So, I'm out of vacation days more or less. The remainder of my 30 paid vacation days is going to be spent in Italy with my sister at the end of this month. But that didn't stop me from flying to Nice this past weekend when my friend asked if I would be interested in the spare room in their 10 bed villa they'd rented. I booked a flight to leave after work Friday night and the last flight back on Sunday night. 48 hours in Nice was better than none.
I'm a firm believer that when you have limited time, you need to make the most of it.
So at 3am the night of my arrival, I found myself in the middle of a crowded, seedy, bar on the Rue de L'Abbaye in Nice. The walls of the place were plastered with vintage Beatles, Stones, and other rock paraphernalia, I was standing in a puddle of what I can only hope was beer, drenched in sweat and screaming and twisting along to the live band covering "Hard Day's Night." I climbed up on top of the table to get a better view of the band and saw the picture frames throughout the place were completely fogged. The bar was actually sweating. I was the only American in sight amongst the crowd of Eurokids, bikers, and neon-wig-wearing cross-dressers that were bartending. I sipped my gin and tonic between shouts of incorrect lyrics and danced with my friend until the place shut down.
A few hours later, I'm sitting on the terrace of a 14th century building in the Mideval village of Saint Paul de Vence perched high on a mountain, mangeing a baugette and a salad nicoise and admiring the view of rolling hills, villas, and lavender bushes around me that is Provence. I sought out glace afterwards and wandered through the ancient streets with my Nutella-flavored ice cream cone swooning left and right. I took off my sunglasses because I had to look around without anything impairing my view to believe that where I was was real.
By 3am that night, I'm laying under a cabana in the village of Colomars, France that is on the terrace of the gorgeous villa my mates have rented for the week, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and rosé bottles, admiring the millions of stars and chatting with the only other person in the group who has not fallen victim to their tiredness and gone to bed. My eyelids are already too heavy when they say to me, "I'm just going to the loo - don't fall asleep!" I wake up a few hours later in that very spot, to find a blanket thrown over me and my friend passed out on the opposite side of the cabana.
In my half awake state, I realize I'm outside, in Nice, and that the sun is about to rise over the hills. It's incredible. As I prop myself up against a pillow to watch the sunrise, I just think....Oh, how I love France.
I spent the rest of that day between floating around in the pool with my friends and reading and napping in the chaise lounge, soaking up the soleil before heading to the airport at 10pm to go back to London. By the time I was finally tucked in bed in my flat at 1am, it almost seemed like the whole thing was a wonderful dream.
It's always very difficult for me to leave France. I feel this incredible sense of belonging when I'm there, parle-ing with the locals, smothering a fresh baguette in some sort of fromage and soaking in as much culture as I can. I spent an hour talking to the villa owner, Luigi, who is about 50 years old now, but has had quite an interesting life.
He became a pro football (soccer) player at 16, and moved out of his house. He was good - really good, and played for various teams in Southern France and also played for Monaco where he befriended Prince Albert, who apparently is quite a football fan. After an injury ended his career at 27, a friend asked him to drop by the opening of his new nightclub and tell some friends. 2,000 people showed up because of Luigi for a club capacity of 300. The party expanded onto the streets and the club became the hottest place in town overnight. The owner handed the keys to Luigi the next morning, saying Luigi, "this is your club now."
By 30 Luigi had 5 clubs between Monaco, Nice, and Paris and just retired last year to pursue a quieter life. He never drank, did drugs, or smoked his whole life. He said, "there are so many things to be happy about, so many reasons to have a good time - I don't need that."
He attributes the way his life played out to "chance debutant," or as we call it, beginners luck. He said when he was young and inexperienced, he never knew what he was doing, he just went for things, went with his gut and made decisions and they always worked out. He insists things are much more difficult to pull off when you try to plan and focus too hard on them.
I love his mentality.
"You're young," he says to me in his thick accent. "You just have to go for it, be happy you know... love life, take holidays, be with your friends, be with your family, take chances, have a good time, and don't worry about things...and they will work out. C'est la chance debutant, tu connait?
Makes perfect sense to moi.
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