Atlanta - Paris - Nice
Here I am, finally in Nice on October 17th. When this photo was made, I had neither slept nor bathed in about twenty four hours. The nine hour flight from Atlanta to Paris was painful, despite the use of anti-inflammatories and even one prescription pain pill. My pinched nerve did not allow me to escape the pain regardless of how I positioned myself in the seat.
After landing in Paris, they put us on a shuttle and drove us to a terminal that was designed similarly to Dulles airport in Virginia. The terminal had a wide, shallow design and was crowded with passengers and a few french soldiers with automatic weapons. Immigration was easy, with the man behind the window simply stamping my passport and handing it back to me.
While I was waiting for the flight to Nice, I was able to practice my French with the people that worked there. When they heard my accent, they surprisingly switched over to English to finish the conversation. Parisians don’t often accomodate Americans in that way.
The flight to Nice was quick. The Nice airport is clean and modern, with a relaxed attitude. The ticket window for the buses downtown was exactly where the internet article said that it would be. I quickly got a bus downtown. I then walked around the bus station looking for a taxi stand. Would you believe that there is no taxi stand outside the bus station ? I guess that the taxi drivers assume that anyone who would ride a bus would not have the money for a taxi… I walked back into the bus station and asked in french,” Good day madame. I have a question please. Where are the taxis?” She kindly told me in english that I should take a right outside and that the taxis were halfway between here and Massena. I then dragged my suitcase four blocks down the street in search of a taxi. I then stopped and looked at my tour book to find a picture of a taxi sign. The taxi signs are blue, with white letters. I then saw one down the street and finally got a taxi to my hotel.
After putting my bags up I walked out of the front door of the hotel and there was a homeless person, camped out with his sleeping bag, asking for money. I said in french, ” my credit card does not work. I have no money.” He then continued to plead, suspecting that I was indeed lying. I then fished out a 20 centime piece out of my pocket and gave it to him. I then found an automatic teller machine ; punched in the wrong password; but eventually got some money. There were homeless people lying around on each side of the block; not a good introduction to the neighborhood. There were quite a few outdoor cafes and internet points however. I enjoyed a crepe and a french beer at the cafe pictured above.
Cheers,
I.C.