What We Did On Our Holidays
20 Mars 2004Nice. Le Trocadera, 7 la rue de Belgique. Arrived at 2:45pm local time. €25 dans le taxi. The hotel is basic but adequate and right in the thick of things. First off we sauntered down Rue Jean Medicins to the Place Messina. Then down the Rue de Verdun to the Promenade des Anglais. After a brief perambulation we found ourselves eating Croque Monsieurs with salad and dressing outside a small bistro in one of the sidestreets.
Later - after a kip, we sauntered into the old town and had 2.5 litres of draught Kronenburg outside a bar which cost us €30. Both of us got locked in the toilet because the lock was faulty. Not – I emphasise because we are stupid. I got rescued with the help of a screwdriver, a pair of pliers and the extremely short-tempered bar-owner. I wonder how many times he had performed this operation. He had put a sign up saying "don't shut the door", but, did he really expect folk to be sat there, thrutching away, as people nonchalantly chewed their crudités and knocked back the 1664? What was actually needed was a new frigging lock.
We were both a bit pissed off with the waiter and owner who made great play of attempting to prove that the bill was actually €30 not - as I pointed out - vingt-quatre. My first ever argument in CSE French ensued and....I lost.
Twat.
Back to Le Trocadera for Jambon et fromage baguette et vin rouge a Bordeaux. Watched A 'jeunesse' program sur la TV which had Dr Boutros Boutros-Ghali as one of the many guests. The liver-spotted bugger was obviously punching below his weight and, in my yeux at least, shot way up the food chain. Tomorrow never knows.
21st Mars 2004
Dearest was up at 9:30 and went hunting for cafe au lait et eau. After a shower we took a tour on a motorised train for €6 each, just like tourists. Later we walked around the old town admiring the beautiful architecture.
A walk in the sun down the Promenade des Anglais, dodging the roller bladers, skateboarders and cyclists left me sunburnt. We got into a conversation with a Parisian lawyer - now based in Nice - about the Islamic problem dans la Français. Plus ça change, plus çest la méme chose.
A kip then a walk to the old town for a meal and then back to the hotel where we were greeted by a gang of hip hoppers blasting their abysmal 'music' out of their car stereos as they (drivers also) threw bierre down their necks. This went on well into night. Question: whenever you come across those-who-like-to-play-their-music-loud-so-everyone-else-can-hear-it, why is it ALWAYS the same type of fucking music they listen to? Always aggressive, loud and uncompromising.
22nd Mars 2004
The day began with a walk round the old town, then round the headland into the Port of Nice. A litre d'eau and a jambon sandwich later we walked back. Very hot - I am even more sunburnt.
We sauntered round ancien objets d'arte in the old town before we spotted an Irish bar that was showing the City v Leeds game in the evening. A half carafe du vin rouge in Rossetti Square as a trio (double bass, two guitars and three part harmony) made the afternoon special.
Later we realised that we should have paid more attention to the geography of the pub where the match was.
After a kip and a very, very nice shower, we set off for the main town to eat and then watch the match. We ended up finding no 'snack' places, they were all proper restaurants. I forewent the promises of a lifetime and tried a McDonalds. Dear me. I mean I don’t want to act all thick but, seriously, what’s the attraction? Or did I just happen to get a bad one? Woeful soggy bun with a desultory, insipid burger smeared with relish with a sliver of tomato embedded in it. Awful.
By this time it was 8:35. 25 minutes to KO. We legged it to the old town and spent the next 24 minutes trying to find O'Neill's - the only pub in Nice showing the game.
Well what can I say about the evening? €5.40 for a pint of lager!!!! We lost a most one-sided game (again). However we met a load of lads and lasses from Ashton-U-Lyne who were in for the match. Some French kid (18? 19?) thought it would be a good idea to shout 'Manchester City are Shite', before, discretion being the better part of valour, he realised he was being an antagonistic prick and left.
We met another 8 City fans in that bar who had all been there longer than us. They had done their homework. This was the only pub showing the match. Not Utd, Arsenal or Chelski you see. Global brands only, get blanket coverage. On to the match and, well, what do say? We dominated and got beat. This time by an extremely dodgy penalty and a red card.
23rd Mars 2004
Last day. Rain and thunder throughout the early morning. A walk down to the seafront to say à bientot to Nice. A jambon et beurre sandwich pour moi et un croque monsieur pour Dearest refreshed us before Joe le Taxi whisked us back to the airport and back to Liverpool John Lennon.
All in all a great break and a welcome dose of le soleil. I managed to keep the worst manifestations of the previous week’s cold at bay and was able to admire the fin de siècle-ness of the place. The architecture, the boulevards, the back streets, café culture, the Alps and the people (with the obvious exceptions).
'God' bless Easyjet.
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