Silly bugger anniversary
October 04, 2003 ~ 12:40 p.m.
NICE, France�
October 3, 9:04 p.m.: Ah, to be back in the land where the flag flies the red, white and blue �
� France, that is.
9:35 p.m.: The buses that take you into town from the airport are ridiculous. Honestly. It�s a 75� evening with swampy humidity, yet there are no windows anywhere to open for a breeze. Air conditioning, you ask? That�s a laugh; of that, there was a distinct lack. I sat for a while, sweating profusely, before I broke out my battery-operated fan.
The ladies got off the bus just before the palatial Negresco hotel. I grabbed my knapsack, Red Sox cap, chamois shirt and tried to grab my carrier bag, but only got hold of one handle. In desperation, I yanked the bag up in order to get the other handle, but my Walkman flew into the air with the force of my pull. A French couple seated behind me picked it up and patiently waited until I was in a position to retrieve it.
Meanwhile, of course�you guessed it�the bus took off with me still on board. I saw my wife and mom-in-law look around curiously for me, not yet having caught on to the fact that I was reeling away from them at 20 miles per hour.
Shit! The trick, in this instance, was to stay cool. I was hot, tired, slightly inebriated, and sweaty. But I was calm. I thanked the French couple for fetching my Walkman and staggered off the bus at a stop 100 feet away. Now I knew better than to just head straight for the hotel. My hunch was that the girls would walk down a distance along the Promenade des Anglais in the direction of the bus; I was right. They were there, still waiting for me in the shadow of the Negresco.
9:45 p.m.: After walking about five blocks to 50 Rue de Victor Hugo, the address of our four-star hotel, we stared in awe at the building. There was no sign of life in the lobby�indeed, it was dark�and embossed on the marble tier above the doorway was "Residences Splendid."
"I don�t believe this," I said, disbelievingly. "These are residential apartments."
"We�ve got no bloody hotel," the wife said. Jo said nothing.
We stood there for a few seconds more, two rosbifs and one Yankee, hands on our hips. Then I saw the sign to the right�Hotel Splendid.
10:02 p.m.: We turned the key into the door and walked into our suite. My oh my. It was like something straight out of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and I could actually envision the damage one drugged-up night could do to it, but that feeling quickly passed. Giant living room area with a mini-bar, sparkling white bathroom with Jacuzzi-style tub, and a master bedroom�we had it made. The suite had wall-to-wall carpet and windows.
10:35 p.m.: Sitting at a table poolside, sipping red wine, dripping wet from my excursions in the rooftop pool. Mosquitoes began their feeding frenzy, so I decided to go back indoors.
We dipped into the mini-bar. The wife opened the champagne, at Jo�s imploring, and we toasted ourselves. This was, after all, our fifth anniversary. Five years of man and wife and mom-in-law.
11:25 p.m.: The last strains of Nilsson�s "Driving Along" were playing on my headphones, turned up to full volume and still just barely audible in the acoustics of the spacious room. Empty bottles of champagne, port, gin, vodka, orange juice and two beer cans littered the table.
I had only just cracked open the mini-bottle of gin. The wife asked me what I was doing. I told her the vodka was bad. There was no scent or taste to it at all.
"I�m not paying for that vodka," I announced.
"They�ll know what we took," the wife said. "You must pay for it."
"The fuck I will," I replied. "That vodka is weak as water. In fact, I believe it is water."
Jo was fiddling with a can of assorted nuts. "Anyone want a nut?" she asked.
"Oh, don�t you start that again," the wife said. (Inside joke, originating from a night in Paris two years ago.)
October 4, 12:29 p.m.: It appears you cannot get good codeine pills here in Nice. I asked for some codeine sulfate at a pharmacy, emphasizing to the pharmacist, "ne pas pour mal de tete," but that I needed it for coughs. I got a cough syrup in return: 200 gms of codeine per 100 ml. Hot damn!
The ladies are shopping around by the Place Medina. It�s not that warm today. Nice, but overcast and very breezy, not beach weather at all.
I think I�ll head back to the hotel and have some more codeine.
� 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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