Our host Alain owns a nightclub in Nice, called Le Six. In the early years it featured live jazz, but times and the economy have changed and now they have djs from around the globe performing; from Brazil tonight, Paris tomorrow, et al. He has played trumpet with Whitney Houston in his younger years and for some of the biggest singers in France from a bygone era of crooners and chanteuses. He studied at Côte d-Azur University and is in the artistic loop in Nice.
While I’m a go to bed early guy at home I will have to pass on checking out the club scene here as they don’t open until 10. Plus I wouldn’t feel comfortable in that particular habitat (they have an onstage shower show). While I was never called a bad ass in my youth, now I’m called a bad hip.
Alain’s mother, Suzanne, is very sweet. She has already brought us an onion tartalette with olive and anchovies and then the other evening Alain brought us out their homemade limoncello in the most amazing glasses. The colour and taste were to my liking and I will try my hand at making it when we return (along with learning to do Italian tile work, making french pastry, playing piano, exercising, and…)
When Alain was first giving us the tour I couldn’t help but notice the artwork and the print of Karl Lagerfeld, the German designer and photographer (nicknamed Kaiser Karl), over our bed. Since then every time I was getting dressed to go out the door I felt Karl was judging me. ‘Those colors don’t work with your hair. Where’s your foulard (neck scarf)? Not those pants again! You are a dummkopf!’ And that was my best stuff.
Well, in any Airbnb you’re not going to put your A-list pieces out because they could get stolen (in Mexico they paint tacky pictures on the plastered walls, anything else would be taken back to Tijuana by the locals). The lighting here was kitsch, and there were 2 potential tripping points on the floor, a beam that is only 5’8″ (170cm) high, the ceiling is only 6’4″ (185cm) in the living, sleeping area, and the 5’3″ (158cm) entrance door that has Carol flinching when we go in and out.
This is all because initially this was le cave (cav) or cellar, and hosted the mechanicals and storage and was made of rock and concrete. There is a remnant of this accessed by a door adjacent to us. So the niche that they carved out as living space has character and is quirky and works very well for its intended purpose.
We made the short train trip to Antibes (an-teeb), wandered around old town (lots of local artisans flogging their stuff) and oh no, I bought another rayon shirt. After last year’s puffy see-through pirate shirt in Lyon (that will never see the light of day) I’m hoping I made the right call.
It’s different on vacation when you make a purchase. You have stars in your eyes and envision that you will enlighten the local yokels to what real style is. Not jeans and a toque, but linen pants and rayon shirts with a neck scarf and Italian leather belt and shoes. But as soon as you land you know you’re vacation purchases are going to the thrift store untouched.
The local beach just outside the Old Town is the first sand beach that we’ve come across this trip, usually it’s a ‘pebble’ beach. Being a popular destination, there is a mixed crowd out today with lots of little kids and their parents around us. Usually I’m not a big fan of anyone under 20, but some of these cuties were actually fun to watch. Their good manners, accents, and beachwear exposing their heritage and the different parenting techniques from what we see back home. Of course I fall asleep immediately and get some color on my back, where people wince and point when they see me.
We have a new a ritual when going to the beach of laying Carol’s scarf or shirt (extra shirt) in front of us and placing each treat out in their packaging so we can admire it and build up some anticipation before cramming into our pie-holes and washing it down with a half bottle of local red. Drinking beer or wine on the beach is a tradition here, but subtly and with respect for the people around you (no beer bongs, or popping corks where the neighbors are splashed). We linger for awhile and I roll over to add color to my front so that when we are leaving it looks like I’ve spent the last hour in a toaster.
Of course Antibes has a fortress and a cathedral that we admire from a distance (through binoculars) but our legs refuse to do any additional stairs other than what’s necessary to get us home (which is still a lot). Big news! Our mini binoculars were not stolen in Rome, just misplaced in one of the 20 zippered compartments in our packs and Carol’s purse. It has been our best purchase so far as it weighs nothing, fits in the palm of our hands and has amazing optics for €15.
Anyways, we finally reach home and unload our cache of goodies from today, including the requisite post cards that I’ll add to my nostalgia wall back in our lounge, and groceries for tomorrow; then plod out to the faux grass to relax.
Blue Delivery 