Barcelona --> Nice, France
Fast forward through two hours of sleep and Blake and I were up again to catch our flight to Nice. Completely dehydrated and possibly still drunk, the task of getting on our flight was rough. Like, post Full Moon party throwing up on a ferry rough. After a long metro ride to the airport, we discovered that we were only able to bring one bag on the flight with us… we each had two. The Zara in Spain was too cheap to pass up and I naturally dropped a couple hundred euros there, causing my backpack to swell and pore over into another bag that Blake, by transitive property, was forced to carry.
Now, you know the saying of how you should travel to a third world country with your significant other before you marry them? You know, to see how they hold up under pressure and all that good stuff? Well, while Europe is obviously not impoverished, Blake and I had still been pretty good travel partners, making for a so far positive outcome to the discoveries that the idea of traveling together is supposed to reveal…. Up until the security line at the Barcelona airport.
One of the guards yelled at us, telling us to consolidate our bags, forcing us to awkwardly rip open our luggage and jam more things into the already bulging backpacks. If Blake wasn’t already annoyed enough with me for buying a whole new wardrobe in Spain then the icing on the cake came when I stood over him giggling as he shoved my dozens of rompers into his duffle bag. You see, I have a super bad habit of laughing when I’m nervous, which I tried to endearingly explain to Blake as he commanded me to put on my 5 pound wedges in order to free up more space in my bag.
Wearing three sweaters around my waste and looking ridiculous with heals on in an airport (there’s a special place in hell for girls who insist on dressing up just to sit in a cramped airplane for hours), we made our way through security both mad and ready to kill the other. Me, pissed that Blake squashed my cute daypack into my other bag and Blake fed up with my over packing.
When a woman security guard told me I had to put my bag through the checkpoint again, this time with all my electronics in a separate tray, I almost strangled her. For a good half hour, Blake and I didn’t say a word to each other. But, some much needed water and a few booze soaking, fatty foods later, Blake made his way over to sit on my lap, forcing his kisses on me and declaring that we were friends again. Back to showing that silly relationship/travel saying what’s up.
We finally landed in Nice where we once again encountered a traveler’s mishap when we discovered the bus we needed to get to our Air BNB was on strike. This is apparently very common in France. Damn French. So, we resorted to a taxi, but the odd thing about taxis in Nice is that they’re all Mercedes or BMWs. Seriously, the cleanest, nicest cars. Picture the USC Kappa parking lot on steroids and you’ve got what’s supposed to a taxi service… come up. Downfall though is that this clearly means Nice is out of our poor, 1-year post grad, eat ramen nightly, steal ketchup packs from McDonald’s budget. But, this worry over money, or lack thereof, was instantly overshadowed by the views from the 6… aka our BMW taxi window.
Nice is truly the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. Water so clear and fluorescent blue that it looks like a Lo-Fi filter has been applied to the entire town. Not to mention the winding hills and mountains that surrounded the harbor filled with rows on rows of sailboats and 70 foot yachts. I kept brainstorming career ideas that I could pursue if I moved here, that’s how much I instantly loved it. English teacher or nanny perhaps? Need to learn more than merci and Voulez vous coucher avec moi. Yes, that 2nd one is from a Christina Aguilera song. Better than nothing?
We got to our Air BNB and our host Olivier let us in. The apartment was perfect. While only one dorm sized room with a separate cupboard sized bathroom, it was still adorable. It’s Santorini blue accents, skylight and window overlooking the mountaintops sealed the deal for me- I was officially infatuated with Nice.
Having only 2 days in my new favorite spot, we quickly headed out to explore. Nutella crepes were the first order of business. Then, we walked around a bustling area of the city, called Old Nice. The streets were lined with people eating and drinking and there were tiny shops everywhere. There’s also one big open town center area where people sit outside and eat for hours.
My favorite part of the entire trip though, (which I can accurately say because I’m writing this a week later on my solo train trip to Cordoba- staying true to my writer ways) was a long, narrow park near the city center. We sat on the albeit fake grass and watched as dozens of kids climbed all over the wooden dinosaur playscape. Fully enamored with Nice, we then went to a beautiful restaurant on the harbor for mussels and the best pasta I’ve ever had. Nice for the win.