Since you asked (or at least my dad did), yes, Nice lives up to its name. In other words, Nice was nice. Very.
We didn't do too much in town, mostly just walked around with Peter's family, tested my very limited Bulgarian, splashed in a fountain, and stared out across the sea. While it's not much to write home about, it wasn't bad: the skies were bright blue, the breezes were warmer than their Parisian counterparts, and my rosy cheeks narrowly missed a sunburn in the bright sun of southern France.
With so much to do and see around the Côte d'Azur, an afternoon was all we'd allotted for Nice itself. We turned in before sundown to Peter's parents' house rental in the nearby town of Saint Raphael for a family dinner and loads of Bulgarian cultural immersion. I was lucky to have Peter to translate because I'm not yet ready to be swimming alone in those waters.
We didn't do too much in town, mostly just walked around with Peter's family, tested my very limited Bulgarian, splashed in a fountain, and stared out across the sea. While it's not much to write home about, it wasn't bad: the skies were bright blue, the breezes were warmer than their Parisian counterparts, and my rosy cheeks narrowly missed a sunburn in the bright sun of southern France.
 |
| In case you were wondering, indeed Nice is nice. |
No comments:
Post a Comment