Nice

We began our road trip on Saturday morning at around 11. You know how I hate early mornings and what not. We figured that the trip would take us about four and a half hours, so we didn't think that we were getting a late start.

The first thing I would like to announce about the journey is that there is an inordinate number of tunnels on the road from Castel del Bosco to the Italian border: more than 150... Maureen lost count in the 150's. Neither one of us can figure out why there are so many tunnels on the one side, and not even one on the other side, all the way to Nice (except for under Monaco, but I think that is just because Monaco doesn't want you to see its stuff for free; they would rather you come in and pay to enjoy their scenery.

We made pretty good time until we got to the boundary. Here we sat in the tunnel leading to the last toll booth in Italy (which, incidentally, cost us EUR 30.10) for more than 40 minutes. It was rather like torture... the anticipation, the frustration, the DEHYDRATION! We paid our fare, and got off at the next exit to rehydrate!

(Don't worry, gentle reader, I am not going to recount every tunnel or every exit we took on this trip. I am just starting this blog in this way so you can get the feel for our mental state when we pulled into Nice.)

We finally did arrive into Nice at about 4:30. We found the hotel easily, and we pulled up and proceeded to pull our luggage out of the trunk.

"Madame is staying with us at Le Meridien?"
(Why else would I be unpacking a car in front of the Le Meridien valet stand?)
"Madame will have to prepay zee parkeeing, how long you stay?"
(Why did I read that there was free parking on site?)
"Ahh... until Monday? Zat will be 42 euros."
(Really?)
"And, the parking garage is not ours, but we will be happy to park the car for you."
(A public lot? Are you kidding me?)

So, thoroughly annoyed, we dragged ourselves to reception where we were greeted by Yasmin, our concierge.

"Welcome to Le Meridien, Madame. We have everything in order for you."
(What is the deal with the beach club?)
"Ahhh... the beach... it is an 18 euro fee for the beach and we do not run the beach club, we are just affiliated with another group for that."
(I swear I read that they had their own beach club across the street. OK, what about the pool?)
"Ahhh... the pool... the pool closes at 5 or 6.
(Really?)
"And by now it will certainly be closed. But, enjoy your room, number 546."
Maureen and I went up to the 5th floor and wound our way around to the farthest room from the elevator, room 546. It was a small room, with a 'terrace' which overlooked a pedestrian area below, and if you go out and lean over the railing, you will see the sea.

We decided to get cleaned up and venture out to find dinner. But, first, I wanted to check my email. We went back down to see Yasmin. I was positive that I had read that there was free wifi in the lobby and wifi for a fee in the rooms. I approached Yasmine for the access code.

"Ahhh... Madame... there is no free internet here in Le Meridien. If you want, it will cost you 19 euros a day for internet access in the lobby."

Disgusted, we went to the business center. I was, again, positive that I had read about there being a complimentary business center. we both sat down at computers. Within seconds of sitting down, we were asked if we had purchased time on the computers, for the extortionist rate of 10 euros per half hour. Now, at this point, I was about to lose it... I felt like we were being nickeled and dimed left and right, It made no sense to me that one Starwood hotel would be run so differently than another Starwood hotel. How was it possible that we were being charged for everything little thing?? Would we be later charged for the water in the shower, or per toilet flush? I couldn't even think! I announced that I had no intention of paying to used a computer, thank you very much, and we walked out into the street. We walked to the corner and saw that the McDonalds there had FREE WIFI for all its customers. So, we both went in and each bought a small hamburger and diet coke and sat down at a booth and cracked open the iPad. We felt triumphant!

After checking out our email, Facebook, and the headlines on both MSNBC and FOXNews, we ventured out to explore our environs. We walked for about an hour and a half, at which time we decided it was an acceptable time for dinner. We ate a lovely, simple meal at a bistro called Le Barracuda. Nothing special, nothing to write home about. What came after dinner was much more spectacular.

We decided to walk back to our hotel along the Promenade des Anglais. There is spectacular people watching to be done there. Nice is truly a multicultural melting pot of every sort of person, and every one of them is out on the Promenade on any given night. As we neared the hotel, we noticed that there was a woman singing at a beach bar, Lido Plage, to be exact. She was singing a Spanish song, so we stopped to listen. When she finished singing about a young man in a black shirt, she began anew, with a song that was really familiar. About 8 notes in, Maureen and I both realized what she was singing: Michael Jackson! Oh!! It was way too much fun not to go down and have a drink and enjoy the hits. So, we did. We went down, and sat right up close, front and center. She sang two or three other hits, then she announced that we were in for a great big treat!

"Direct from Bollywood, the Amazing Irene!"

We were then 'treated' to three belly/ interpretative dances. It was all very odd. But, apparently we were the only ones not enjoying the scene. There was a long table next to us filled with middle aged Russians, the ring leader of which was decked out in a white linen suit and a .... wait for it... a cravat! He was on his feet, iPhone in hand, filming the Amazing Irene, following her around, gleaming in a most inappropriate way.

"I wonder what his wife thinks of that?" I asked Maureen.
"I'll bet she is used to it."

After the Amazing Irene finished her act, the chanteuse returned. This time singing several more upbeat numbers. The Russian in the cravat was up and dancing, this time, with an Eastern European-looking girl with the shortest dress I have ever seen, smoking the longest cigarette I have ever seen wearing the highest heels I have ever seen. She was twirling around, never losing either her ash or her balance. I was most intrigued. But, just when I thought I must have seen it all, a very drunk woman, a friend of the chanteuse, I think, came from behind the 'stage' and decided she wanted in on the action. She began dancing with the Russian and the blonde. However, before she got her first dance step in, she took a nose dive right into the crowd. She took out a chair and a table on her way down. Now, I am not one to cast stones... I have been known to take a spill on the dance floor in the name of jammin' to the hits (July 1995, Nightworks- Columbia SC readily jumps to mind), however, this woman was completely extraneous to the situation. She just took it upon herself to start dancing with this 'quasi-couple.' She was completely unfazed. She hopped up, and just kept on going...

I decided that the drunk woman at the Lido Plage was going to be the symbol of my time in Nice-- when the right song comes along, just hop in and dance. If you get a little over enthusiastic, and fall over, jump right back up and keep dancing!