She texted me before I left to tell me to take the number four train from the airport to the train station where she would meet me. The only problem with that plan was that the buses stopped running at 10:30PM and my plane had landed at 11:15. To make matters worse, my Hungarian phone didn’t work outside of Hungary and the pay phone wouldn’t take my credit card or my coins. Since it was either sleep at the airport or get to my hostel and find another way to contact Corie, I decided to take a 60€ cab ride to downtown Marseilles. It was in that cab ride that I found out that even though I couldn’t call or send text messages, I could in fact receive them, and I received plenty of panicked text messages from Corie. Knowing her the way I do, I knew she had to be freaking out; if she hadn’t called the French army already, she had at least called Danni.
Once I checked into my hostel, I walked to where I remembered Corie’s hostel being on the map, but I couldn’t find it (apparently I walked right by it, but the sign was so small I missed it). I went back to my hostel where I emailed everyone that I was safe and to let Corie know I was at my hostel where she should meet me the next morning.
I asked the concierge if I could make a long distance phone call to a Dutch number [Corie's European cell phone is from Holland]. He was a bit reluctant at first because the hostel only had one phone and that was the one that customers used to make reservations (and because he was French). However, after explaining the situation, he let me call Corie’s number, as long as I kept it under a minute or two. She answered and we decided to meet at the Vieux Port (the Old Harbor) just a few blocks away. We were excited to see each other, but she kept slapping me in the head for freaking her out so much, as if I did it on purpose. :)
Anyway, the next morning we woke up bright and early in order to meet at the old harbor by 10:00AM. We took a double decker, hop-on-hop-off bus tour of the city. We didn’t get off anywhere, but it was nice to see the city and places like the prison where The Count of Monte Cristo takes place. We ate bouillabaisse, which is like a French paella, and some ices, then headed to the train station. As I was wearing the Holland jersey Corie had bought for me, we drew quite a bit of attention from both those supporting Holland and those supporting Spain.We arrived in Montpelier to find Corie’s friend from Operation Smile, Maria de la Torre, and her husband Timothy waiting, along with the daughter of a friend named Carolina. They drove us through the city, pointing out Roman aqueducts and shopping districts, before driving us to their beautiful villa thirty minutes away. We passed medieval castles and drove through quaint French villages. We turned off the main highway (which connects Barcelona to Italy) onto a little dirt country road. Immediately we fell in love with their 200 year old home, with its courtyard and vineyard walls.
Maria and Timothy were beyond hospitable, cooking us a five course meal, and not letting us help in anyway. We had four kinds of authentic French dips for appetizers, followed by beef and corn, salad, four types of amazing and smelly French cheese, and ice cream with chocolate wafers. We had Cassis (black current) champagne. Everything was so good that I had three glasses of champagne and seconds of just about everything! Over dinner we learned that Carolina was 24 and trying to get into university in Lyon, France, so she was living there for a year to improve her language skills. Timothy was some sort of international businessman, and gave me some advice on picking a future career. Maria was a linguist for Operation Smile, though she has been a professor at William and Mary, and is starting her own non-profit. She updated Corie on the goings on at Operation Smile.
We also learned about Maria’s romantic lifestyle. She and Timothy own a house boat in London and an apartment (which they rent out) in Bangkok. Her life is so serendipitous, as if the people she meets were meant to be in her life and she was meant to be in theirs. Neither she nor Timothy were meant to be on the plane that they met on, yet somehow fate or destiny brought them together that day. She told us four or five similar stories, taking place all over the world: New Orleans, France, Holland, Ireland…
After dinner, Timothy and I went into their piano room, where he taught me how to break away from my lessons and improvise, to play whatever I wanted and felt like playing. It was amazing. These people live the life I want to live!
As I went upstairs to go to bed, Timothy showed me their terrace. After I had changed, I went outside and sat there, letting the music and talk from their neighbors waft over the vineyard wall, as I sat thinking to myself, “I am sitting on a terrace in a villa in the south of France. How romantic that sounds! This stuff only happens in movies! Who does this?!” At one thirty I called it a night.
We woke up at about ten the next day, Sunday. As I was getting ready Corie informed me that they were making breakfast for us. I was not expecting anything like that. Maria made us mini pancakes with powder and jelly. They were so delicious! Timothy made us coffee that looked like it came from Starbucks, with whipped cream and chocolate flakes on top.
