Yesterday, when we got into Nice, we immediately headed to the hostel. It was only about 10 minutes of a walk away. We found the place and got inside, heading up the stairs as some man with a dog started heading downstairs. He stopped us, sputtering French at me, asking if we had a reservation -- and when I, completely confused, said we were checking in, he turned ariudn and leaded us to the reception. He turned out to be the new owner. He is about as French as I imagine a French person to be, meaning that I hated him immediately and only slowly have grown to actually be fond of this befuddled, confused, confusing man.
He had lost our reservations, naturally, and immediately assured us that of course we'd have a bed for the night. I hadn't even thought to worry that we wouldn't at that point! The old owner showed up after only a few minutes and very calmly explained the situation to us in an Australian accent. "You must understand," he says to me, "that even though you booked two rooms in a dorm, it doesn't necessarily mean the same room."
"Well, that's certainly what I expected," I snap back at him unpleasantly.
In the end, the new owner manages to find my reservation for our beds must has to separate us for the first night at least, assuring us we'll be able to switch beds in the morning to the same room. It's a situation that's very unpleasing to Andreina and me, but there's not much we can do about it. And after spending the last few hours on a train, I'm too bushwhacked to care much more about it.
We drop our bags down on her bed and head out to the city of Nice. I vaguely, vaguely remember it, digging through my memories to those short days is like trying to pull out the stuff you'd stored in the back of the closet. I remember being with my friend Jaime, she and I being the two girls in the group, I remember walking forever down a street before finally hitting the ocean, I remember pebble beaches and buying a towel there -- a towel I wouldn't recognize from the pile I brought home from Virginia. I remember the tons and tons of shops, but the rest of my memories are a confused fog.
This day, we head towards the old center. I tell Andreina everything about Nice I've learned from my travel guiders, everything that makes it interesting or special. We wander and wander and wander, and then finally hit the ocean. It isn't anything like I remembered it at first, and then it is, and I wonder if my memories have conformed to my present situation, if I'm just imagining my memories altogether now.
The waters stretch out forever, just like in the Cinque Terre, but now they're headed by tons and tons of people lying mindlessly on the beach of pebbles. There are people parasailing and we sit, watching them go about from the launching to the watery crash at the end. I suggest a short uphill climb to one of the best views of the city and she comes along with me, trying to hide her obvious dislike of more hills. We walk to the top of an ancient castle rock and a little plaque declares the place to have been a guardhouse for the city, capable of spotting enemy ships from miles out.
From there, we stumble across a war memorial that is just monumentally huge. Andreina took a picture of me from the end side of it and my body is a tiny, tiny speck against the massive marble. I had to laugh at the fact that while WWI is listed, WWII is only mentioned as "The Resistance."
We wandered through the streets for quite a bit longer. Andreina had mentioned how early it yet was at around 6pm which I took to mean "let the adventure game begin!" However, she lost her enthusiasm for city exploration about two hours later when we were lost and hadn't managed to find dinner. I have to remember that she's still new to this trip, that she's not used to wandering around for hours with no destination and only a vague idea of where we are at any given moment. I also have to remember that she likes her regular meals, vice grabbing a small bite here and there whenever I happen to remember to eat. I hadn't realized how much I'd fallen behind on my food schedule.
She doesn't let me know, though, when she's tired or hungry or in any other way upset. She only becomes very quiet, to the point where I'm the only one talking. It's a very oppressive sort of quiet, let me tell you!
I had intentions of stopping at a grocery store for provisions but, by the time we managed to find the area nearby our hostel, all the shops had closed. Andreina was about 5 minutes away from smothering me in my keep for lack of food, I could tell, so I forced her to walk with me down the street towards the train station where I was certain that more restaurants would be open. I was right and we managed to find a pizzeria, grabbing a heavy pizza and a "brick," some sort of greasy food concoction on the lines of an egg roll.
After eating, Andreina was a lot happier.
