Nice is Nice

I have witnessed wealthy communities before; as a teenager growing up in the northern suburbs of Chicago, fancy cars and large identical homes didn't too much phase or impress me. But nothing I had seen prior to this weekend could prepare me for the concentrated prosperity present in the French Riviera, what I'd like to coin, the Apex of Affluence. I think the formula goes something like this: 

[((beautiful blue Mediterranean * uninterrupted sunshine) +  extravagant tropical landscaping) * (30 million dollar yachts + cars worth more than schools + utopian architecture)] * 4 = The French Riviera

But my math is sometimes off and I tend to be hyperbolic.

Friday we (myself, Mark my roommmate, Charlie my fellow soon-to-be Illini alum, Maja our Serbian friend, and Arrien our late to join travel mate from the Netherlands) left in the morning for Nice, a 5 hour train ride from Milan. With our train leaving just after 11:00 AM, we could see the coast by 1:00 and were in the city just after 4:00. I had booked the hostel, Hotel Meyerbeer, which had received a number of positive reviews on HostelWorld.com (my trusted online hostel advisor), namely for its fantastic location south of the train station and 1 1/2 blocks north of the beach.

The hostel wasn't exactly what I had expected - it was kind of like a 4 story high rise, with the reception desk on the 2nd floor and a creepy, poorly lit staircase leading to it. After we were led to our room, which had boasted of a bathroom, kitchen, beds, and security lockers, we found that all of these were present, though concentrated in a 12' x 12' room. We were also slightly disappointed by the absence of unlimited biscuits and soft drinks, which we had been expecting from the hotel's online advertising, and had been looking forward to as cheap sustenance throughout the weekend. Other than these minor defects however, the hostel was clean and extremely well situated in the city, so all around we were pleased. 

When we walked into the room, we discovered the first of our 2 random roommates, a young, attractive, Australian girl named Natalie ("Nat") who at that moment was sleeping. She quickly awoke and we ran through introductions - I'm Josh, from Chicago, yada yada yada. Just then John walked in, our second roommate, an older (late thirties) mechanic from Ipswitch, England, who had embarked on an unscheduled vacation to avoid lady drama. I found this kind of funny. We hung out briefly with them, sea legs getting antsy, then changed and took off for the beach, only 100 yards away or so. 

I don't know if the beaches in Nice are famous for being beautiful, or perhaps just famous for being famous, because they are not conventionally appealing in the tropical beach sense. The shore is extremely rocky, making barefoot walks into the water a tad uncomfortable, and if you want to lay out and work on a tan, I recommend either a folding chair or mattress-thick towel. Still, I can't really describe the blueness of the sea or splendor of the stretch of buildings that line the coast without proclaiming Nice to be a beautiful place. Maja stayed out of the water, but the rest of us ran into the chilly depths. At first it was extremely cold, but after being submerged and moving for a few minutes, the Mediterranean was preferable to the land of France. 

We didn't stay in long, and after around half an hour, got out to walk down the street "Promenade des Anglais", the main drag running along the coast. I snapped lots of pictures - people watching the water, a young musician playing "I Will Survive" on guitar, a few of the countless runners jogging in the fit lane, casinos, statues and the like. After walking for a while, we headed back to the hostel slightly worn out and extremely hungry.

Based on the advice of MTV's Guide to Europe (my go-to travel guide and strong recommendation for anyone between the ages of 18 and 25) the Restaraunt Voyageur Nissart is THE place to eat when in town. The prices are reasonable and the food is supposed to be fantastic. I led the group there (it's located north by the train station), but upon arrival, we discovered the wait would be greater than 50 minutes. Wanting something simple, quick and cheap, we asked for a new suggestion, and the host pointed down the way, "Le Petite Biche". Perfect. We walked another two blocks and found a less packed restaurant; we walked in and sat down.

Now, as a generally intelligent human being, I avoid cultural ignorance and therefore make every attempt to ignore unfounded racial and national stereotypes, but I must admit that the service at "Le Petite Biche" was absolutely French. As a group, our inability to speak the language seemed to substantially irritate our impatient waitress, and led to cold, callous, and unreasonably slow service. The food was good because I was starving, but other than that, the 2 hour experience was a nightmare. Between getting menus, getting drinks, and getting each of our dishes were extended periods of delay, and when we finally got the check, we each experienced a wave of relief, as if to say, finally. By the time we were done, John and Nat had joined us, as we had all agreed to head out on the town together that night.

Again on an MTV Europe recommendation, Chez Wayne's was our nightlife destination...

"The most popular pub in Nice is an Anglophone hangout with an international crowd and live music most nights. Expect live classic rock and pop music, crowded rooms and beautiful girls."

When we got there, it didn't appear to be anything special. A well lit room in front with a bar, a number of people standing around, and then stairs leading down to a second room, lined with 3 tables (2 along the walls, one down the middle) culminating in a tragically small stage. Looking back, I can't believe we actually considered searching for another location, because in hindsight, Chez Wayne's was possibly one of the most rocking bars I have ever been to. I got the attention of the waiter, an Australian dude in a tank top and cowboy hat, and he said he could seat all 7 of us up front. Wonderful. We were escorted up to the absolute front and center of the second room (directly in front of the stage) and received our first drink order right when the band got onstage. The room was still only half full. "Great, we're going to have music blasting in our ears all night," I thought. I sat back ready to either appreciate or hate the music - for the next 2 hours, all I did was the former. 

The band, originally from England and with a witty English lead singer, played only covers. They opened with Steve Miller Band's "Joker" and within minutes, a plethora of girls were standing on the tables. Sitting was no longer an option. The waiter told us that we could no longer put our drinks down, for fear of broken glass. An unknown guitarist shredded riffs, licks and solos on his worn down Fender Telecaster like every rock star I've seen on VH1. It was awesome. When he solo'd, he would often walk off the stage onto the table we had been sitting at, across the room and back. Check out the picture of me, with him playing a solo with his teeth in the background. Simply put - it was awesome (did I already mention that?). I probably overspent my intended nightly budget, but there are some moments in life when money really doesn't matter, and this was one of them.

We headed back to the hostel, I bought some Turkish Kebap (my new favorite late night meal), and most of us went to sleep. I actually stayed up for a little while talking to Nat, who I think is one of the most interesting people I know. 25, from Newcastle, Australia, she's worked at a resort since 18 while at home; after she saves up enough money, she just travels on her own, all over the world, meeting people and always staying in touch. She probably has more international contacts than some U.S. ambassadors - better stories I bet too. I let her know that if she's interested, I'd be happy to be her Chicago go-to. 

Now this was only the first night - I will write a little bit later (perhaps today or tomorrow) about the second two days of our trip - Cannes and Monaco. The stories from Saturday night are probably even better; Charlie and I did some breakdancing on the street for a large group of tourists and later, I got confident enough to play guitar for an entire Irish bar at 2:00 in the morning.

Also, my friend Mitch just made me aware to the fact that the US Dollar has just hit the 13 month high against the Euro. "Live the life," he said. I assure you buddy, I will.