Niceties

After weeks of early starts and full days, the pace of life slowed down when we got to Nice. On our first day, after our remarkably restful train ride, we spent the morning lounging and taking much-needed showers at the hostel, and then moseyed down to the beach in the afternoon. It was blue blue blue of ocean, white white white of rocks (no sand), and covered covered covered with people. As always, I had brought journals and art supplies, intending to be inspired and productive, but the only thing the beach ever inspires is dozing. I did briefly dip myself ankle-deep into the chilly liquid blue, and we stayed at the beach for a good two hours. Our first Niçoise dinner was at a Chinese restaurant, much to our friendly concierge’s dismay. 

The following day I headed out early on my own, acquiring a kilo of carrots on the way, and did some exploring. At the start it was gray and foggy and chilly and seemed unideal for going to the beach, but after a while the neighboring coasts reappeared as the sun decided to grace us with its presence. I recognized several local beach-goers from the day before. After spending a few hours attempting to become cooked lobsters we went to the local market. That’s where I got my now ‘famous’ ring. I also got a traditional baguette, which I gleefully consumed on the way back to the hostel. We stopped in the mall, far larger than the one in Parma, and I added a smoothie to the contents of my stomach. I had been craving one for ages. That evening we walked back down to the beach to catch the sunset, and discovered the docks and a war memorial and other things we deemed worth exploring further in the daylight. This night we did have a traditional meal, though the exact identity of mine was a mystery.

Day three we finally remembered that there was more to do than go lay on the rocky beach. It was Tuesday and I had intended to go to a few of Nice’s many museums, but it turned out that, unlike the rest of the world, Nice’s museums are closed on Tuesdays instead of Mondays. So, we started our day at the market, which in the mornings is all flowers and produce, in contrast to the array of old trinkets we saw the preceding afternoon. We continued on down to the water, but didn’t stop at our usual spot. We walked to the site of the ancient castle, transformed into a climb to panoramic views, parks, cemeteries, ruins, and a manmade waterfall. At the top of the waterfall I took in the spread of red-tiled roofs and the shifting azure expanse of the ocean. Further along were the Jewish and Christian cemeteries. The former was simple, cramped, and haphazard, while the latter seemed extravagant, ostentatious, and expansive. By now we were hungry, and I picked a direction towards a church we didn’t find, but which lead us to a new part of town. I ended up picking a restaurant after going into some other church where they seemed to be tuning a stubbornly dissonant organ.

 Partly because of the previous day’s museum surprise we decided to spend an extra morning in Nice to be able to make it to the Chagall and Matisse museums. On the way I nabbed a chocolate croissant and a chocolate éclair. Yum. At the Chagall Museum, perhaps more than the work, I enjoyed being able to employ my many languages, successfully reading French descriptive texts and eavesdropping on Italian visitors with more information. The sight I most enjoyed was his stained glass windows which, being glass, let in the light necessary to give his heavy colors some air and a sense of life, something I found somewhat lacking in his paintings. Next we went to the Matisse Museum, and I was proud of myself for deciphering the bus maps and communicating with the bus driver, two things that took me a while to master in ‘my own’ Parma. After seeing many artifacts from his household and plans for a chapel he designed, I have added the Vence Chapel to the ‘one day…’ list for my life. On the way back to the hostel we stopped at the same bakery from the morning and I got myself a quiche and another baguette, this time ‘normal’ instead of ‘traditional.’ We picked up our bags at the hostel and bid farewell to the owner, who had been flexing his biceps at me ever since I snapped off the shower knob a few days prior.

We took a train to Monte Carlo, then to Ventimiglia, and from there one bound for Milano. When I saw Italian text again, and finally heard Italian again, it was priceless. I was headed home, to a language I speak and to a home with a family.

Perusing Paris

A little back-note about Rotterdam. In our hostel, everything from bathroom lights to hallway lights were motion-activated. As I walked through raised walkways that connected the upper levels, lights turning on with my every step, I felt like a purposeful member of some starship crew.

And so the epic journey to Nice. We did so much train-hopping it was more like permanent floating. When I ordered some food during a change in Lille, for the first time in weeks I was able to do it in a different language, using more than nouns and numbers and pointing. I could conjugate verbs again!

When we finally made it to Paris we had no problem acquiring the tickets to Nice that had been so elusive in the Netherlands, and we found ourselves with eight hours to adventure. We dropped off our bags in storage; I changed to ‘look more French,’ and we set out to hit as many major sights as possible. Since the city was so overrun with people we opted for the ‘look, there’s that, take a picture’ approach, rather than spending hours in line to go inside one or two sights. Our first pause was Notre-Dame, and Brendan began to understand the scale of things in store. We walked along the interminable exterior of the Louvre and continued through the Tuilleries gardens. It was a hot and dusty day, and soon my black shoes were the color of the sandy paths. We stopped for some overpriced but quenching soft-serve near the obelisk, and again I missed gelato (how much more do I miss it now!). We could see the Arc de Triomf in the distance, but it is so huge that it would be our donkey’s taunting carrot for quite a while. I stopped for a ham and cheese crepe from a street vendor. When in France… . Eons later, after stopping in a store or two on the Champs-Elysees and watching an impressive street performer, we made it to the Arc. There I saw ‘Miranda,’ the last name of a distant relative, engraved on one of its faces. There seemed to be some kind of military remembrance or celebration underway, and as old men marched towards us, we marched on toward the rest of Paris. Our next intended destination was the Eiffel Tower, but we inadvertently spent the next hour making a large circle around the Arc, before we looked at a map and figured it out. You’d think a landmark that huge shouldn’t be hard to find. Eventually we made it, and took pictures and composed postcards. We saw the dome of Invalides in the distance, and it came time to start heading back. We stopped into a mini-mart to get some snacks for the ride, and I got to use my French to ask where the nearest Metro entrance was. Success! We took the eight to République, to take the five to our station, Gare Austerlitz. Easy. Too easy. We hopped on the five and started moving just as I realized we were going the wrong way. Oops. The rest was uneventful, and we joined our unexpected Texan companions in our sleep cabin on the train.

