N is for Nicer
Nice is way nicer than I remember.
I had only visited once before on a blustery, semi-lockdown, February day but I didn’t have the impression that it was a particularly lovely place to visit. When I’d tell French friends, colleagues, or acquaintances that I was going to Nice for my August vacances, they would seem slightly bemused. Nice…in August… or at all?! I think this was the general consensus. It is a port town famed for its salad and being the central aviation hub for the Côte D’Azur, but not somewhere you’d choose to spend your precious holiday allowance.
It is certainly a useful hub as it connects the smaller, more desirable coastal towns with its fast and efficient railway. You can depart from Nice and for only a couple of Euros visit Monaco to double your money, Menton and its famous lemons, the ever-botoxed St Tropez and other treats along the seafront. But the town itself, I think has been slightly hard done by. The reputation differs between tacky holidaymakers (seldom French), bad food, and a difficult to understand accent (that might just be me).
But I did choose to take my holidays in Nice this year. I have a pal who works between the South and Paris and therefore Nice became our hub for a friendship reunion. One flying in from London, one training from Paris, and one from Aix-en-Provence all meeting in Nice for a few days of sun, sea and chatting shit. We didn’t need the beauty of Juan-Les-Pins or the nightlife of Cannes, it was merely a meeting point, a moment in which to reconnect.
Whilst on this trip, I was also guest-writing a newsletter over at the Fortified Gazette, meaning that I was mentally and physically noting moments of beauty and surprise, of which there were many. Luckily, we had a local who knew where to go and where not to, she also had a moped which helped.
The main strip reminded me of a British high street, dare I even say the wide high street in Exeter. It had a McDonalds, and all of the fast fashion haunts, some chain coffee shops and some independents who had dream catchers hanging in the windows to trap some unsuspecting customers. But, venturing off this tramline, into the old town and further away, the charm of Nice began to reveal itself. It has accepted that it is a tourist town and caters to that market, postcards and magnets available in every other storefront. It seemed initially all too easy to forget that people do live there all year round.
Our first evening all together in the city, we wandered down the bustling corniche, past the bar we had visited that freezing February day last year, past rollerbladers, and sweet stalls. Along towards the port and a quick veer off to the left led us to where all of the Niçois locals have their dinner apparently. ROUGE Bar a Vin was an absolute gem, hidden in plain sight on a reasonably residential street, that came alive at sundown for a jovial evening of good wine, great tapas, and ginormous tunes. (Hate that I’ve written that but needed an alliteration there) A playlist of nineties and early noughties hits made for the perfect soundtrack to our rosé fuelled banquet.
A few days later we had a beach club booked for lunch in Èze, booked without consulting the prices and later cancelled because we were broke. We still took the short train to Èze and found the perfect empty beach spot. Without lunch plans we took a Google maps gamble on a roadside sandwich joint called La Casa. Perched on the edge of quite a busy coastal through road, next to a shabby fruit stall, this was my favourite lunch of the trip. Freshly made sandwiches and local beer with a view over the sea, pas mal du tout.
Nice shopping list for you
The train to Èze (version plage) whilst listening to Maggie Rogers
Pan Bagnat at La Casa (Nice take on a tuna melt)
A trip to Èze (version village)
Maison Barale for fresh slabs of ravioli
Yet another enjoyable read Tori. Keep them coming 😘😘
Love it Tori. Makes me want to go there! X