Ah, the sun!
May 03, 2003 ~ 7:23 p.m.
NICE, France � The sun is a great thing. It really is. I am slightly burnt all over, but a satisfying burn, a slight tingling that lets me know that I have not only received a booster shot of vitamin D, but a certain color that I was lacking all winter long. The wife noticed.
As we walked up toward the Vielle Ville (Old Town) and along the Promenade des Anglais, she muttered, �Honestly, hon, your color!� I am a serious sun-worshipper, it�s true. And after slightly more than six months, I possess a golden brown chest, arms and legs again. The feeling is enthralling.
It is 77 degrees at 6:30 p.m. It is not as humid as last night, when we arrived, but it is remarkably warm. What a day. No wonder the sun was so fierce today. Temperatures must have well been into the 80s.
Not only did Jo, the wife and I sunbathe, but we did it in style. You can rent a sunbed for the beach at only 12 euros, which is about equal to $12. There is no sand in Nice; the beaches are all pebbles. Walking down to the ocean, it�s just slightly better than walking barefoot across glass, and the reward is a dip in 55-degree water. But, no coward me, I greeted a wave by pushing right through it and ended up swimming all the way around the pier and back. Having swallowed several mouthfuls of Mediterranean salt water, I was glad to have un bier awaiting me back on shore to take away the awful taste and even more awful thirst.
The Ni�ois are easy-going. If my friend John is to be believed, that they�re simply �occupied Italians,� then it�s easy to see why. But I think anyone who resides in a place so sun-drenched and where there is no chance at avoiding a palm tree has no right to be miserable. Except for the fact that this is still, officially, France. Let�s see, as a result of yesterday�s history, a resident of Nice must live under the representation of Jacques Chirac instead of Silvio Berlusconi. Yeah, I�d bear a certain grudge towards the past. But for all the times that I�ve stumbled over my French, I�ve gotten nothing but appreciative gestures in return.
Not only is it warm here, but I admit, for all my misgiving about France, I have to like a country where beer is kept in the same cooler as soda pop. And to walk down the street, openly clutching a can of Heineken, even in front of the police, is surreal. Not as much as openly smoking a joint is, as with Amsterdam, but hey, you can�t have it all.
That reminds me, a letter I sent to The Independent in response to an expose on cannabis they produced got published. I bought a copy of Saturday�s paper at London Gatwick Airport and on the editorial page, there it was. They even used my catchphrase for the muddle-headed muckrakers of society that I so despise � the pious. �The pious can�t stand people enjoying marijuana.� I edited a previous entry to send my opinion on cannabis legalization to them. Hence, my debut in a national British paper. Not a bad way to kick off a holiday!
Well, I must eat now. I�ve had nothing. An espresso, five beers, one glass of wine. Typical on-vacation mode, really. But man cannot live on hops alone.
Well, later, mes amis.
� M.E.M.
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Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
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