Ah Nice, how I love thee!

Is it any wonder that artists have always flocked here? Good lord, this place is perfect. Seriously. Perfect. Everyone's happy here. The sun always shines, the temperature hovers around 75 all the damn time, the food is probably the best and the freshest in the world, nobody's in a hurry and nobody's terribly slow, either. The city's just right. A little edgy, but not Miami edgy (not to knock Miami, but c'mon, this is France, people!).


This is the perfect place to disappear and find oneself. And so this I have done.

I've also done a little shopping, visited Eze and Monaco (I've seen Grace Kelly's grave and the roads that killed her) and hung out on the beach to my heart's content. That's all. Not much to report. And isn't that what a relaxing holiday is supposed to be?

I have taken in a few art museums, landed myself in the middle of a jazz festival and bought french underwear, perfume and my first bikini as an adult. When in France...

I declare myself an honorary French person. I sunbathe topless, I smell like armpits and expensive perfume, I have strong coffee and a croissant for breakfast. This afternoon I'm getting a French hairdo, surrendering to the will of my new hairdresser, who kindly put up with my broken French request for a cut and color until I asked if he speaks English. Why yes, of course! Such a doll. I loves him already.

I still need shoes and a bag to go with my dress for the wedding, and I must figure out how and when I'm getting to Aix. Ooh la la! So much to do. I'll be home in less than a week, but I will forever return to the French Riviera in my mind.