On the way back from Monaco, we sit next to the girl for New Zealand who is spending the summer working on private yachts on the Riveria. Her ship does not have a permanent berth and she is on her way back to Antibes from Monaco. She told me the 22m yacht was a wedding gift to a couple she has not met yet, those people must have a rough life. But seriously, how sweet of a job is that, living and working on a yacht on the Riveria.
Anyways as soon as we got back to Nice we made our way back into Old Town to the Cours Saleya, a long open stretch of courtyards parallel to the Promenade D'Anglais that during the day is home to an open fresh farmer's market and local goods stalls, and by night turning into a sea of table and chairs for the 30 or so restaurants and cafes that share the courtyards for outdoor seating. By the time we got down to the Cours Saleya the early Romania/Italy game of the UEFA Euro 2008 Cup had ended in a tie. France was on deck to play Holland and the Cours was alive with excitment for the match. Hundreds of French fans, jersey wearing and faces painting crowded in front of the tvs that each restaurant placed in their outdoors seating areas. A surprising amount of Holland fans we out, and the trash-talking in foreign langauges had already started. I gave up trying to eat, with my head darting around at each ohhhh and ahhhh of the massive crowds. The folks were tired from the day hiking around Saint Jean Cap Ferrat so they headed back to the hotel at halftime of the France game. I, of course, can't miss the experience of watching a France match in France of the Euro Cup, ... head over to the most crowded restaurant, buy a liter of Kronenbourg and watch the game in the standing room only Cours.
France doesn't fare to well as the match goes on and a French guy infront of me keeps turning around and making remarks to me about the match. "C'est fini," he tells me after Holland goes up 2 to nil. He turns to the group of people next to me and starts to try and talk to them, and they stop him immediately and in a think Irish accent tells him they don't have a clue what he is saying. I introduce myself to the four people next to me and after a little conversation they invite me for a beer as the match finishing up with Holland winning 4-1. The group I meet are two couple on holiday together in Nice, from Ballymena, Northern Ireland, which they say is 40 minutes southwest of Belfast. All in their mid-twenties or so they are hilarious and we get along great for the rest of the night, exploring more of the bars of the Cours Saleya and Old Town. We trade contact info and I agree to meet up with them the next night.
The next day we head to the Les Chemin Des Provence a smaller train station north of the central one, that runs small trains from Dignes to Nice daily through the French Alps. We take a 2-hour train ride along the Var River deep in the French Alps. We get off at the train station in the tiny medieval village of Entrevaux. I am in such a hurry to get off the train, I assume my camera in my parents handbag. It is not. I don't realize it til I search the handbag 20 minutes later. The next hour and a half me calling every train stop after Entrevaux, only to realize that NO ONE in the French Alps speaks English. So goodbye camera and all photos of the trip up to that point. Damn. I feel retarded and even more like a tourist.
Enough self-loathing, how can I be down when I am in a place like Entrevaux. Although it is the middle of nowwhere, we were there on a beautiful day and the sights from the mountain top citadel we amazing. Check them out at www.myspace.com/jtmckeon. Entrevaux medieval is a commune full of cafes and artisans. We met a Brit ex-pat named Clara who owned her own cafe in the village. My father found a classic motorcylce museum tucked away in thin corridors of the village as well. After ascend the citadel and making our way back down we enjoyed a beverage or two and a Euro match while waiting for our return train to Nice.
Back in Nice late, mom and dad went to bed, and I headed back to the Cours Saleya to meet up with the Irish couples and have a late dinner. The night consisted of more liter mugs of Kronenbourg a couple of bars I can not remember the name of, and an interesting late night couple we were pointed towards after 2 a.m.. Following some locals thru the darkening Old Town to this next club, Tony (one the Irishmen) points out that this is how a couple of horror movies start isn't it. Finally we come upon Subway, not Jared's Subway, but a club built a couple stories underground in the what feels like the sewers of Nice's Old Town. Horrible music but definetly an interesting place to go. Tony, James, Audrina, Coaimhe, and myself had a couple there and then took off. They invited me to Ballymena, an oppourtunity I might take-up on my way home in September.
Sunday was devoted entirely to Nice, strolling down the Promenade d'Anglais, checking out the markets at Cours Saleya, climbing the castle-less Castle Rock, and exploring the park and waterfall atop the rock. My plane back to Helsinki was at 8, so after a quick dinner across from the train station, I hopped on a bus back to the airport and I was off back to Finland. The flight home I sat next to a French open-wheel racecar driver who raced professionally in the States. He was visiting his Finnish girlfriends' family for the first time. (Don't know why I mentioned it, I guess I just find that interesting.)
That is all for France.
John
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