Are you listenin', Silver?

Bon soir, toute le monde.

Correction from a few posts ago: I'm an idiot.  You actually spell my favorite movie Bienvenue Chez les Ch'tis, not "Ch'itis."

I had quite an eventful weekend in Nice.  I took quite a few pictures, which are in cleverly named albums, Sugar and spice and everything Nice and More Nice things.  

~Vendredi~

Our train left from Pau at 6:30 Friday evening.  It was happily uneventful until our first connection, at Tarbes.  We had a two-hour layover, and as we sat there, quietly reading our Cosmopolitan's and Glamour, une sans domicile fixe or SDF (homeless/street person) came up to us and asked, "Do you want ta hear an American joke?"  He turned out to be Irish, and told us jokes and stories for about 45 minutes.  His brogue was thick, and sometimes difficult to follow, but once in a while he would stop and say, "You're nice girls.  Thank ya for listenin' ta me."  And just when it seemed endearing, he would come up with a story like this:

"They're [I believe "they" means everyone in the world] all bastards.  Bastards.  They arrested me."  

Me, "Really?  Why?"

"Ah," he said, "I stole a car." 

His accent was quite thick, and his eyes were sad and blue.  He paused between words sometimes, seeming to grope for his next thought.  He stopped mid-story once and asked me, earnestly, "Are ya listenin', Silver?"  

Our train from Tarbes to to Toulouse went by quickly, and we boarded our night train (to Nice) around 11:30, and were assigned couchettes (basically rooms with stacked bunks).  I have to preface this by saying that I really do sleep well on trains, and prefer it to any other kind of travel.  There were four of us traveling together, and our chambre (room) had six couchettes in it.  We were assigned to the top four, and the bottom two were already assigned to two men. My friend and I needed to use the restroom, so we left.  Apparently, the French aren't that great about checking tickets, so there tend to be SDF's who ride the trains at night.  On our way back from the restroom, we were followed by one of the shadier-looking SDF's who asked us if our chambre was full.  I never thought I would be grateful to share a chambre with two strange men, but, thanking my stars, I told him, "Oui," and shut the door behind me.  Unfortunately, I didn't know how to lock the door behind me.  It was impossible to tell the difference between dangerous sounds and normal night train sounds, so after about thirty minutes of being a bit worried, I had to choose not to be frightened.  I said a prayer, stuffed my travel wallet down my dress, and slept soundly until eight o'clock the following morning.  

~Samedi~

We arrived at our hotel around 8:45am, and dropped off our bags.  Our room wasn't ready, so we walked around Nice, found a bakery, and came back.  Our hotel turned out to be a great find: two blocks away from La Promenade des Anglais and family-run, the hotel had more of a lodgey, homey feel to it, rather than a garish, touristy feel (much of Nice is too touristy for my taste).  We then changed into our swimsuits and spent the day at the beach.  Unfortunately, none of us wore sunscreen and all of us misjudged the strength of the Mediterranean sun (!).  I think the only good thing about it is that I know a new French phrase:  J'ai un coup du soleil (I have a sunburn).

Having learned the nature of French nightlife in Toulouse, we took an afternoon siesta (naps, showers, and a few rounds of euchre with cocktail hour) and went to dinner around 8:30.  We happened upon the perfect restaurant in Vieux Nice (Old Nice).  We ate outside and were waited on by really cute French men.  We spoke in French for the whole meal, and were even complimented on our French skills.  We went to a bar afterwards for a drink (my drink of choice is gin and tonic, but my friend ordered a Kriek beer--from Belgium.  Red letter day: there is a beer that exists that I actually like.  A lot.), but soon got tired and returned to our hotel.  

~Dimanche~

We checked out of our charming hotel and went to a market back in Vieux Nice.  I can't really describe it, other than to say to look at the photos I posted.  We went on a bus tour of Nice, which turned out to be great because we got to see some residential areas we wouldn't have stumbled across by ourselves.  Because Nice is very old, it houses many different types of architecture, and is often described as "eclectic."  I've decided that because I love architecture, but know next to nothing about it, it is my goal this year to read two books on the subject.  

After a quick trip to the Russian Orthodox church in town, we headed to the train station, and learned, first hand, the meaning of le systeme D.  We accidentally missed our TGV (the super fast train in France) connection, and a conductor told us to simply get on a different train (which stopped in Toulouse with just enough time for us to catch our connection to Tarbes, our last stop) and purchase a ticket when the conductor came around.  When the conductor came around, we explained to him (while looking sad and forlorn) that we accidentally missed our connection.  He simply stamped our incorrect tickets and said, "C'est pas grave."  J'aime le systeme D.

One more thing before I go:

The French are crazy about techno music, and my host family is no exception.  The kids dance around the living room to this song and don't believe me when I say I can't dance.  Today I simply smiled and said, "Are you listening, Silver?  I really can't dance."

Marguerite.