To Nice, France! Tout suite!

To Nice, France! Tout suite!

So I’ll write part 2 to my San Fran trip some day, I’m not really caring any more about that. Flying to France was quite the trip as well. I got dropped off at the airport with about 30 min to get on my flight. If you know anything about international flights, this is not good. After getting berated by the guy at the counter for being an idiot I ran to catch my plane and, literally, sat down just as they began to taxi onto the runway.

The flight was broken up by connections in Salt Lake and New York, so the longest period of time spent on any one plane was only 6.5 hours. Much shorter than the 13 hours of my last trip to Europe. As for the sign above, I’m still trying to figure it out; it was in the bathroom on the plane. The lit part on the left obviously means “promenade extravagantly to your seating receptacle,” but the one on the right escapes me. Do I push the button for a drink while I’m on the pot, or is it to alert the flight attendant that my urine sample is ready?

Once in Paris I hopped on the Metro and headed into town to try and find my hostle.

After switching trains I got off near where Google Maps had directed, and with the address in hand I proceeded to see if I could find my resting place. Unfortunately the map wasn’t zoomed in enough to show street names, so I had to ask every other person for directions. When the postman doesn’t know where to go, however, you could be in trouble.

The other problem revolved entirely around the fact that all directions, delivered lovingly in French, tended to contradict those of the previous person AND make little to no sense in the greater context of what was going on. Things like “go to the bakery and take a left because it’s on your right.” Which bakery? What?

Lugging my HUGE (thankfully wheeled) bag up the hill, I covered and back-tracked about 2 miles with my hands near-blistering as my bag has naught but a rope for a handle. I finally discovered the address on my reservation, only to be told that I wasn’t supposed to go there, I was supposed to call them when I got in and meet them across town. This upset me.

The man, friendly and very French, told me to wait for him to call ahead for me. Eventually I asked if I could get on the internet. I had by this point decided that I would skip Paris and go straight to Nice. It seemed that I’d rather not spend the money on stressing myself out in this crazy town and just get to my apartment. Freddie, a cool North African event-organizer gave me a ride to the train station, and the testing of my French continued as he too did not speak any English.

I hopped a train, which connected twice; in Lyon and Marseilles.

I saw a silver-faced clown getting his picture taken on a phone with some girl in Marseilles, it was kind of funny actually. Ironically, the girl looks like a dread-locked version of one of the girls that works at the church here.

I made it to Nice, exhausted and hungry, at about 9PM. I’d sent Noah, my room mate, numerous Emails keeping him updated as to my progress. Plus I’d had my parents send him yet another Email to tell him exactly when I would get in town, so I was hoping to be greeted at the station. I was also soberly aware of the odds that he wouldn’t be there, and was trying to figure out what I’d do if he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t; no one answered the phone back in Pullman either so I had no idea if he’d even gotten the message. I was on my own. My first impression of Nice was interesting, and I wondered for a second what I’d gotten myself into.

My rugby-loving taxi driver took me to the Church address, the only address I knew, and almost didn’t leave me there as the church is in what looks like an old garage. I wandered around for another hour, trying to figure out what I’d do since no one was at the church. I finally decided I’d have to get a hotel room as I could feel myself falling apart.

I got on the internet at “Stay Connecting,” a little phone and internet shop next to my hotel where I sent a few more messages, and then resigned myself to my fate and took a shower. My first meal in France was purchased across the street, it was terrible (but I was starving so I didn’t realize this fact until about half way through).

A very French meal indeed. And I had a consistent sensation of vertigo whenever I stood still for a moment. It was time to sleep. I finished eating to an episode of Robot Chicken and then went to bed around 11:30PM and zonked OUT. I woke, ran to the church, only to find it empty again, and then got my crap and checked out. Stay Connecting was still closed, and the name was still annoying me. They didn’t open until 4PM, so I went to a café and ate a little, ended up reading for like 4 hours. The beach here’s pretty sweet too, I read there as well.

Finally, Stay Connecting was open! Or at least it was supposed to be, they were late. I talked with the girl standing outside, and asked if she realized that “Stay Connecting” was bad English? She didn’t speak English so she had no idea, though she said everyone mentions it (I discovered she worked there). Upon getting online I discover that Noah had changed his address to 164 B, Rue de France, and it was only 4 blocks away, so I ran down the street to find it.

164 B, Rue de France, does not exist. I searched, for about 2 hours, I can tell you that it does not exist. HOWEVER, 146 B, Rue de France does in fact exist. I discovered this as a kindly French lady on vacation was helping me. Unfortunately she was too nice to let me go double-check my Email; as we were going to find 164 B for sure. A long while later, I dragged my bag back to Stay Connecting, and lo-and behold it was indeed 146 B. However, it was a bit too late to count on finding Noah, who still hadn’t replied to any Emails or Facebook messages.

I got my hotel room back, only to discover that it had free internet! This was a shock, and I’d wished I’d known it. I went upstairs, got online, and who should be on but Noah Beumer! We barely caught each other, but met at the apartment. I’d also managed to get a refund for my room (which at 53 euros a night is a bit pricey). We went to a soccer game that night, which is a story in and of itself, and then came home and went to bed. Sadly I have no pictures of the game, all the taunting, fense climbing, and object throwing would have been well worth it. Perhaps I’ll get to another one, I have a feeling it’ll be the same then too, though there may not be as many cops in riot-gear.

If nothing else, you can enjoy the sunset with me. This place is gonna be sweet. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I didn't stay at the hotel pictured. That's the Negresco, only the most famous and expensive hotel in Nice, right on the beach. I had a cool picture of it though, so I put it in. The place that I stayed in resembled the following picture more closely.