The French Riviera: # 1 in the Series

I’ve always wanted to go to France. After a weekend in Paris, I discovered I loved the country just as much as I had always expected. Thus, when we were all huddled inside during those cold, rainy, miserable winter months, plans for the realization of another dream were born. We were going to the French Riviera for six days. Joining the elite and famous, the South of France would be our domain. And so, the adventure began.

Overcoming train strikes, plane delays, and the French language, we four lovely ladies arrived in Nice Tuesday evening, and were not 20 yards off the aircraft before I was warned not to “Americanize” the pronunciation of “Nice.” I guess my overuse of the word “nice” (to get the accent, look for the capital; that’ll be the French locale) has been recognized. But of course I wouldn’t do such an insensitive thing, I love the French, they are my people – really though, the Canadians are my blood, they are so much chiller and less rude.

Nice is a picturesque seaside city – open air markets, an ocean-side promenade, and sunbathers galore. The Mediterranean Sea is a close second to the Caribbean for clarity and color, and its not overly cold – and coming from me, that’s pretty amazing. 9 AM on the first day there, I was already knee deep – and yes, fully clothed - in the Mediterranean – and it only got better from there.

After a sustaining crepe to hold us over, we set off to climb the numerous stairs of Le Chateau. The view from the first summit was a breathtaking panorama of the city, ocean, and the residences on the hills. We couldn’t go all the way up, as the park closed at twilight. While the view was spectacular, we were lucky enough to witness an even more astounding sight. I had joked on one of our rest stops to the top, that if I lived in Nice, I’d run these stairs once a day and call it my total body workout. Shortly there after, a man carrying a mountain bike on his shoulder passed us. Now, that’s a workout. At first it seems a bit odd, but then we realize there must be trails down the other side of the hill. Kudos, sir, you put my sorry ass to shame. Little did I know, he was going to capitalize on that fact in a matter of moments.

Descending Le Chateau, I hear the common place sound of a bike in a not very common place. We turn to discover this man is biking down the stairs. We stop dead and gape in horror as this brave individual thunders down several long flights of stairs, turn a corner, barely miss some pedestrians, pull a wheelie before hopping onto the last flight of stairs. Dumbstruck, we can’t stop discussing the likelihood that emergency medical attention is imminent. An old man passing through laughs at our exclamations and offers, “he crazy, yes?” When we reached the bottom – at a much slower rate – we were pleasantly surprised to not stumble upon a battered human being intertwined with cycle. Sir, you win, hands down. None of us could even fathom a way to beat that move.

And it just keeps on going; be ready!