It's really, really different to have another person along the road with me. I love it, hands down, I love having someone to talk to and share ideas/observations with. I love just knowing that someone else will remember these things with me. But it comes at the price of constantly worrying that the other person isn't enjoying the trip as much. I'm always, always watching to gauge her mood, from how far we all to the sights to the scenery, always trying to pick out if looking at flowers is what makes her happiest or if looking at the ocean does or if shopping does, and I file away all that data in the back of my mind for instant recall; "oh, Andreina isn't too talkative, better get a chocolate croissant to boost her mood" is the sort of lines that run through my head. I know, of course, what sort of thing I enjoy, what sort of attraction will keep my attention, and now I constantly worry about whether she is also enjoying France to the extent she had expected. And I'm the big sister. I have my role play -- it's one that comes automatically to me. If someone tries to talk to her, I'm there like the bulldog making sure they know she's not some naive traveler but that she has a (potentially) angry sister to watch her back.
I'm glad she's here. I'm also glad I got to hear just myself for the last few months. The contrast is one I'll remember forever.
We ate our "brick" in front of the local Notre Dame and then headed back to the hostel, getting there about half past nine. I talked to the owner about a suspicious puddle of water that had formed nearby the room's mini-fridge and then went up to my own room two floors up to go to bed.
I slept horribly. The other girls in my room were of the typical hostel variety, young and party-ers. There's no other place in the hostel for people to lounge about and gather aside from their rooms; I had to try to sleep with the lights on, some music playing, the other girls all intensely locked into a card game. They kept playing for about another half hour before two left, leaving me alone in the room with the last girl, trying to get some sleep. Our hostel is located along the rail line and near some trafficked streets; I fought to sleep against the noise of trains breaking and scooters accelerating all night. By the time morning came along, I woke up with bricks of sand in my eyes with the feeling of sand weighting down all my bones unpleasantly.
I went down to wake Andreina. We eventually got back outside, walking along to get some fresh fruit and baguettes for breakfast and then to get to a park and eat them. We talked about boys and friends and random memories. We found out we could get free wifi signal from a nearby hotel and stayed there for a bit longer. Then we went t the train station and bought her tickets -- and my reservations -- for the train tomorrow. After that, I begged off for a nap. My body was decelerating fast and I could just feel the tired clanking of my bones, the intense yearning for a nap.
We took a nap in the afternoon for about two hours and then hit the road again in search of a chateau that I'd seen a sign for the day before. Our walk took us over an hour before we finally reached the chateau, sitting to enjoy the view of the city and then heading back to grab some supplies for dinner and lunch tomorrow.
Our dinner was some delicious sandwiches. I had to ask the hostel owner for a knife since Andreina refused to; the sandwiches were simple but delicious and we have enough leftovers to tide us over until at least Lyon if not through tomorrow altogether. We talked and talked and talked -- I'm sometimes surprised to find my tongue capable of saying new things after all these hours of talking together. I am scared of repeating myself and dully saying the same thing over again but that luckily hasn't happened yet.
Andreina's French has been complimented multiple times now, from the first time we ordered baguettes to ordering croissants to ordering more baguettes. She glows every time someone says something. I, personally, don't really enjoy French as much as I thought I would. The throat-growling noise that they make on a regular basis is enough to turn me off to it. I'm more willing to listen to Spanish and Italian.
Hopefully, the Internet works well at the hotel tomorrow night. We'll be leaving for Lyon in the morning, a 5 hour or so train ride. We're that much closer to being home, that much closer to me being able to physically beat Lucas for not answering my emails or texts, that much closer to college to finally start, that much closer to being able to take a shower without wearing flip flops.
Location:Nice, France
Every time you talk about the French markets, the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast goes through my head where all the townspeople are singing and selling their wares. I am sure that Nice is a lot bigger than that, but still, French people will be French. I know what you mean about that French gargule sound. The language is really pretty, and then out of no where, the speaker drowns in their own words, and then it becomes pretty again.
ReplyDeleteThat sounds..nice (lol). Andreina and you are both chatty in your own way, so you both being able to talk and talk isn't too surprising, but I can't wait until you're home. I am so glad that this trip is turning out to be a lot safer and you are being very consciences of your surroundings.