A conversation overheard in Chez Smiley recently.

Smiley: “What shall we do tonight?”
Darling Wife “Let’s go to the beach”
Smiley “The beach? Sounds like a good idea”

Now then. Those who of you know me, know that I currently live in Paris and that even by the fastest means of transport (never mind the snail-like TGV) the closest beach to Paris is a couple of hours away. So it is unlikely that I would be going to the beach just for the evening.

Let me explain. The reason is something called Paris Plage. A few years ago, the Paris City Government decided to take advantage of the fact that traffic in Paris in late July and August is vastly reduced due to the quaint custom that the French have of taking all their holidays at the same time (in the sense that they have all of their 6 week quota at the same time, and also in the sense that the whole country goes on holiday at the same time). So noting the diminished traffic on the road that runs along the northern bank of the Seine, the city government decided to close it and turn it into a beach (plage in French) for a few weeks.

Perhaps surprisingly, after all can you imagine the Embankment in London being closed for a month and covered in sand? this is an idea that worked very well and the event is now well established on the Parisian calendar.

As well as a number of unfeasibly large sand pits, there is a swimming pool, trampolines and countless snack bars etc. During the day, the “beach” attracts mainly sun bathers and children. At night though, the area becomes much more interesting as just about every busker in the city heads down there. There are beach volley ball sites, a Tai Chi exhibition and (unusually) access to the river where rowing boats can be hired. Even in the busier parts of the city where traffic fumes can be a nuisance, the French still do their street cafes very well. When they are transplanted down to the side of the river they become even more attractive. I am tempted to say it is an excellent place to sit and watch the world go by, but as everybody else is doing much the same thing, not much of the world passes you apart from the occasional river cruiser.

Of course perhaps the most important ingredient for all of this is the weather. Thinking about it, that’s probably why Ken Livingstone doesn’t bother closing the Embankment. It’s hard to imagine you’re sat by the sea on the French Riviera when it’s 10 degrees and raining. I suppose there’s also the matter of lost revenue from the congestion charge too. Anyway, I digress. Back in Gay Paree the weather has not been co-operating either. Since the Plage opened the weather has been dull and damp and generally miserable. But being Paris, this is not expected to last and indeed the forecast for this weekend is hot and sunny.

So, where’s the bucket and spade?

Over the weekend, Darling Wife and myself went down to Nice for a short break.

We went down on the TGV. I'd always thought that the TGV was supposed to be fast, but on this route that was not really the case. The 1st part of the journey to Avignon was quick enough, although still not really fast, but after Avignon, it was positively pedestrian as we crawled along the Mediterranean coastline. Still, we left on time, arrived 10 minutes early, and the scenery was quite interesting and varied. So no complaints! But, really, it was slow!

Anyway, we duly arrived in Nice on Friday afternoon and the first surprise was the weather. It was in the high twenties and just about perfect. I had been expecting it to be a lot hotter. I have become acclimatized to higher temperatures since I lived in Asia, but that does not mean I enjoy them! Strolling around Nice with a pleasant breeze and a maximum temperature of 28 degrees C was very enjoyable though.

In many ways Nice reminded me of Brighton. A bit more up market than Blackpool, but not as sophisticated as is often claimed. Anywhere that boasts that is the home of Elton John can’t in all honesty hold a realistic claim to be an important cultural centre! To be fair, Nice hasn’t always had a reputation for being sophisticated indeed it has often been known for being quite the opposite.

Another resemblance to Brighton is the small area in known as the “Old Town” in Nice and the “Lanes” in Brighton. I have to say that the area in Nice is far superior to that of the West Sussex City. The Old Town is situated just below the hill at the eastern end of the city and is confined to a triangular area marked by the hill, the sea and a river that is now entirely built over. Apparently in the dim and distant past, one of the rulers of the Nice decreed that these natural features should form the boundaries of the town. The result of this was a labyrinth of narrow streets and very tall houses (normally 6 or 7 stories). Not so long ago, this was a rather unsavoury area frequented by various criminal classes. Now, however, it is home to countless small shops and restaurants selling all manner of goods and foods. We were so impressed with the friendly bustling atmosphere in this area that we visited twice. So imagine out surprise when on the second visit which was on Sunday we found that most of the shops were closed. It seems that the even the lure of the tourist euros can’t persuade the shopkeepers to break the country wide tradition of closing their businesses on a Sunday.

Adjacent to the Old Town is the strangely named Castle Hill (it’s not had a castle for 200 years). From the top, which can be reached by lift, stairs or a small “train”, wonderful views of the bay that Nice is situated on can be had. The whole area is wooded and makes a very nice escape from the hubbub below.

The beach at Nice is quite narrow, and the tide never seems to go out (presumably something to do with being in the Med?). There is no sand, and vast areas of the beach have been hijacked by various concessions who, while not charging for access, expect you to buy a constant stream of drinks etc. The most striking thing is the Promenade D’Anglais which was built by the British in the late 1800’s. This wide prom is again very reminiscent of Brighton (and countless other English seaside towns).

The final area of the city that we visited was the “New Town”. Situated just back from the beach this area is full of tree lined avenues and elegant houses. While it was nice to stroll through once, there is nothing there to hold one’s attention.

So all in all, a pleasant weekend. Food and drink was good, plentiful and generally much cheaper than Paris (a thought I don’t want to dwell on).

I guess the million dollar question is “Would we go again?” and the answer is yes. But next time we’ll fly there!

Last night there was a large firework display at the Eiffel Tower. The display marked the end of the 14th July celebrations. Living (as we do) so close to the Tower I persuaded my Darling Wife that we didn't need to brave the throngs of people who had descended on the area. Instead I reasoned that we would have a good view from our balcony.

That was almost a good decision. In the event, we saw about 50% of the display, with the rest being obscured by the buildings between us and the tower.

I have to admit to being a bit snobbish about fireworks. Having lived in Japan and Taiwan, where they really know about fireworks, the displays here in Europe are rather pale by comparison. Last night’s finale was quite good with a rousing crescendo, but the rest of it wasn’t particularly inspiring. One good touch was that a number of fireworks were launched from the sides of the tower. That was quite pretty and I suspect looked even more spectacular from afar.

The crowds were huge. There had been a steady stream of people converging on the park in front of the tower from about 7 pm onwards. After the display ended, it seemed as if the whole of Paris was passing under our window on the way back to the metro station. Nothing really wrong with this, but it seemed as if everyone had their own firecrackers to let off just as they passed our building. I seem to remember being woken at 1 O’clock by a particularly loud explosion. To add a typically Parisian twist to all this, the local Police closed the local metro station. I am not sure if this was a result of a security scare, worries about the large crowds descending on the metro at the same time, or just the Police being spiteful (they’re like that here at times). Anyway, the crowds didn’t seem to mind, and just set about firing off the remainder of their fire crackers before walking cheerfully home (or possibly to the next metro station).

This should have been our second firework display in the space of a week. One had been promised for last Thursday to celebrate the wining of the Olympic bid. However, when that was lost, there was a major ‘toys out of pram’ incident and the display was cancelled.

In a probably futile attempt to refuse to grow old gracefully, I have decided to start a blog. To start with I will write about my experiences living in Paris, but I am sure other subjects will grab my attention and become suitable targets.

So, let's see where it goes!
:D