properly outfitted
path. It was built and enjoyed by the Britishyoungsters were displaying their skating skill, others,
Aristocracy who swapped the winter chill and rainyon state of the art bikes, were whizzing in and out
weather of their Northern Isles for the gentle climateof their marked path in a joyous confrontation with
and beautiful surroundings of Nice.the last standing belle époque "heroes".
And there it was, the Mediterranean Sea, the centreIt was time to go, my rugged plane trees were now
of the ancient universe, languidly staring at you.replaced by dream Palm trees, exotic greenery and a
No longer as blue as the French poet Stephanmanicured lawn.