There Were Four in the Bed…Nice, France

Affectionally dubbed the mayonnaise bed (don’t ask), we squeezed the four of us in, rolling in thick sheets, with poor C getting the short end of the stick with the manky corner nearly every night! Outside, our little balcony opened up, and from between two pastel-coloured buildings you could just spot a sliver of the sea.

C and I braved the morning before the others, stretching our legs with a short walk to the boulangerie across the street. The beautiful baker didn’t speak a word of English, and our French is negligible, but somehow we forged a sort of friendship/mutual respect over the weekend (and were so sad when she wasn’t working on our last morning!).

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Heroes for the morning, we set up a croissant and tea station on the balcony. By the way were dressed, and our squinted eyes as we looked out to that tiny bit of sea, you’d have thought it was close to 40 degrees! In reality, it was closer to 16, but that didn’t dampen our plans to have a beach picnic and maybe, just maybe, end up in the sea!

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C (a different one to my trusty croissant partner) and I popped over quickly to the local supermarket which, conveniently and seemingly like everything else in Nice, was right across the road.

Baguette…check

Fresh fruit…check

Cheese…check

Pastry for dessert…hmmm, after the amazing boulangerie croissants, we couldn’t justify even trying the supermarket equivalent…pastries would be picked up later, made fresh by our favourite baker in all of Nice.

As were waiting in line, starving though we’d just scoffed down way too much croissant, a woman dressed head to toe in black wandered in, grabbing some chips from an aisle and cut the line. Not knowing French, and realising this woman was a little on the, hmmmm, how to say this delicately…rough(!?) side, we let it slide. But the man in front of us did not. Up in arms, the two began arguing, with the poor woman behind the counter not sure what on earth to do to on her own. C and I stepped back a few paces as the scene unfolded, hearing the crunch of chips being smashed in her hand as she fought. The woman inevitably got served first, and despite the injustice, we got our picnic goodies and met up with C (shall we call her Croissant C, just so we don’t get confused?). Quick pit stop to the boulangerie and then straight to the pebbled beach along the Promenade Anglais, setting up a few towels, stretching our legs out and devouring our makeshift sandwiches with the crustiest and most delicious of baguettes.

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And then the waves got bigger. And bigger. And the clouds rolled in overhead. And we stopped believing that 16 degrees truly felt like 40, because all of a sudden our towels were no longer under us as a picnic blanket but wrapped around our shaking shoulders. To forfeit the picnic or not to forfeit the picnic? The waves bounded towards the shore, and eventually we convinced ourselves that no, we weren’t afraid the sea was going to gobble us up. We were done with lunch, is all. Finished. Fin. Nothing to do with the horrid weather at all. Nope, nada. Thanks for a pretty cute picnic, Nice, but maybe we’ll come back in Summer next time! xx

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