I woke up around 730 and was itching to see the famous South of France countryside, but with the shade down and everyone fast asleep, I would have to look elsewhere. I went outside to the corridor and marveled. It felt like the first time the train window showed me something truly unique and unfamiliar. The brush was different, and at times I felt like I was in a painting. The light was soft and diffused, and in the distance there were rolling green mountains. Once our companions woke up I raised the blind in our cabin, and light flooded in. Picturesque red-tile roofed buildings zipped by, and palm trees waved a frondy hello. Suddenly the ocean appeared. It was almost like being back in Cinque Terre. Already I knew that Nice would be the place for me. Already I wished I had more time to spend exploring this region.

Nether say Nether

This morning Matt and Brendan and I woke early. Ellie is going to Hungary, Matt to Nirenberg and then Munich, and Brendan and I to Amsterdam. We barely made our train, but we did it. As usual, the morning was gray, and the blades of windmills spun in and out of oblivion. Much later the sun came out, and I found myself in the Texasiest landscape yet. Fields upon fields, no mountains, and lots of phone wires. A strange propensity of reclining cows, a flock of sheep, horses, ponies, and baby ponies. I spot storks flying over the fields, a bird feeding its young'n, a gas station named 'Brand Oil,' and house roofs dressed in shiny blue solar panels. It's been five hours and we're still in Germany.

The thing that struck me upon arriving in Amsterdam was how un-foreign it all seemed. Signage was in English; people spoke English, and Dutch looks like English. I felt more like I was in New England than in Europe. The day we arrived was uneventful, and consisted of finding food, doing some wandering on foot, and making plans for the rest of our journeys. The following day we went to the Van Gogh Museum, where I discovered just how prolific Van Gogh had been. I enjoyed being able to see the progression of his style and several notable (aka textbook famous) pieces. Afterward we caught a walking tour and tried to do some more wandering. The following morning we intended to go to the Anne Frank House, but due to train complications we ended up leaving early and going to Rotterdam.

Though we arrived in Rotterdam at noon and had to leave early the next morning, with the help of a 10pm sunset we were able to see enough of the city to fall in love. First of all, our hostel was inside the famous Cube Houses, which were literally across the street from the train station. Convenient much? Thanks to Brendan's sleuthing, instead of just walking past a landmark, we got to reside in it for a night. We dropped off our bags and picked up a map and embarked on adventure. From the very beginning I was overwhelmed by the awesome architecture. The city was so damaged in WWII that it had to be almost entirely rebuilt, so it is very modern; very different from most of the Europe we had seen so far. In addition to the buildings, the city just had a great artistic vibe. Every corner had sculptures or street art. It felt like a living museum.

Unfortunately, the Netherlands Architecture Institute was closed for renovations (inescapable, I told you), but we got to see the Museumhouse Sonneveld, a completely restored mansion that was built in the Nieuwe Bowen style in  1933. It was funny how something that was once so obviously progressive and ahead of its time could now be considered almost Ikea-style. Still, it was a beautiful and innovative house with a particularly breathtaking stairwell. We meandered Rotterdam, approximating the path of the self-guided walking tour on our map, and found a steel skatepark, a sculpture garden, the 'ethnic neighborhood,' a shopping district, and downtown. Dinner just added to the brightness of my memories of Rotterdam. Given vague restaurant recommendations by the glittery concierge at the hostel, we chose to heed his sagest but vaguest words: go where the locals go. We ended up at a Surinamese/Javanese/Indian restaurant, where even the 'English' menu couldn't quite help us, but where it was almost standing room only and trafficked by even more people getting food to-go. This tiny room overflowed into the street with hungry patrons, and those of us waiting circled like vultures looking for enough open seats for our respective parties. I still don't know exactly what I ate, but it was delicious and made me wish I could find food like this in the States. Chicken soup laced with white rice, soy sprouts, and other delicious things, which mingled around a hard-boiled egg. The bowl was not much bigger than my two cupped hands, but suddenly my having ordered an additional entree seemed overzealous. I was full. To-go, please.

It was still broad daylight at 8pm, and we dropped off our food and did even more wandering, this time towards a red bridge that had caught my fancy. To be honest, everything caught my fancy. Berlin might have been the most anticipated destination, but Rotterdam, which I did not even intend to visit, was high up there on the favorites list.

 The next morning began our famous trans-France trek, as described in the earlier post, Disney Ride.