Here I am, in Nice, about halfway through my European adventure, and I am just now beginning to relax and settle in to the life of a vagabond expatriate. Damn, the skin of a stressed-out lawyer takes a while to slough off. Those who compare my kind to snakes might have a point.
Nice is a fairly urban beach town (population of 300,000 - 400,000) that reminds me a heck of a lot like South Beach, except with potentially more money. The sky has been a lovely baby blue over the last few days and the water has been a delightful azure color. The Mediterranean is easily the most beautiful stretch of water I have yet seen (not that we're talking about many - heretofore, I have only seen the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Gulf 'o Mexico). The weather could not have been nicer, except of course, for today, when Scooter and I decided to head to Cannes (home of €1,000,000 plus homes and the International Film Festival) for beaching and jet skiing.
After a 40 minute train ride, we discovered that Cannes, in fact, has no jet skiing (what resort of the rich and infamous doesn't). Then after another 20 minutes or so of attempting to sun ourselves into Grecian gods, we decided that the French Riveria had more clouds and wind in mind for today that actual sun. So much for our attempts at topless tanning. (I could justify my interest in topless bathing as a way to erase my bikini-top lines, but as most of you are aware of (a) my normal bleached flour complexion and (b) the number of times per year I am generally caught wearing a bikini top, I'll admit I did it for the novelty.)
We are headed to Florence at 10 'o clock in the morning to see if we can storm the Uffizi and ogle David's package.
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