Nice beaches

Nice

… is a nice little resort town on the Cote d’Azur, in Southern France. For a backpacker, it’s absolutely dull, however – there’s not much to see, besides yet another gothic cathedral, yet another old town, and yet another ruined chateau. It has a beautiful blue ocean, dreadful pebbled beaches and nice weather, though, and the bizarre advantage of being within day trip distance to everywhere of interest nearby: Monaco, Cannes, ski slopes in the Southern Alps.

Bizarrely, this is where France’s best hostel is (not a particularly difficult achievement, given the low standard of hostels in France in general), the Villa St. Exupery, which trips over itself to provide services and facilities. After my dreadful time at L’Imbarcadero, it was a nice break.

Stained glass window in the common room at St. Exupery.

St. Exupery used to be a convent or something like that – the chapel has been converted into a bar and net cafe. It seems to be the done thing with hostels these days: old religious rooms used for alcohol consumption.

Different kinds of salt available in the old town of Nice.

The old town is pretty much like the old town in most places. There’s much more of an international feel there than the mono-cultural Lille old town – and some more interesting foodstuffs available. Like different kinds of salts. All of it far too expensive for my poor budget.

Actually, besides accommodation and the occasional bag of groceries, I didn’t spend much money in Nice. Most attractions are free, and as the hostel is too far from the town centre, I cooked and ate there most days.

Top of the chateau, view towards Monaco.

Provence and Cote d’Azur are all very pretty, but a cheap bus ride (1euro) is all it takes to see most of it). Here I am, holding the flowers I caught in the Flower Parade (will say more about that later). It was nice to be in permanent sun once again.

The one ’sight’ worth seeing was Eze – a mountain village. If you go there, I advise not taking the path from Eze-sur-Mer (Eze on the Sea) – it took me a good hour and a half to get down a steep, rough, pebbly, dangerous path that killed my knees. God knows how long it would to go up, and what the physical cost would be. Anyway, Eze is a very cute preserved medieval walled village, ludicrously gorgeous and photogenic. The view from the very top is lovely, as is the garden of cactus and exotic plants.

Eze

Eze

Eze

Eze

Eze

Eze

Eze

I did actually like the statues in the garden the best – terracotta female figures, sloping and elegant.

Decorations for the Carnevale.

So, anyway, I was in Nice for the Carnevale. I had high expectations after the Venice Carnevale, and while it was spectacular, I was a little disappointed. This one was very kid-orientated: cute floats, clowns, that sort of thing. And also, I had to do battle with rude French people to secure good photography spots along the float routes. I was pissed off again and again by tall blokes standing in front of everyone else, parents pushing through crying out ‘les petits! les petits!’ (the little ones, the little ones!) when in reality it was them who wanted a better view, grandmas screaming at me if I leant out to take a photo. By the end I was exhausted of people, and ended up watching the fireworks from the safety (and isolation) of the street near the hostel. I seriously was on a warpath, ready to kill someone by that point. It didn’t help that when I went to buy a train ticket, I was served by a bitchy snot who ignored my French instructions, issued the wrong ticket, then was shitty with me because I pointed out her mistake and made her reissue it. And people wonder why I usually prefer to use vending machines rather than talk to the locals.

Fireworks, seen from the hill.

But, despite the rude French people, the lame-childish orientation, and the banality of the city, the parades and costumes were pretty excellent.

Kids getting their hair Carnivalled.

The performance and street art in France is of an incredibly high standard of art and originality: I have yet to not be floored by some of the amazing things I’ve seen here. The Fringe Festival organisers from back home need to spend a year festival-hopping in France or Europe in general (actually, a lot of good festival street performers come from the Czech Republic). It’s a pity about the arrogance that comes with it.

Above is one of those street performances: two bizarrely dressed hairdressers armed with coloured hairspray and gel, turning children into devils and rock stars. Another performer I saw showed groups of people how to make funky hats out of paper bags. There was also free face painting.

So, I have plenty of photos from the Carnival parades, but I have to put them in a seperate entry, so keep on reading.