They told us they would drive us east past Marseilles to a town called Toulon, where we could catch a train to Nice and it would be cheaper than from Marseilles or Montpelier. We passed by beautiful landscapes and towns, with ancient castles and rice patties. We learned that flamingos live in that region of France as well. They wouldn’t let us pay for gas so we had to settle for a snack at a gas station. When we arrived in Toulon, Corie and I thought that we were going to hang out and walk around with them for a bit, but instead they took us right to the train station. They had driven more than two hours just so we could save on our train tickets! We said good-bye and thanked them for everything and were on our way.
The train ride to Nice was an hour and a half ride along the coast. When we arrived we immediately found our hostel, looked for food, then looked for a place to watch the final match of the world cup. This was a big game for our family- Corie was supporting Holland, wearing a Schneider jersey, and I supported Spain, having studied their two years ago and wearing my support as well. Everyone we passed could not get over the fact that we were together. “Companions?” they would ask. Or they would just yell at us which team they supported. We found out our hostel was showing the game in one room in the basement of the hostel. By the time we arrived, it was so crowded you couldn’t get through the doorway, so we went back to the concierge desk which had a TV behind it. We were joined by a group of seven Canadians, a Finnish guy, and a Scotsman, all of us crammed in the narrow hallway in front of the elevator. After the game Corie and I took a bit of a walk, where we passed a restaurant called Why Nice? (instead of How Nice?), but her grief (from her team's loss) was too overwhelming so we turned around and went back to our room to go to bed.
The next day, we woke up by 9:00AM. Corie let me plan the day and we decide we wanted to rent a car so we would be on our time, rather than relying on trains and what not. We rented one from Hertz and were allowed 200km (I don’t know how many miles that is). We drove up the coast, with the Mediterranean on one side and the train tracks on the other. This was the slower route, but it was beautiful and the faster route was a toll road. We drove through French coastal towns and passed beach stands and even an old fortress. Once we hit Cannes, we parked the car for a bit. We walked through an antique market and down to the Old Harbor, where we took a ferry to nearby Saint Marguerite Island. The island is home to the fortress where the Man in the Iron Mask takes place, though it is not used anymore. Now the island is a beautiful park, with little restaurants, a museum about the fortress, and amazing beaches, perfect for a hot day like that one. We picked a place on the beach and went into the water. We had to wear our flip flops because the beaches don’t have sand, just pebbles, but the water was a perfect temperature. We were surprised to find out how salty it was and how easy it was to float. Then, we decide to eat our lunch on the dock right there. However, we realized a little late that the dock was in the middle of a summer camp, though they didn’t seem to mind so we stayed.
We ate quickly because of the camp and because the cheese we had bought was melting, then took a little walk toward the fortress. We decided not to see it because it was up a big hill and we had other things to see. By that time it was already 3:00 in the afternoon so we headed back to the car and drove south past Nice to Monaco. The road became curvier and curvier but it was so lovely that we didn’t mind. We just kept saying, “Oh my God look over here!” or “Oh my God look at that!” and taking pictures all along the way.
When we got to Monaco we went right to the casino Monte Carlo. We took pictures of all the fancy cars we saw: Teslas, Maseratis, Ferraris, Bentleys, Rolls Royces, and so on. Each license plate had one letter and three numbers, like a bingo card or something. We went in the lobby, but couldn’t get to the game rooms because it cost money. Instead, we took a bus to the Royal Palace, which is on a cliff overlooking the rest of the tiny, tiny country. We read about Grace Kelly and took pictures. We ate a wonderful meal at a restaurant up there, where one man spoke English and told us he was half English, half Monacan.
We went back to the casino as it was getting dark. Since Italy is just a few kilometers away, and we had another 100km left on our car, we headed west. Unsure if we had crossed the border we stopped in a small town to ask some people. The first people said, “We don’t speak French,” and walked away. As we don’t speak French either we weren’t sure if that meant we were out of France or Monaco or if they were tourists. We asked someone else and he laughed and said no, that we were in the town of Menton, France. As we drove through the town on the way to Italy we noticed how cute it was and how many people were still out on a Monday night at midnight. We saw a little street market and decided that if it wasn’t too late, we’d stop by on the way back.
We crossed the border into Italy, rushed along by an angry motorcyclist. We were about 6km from Genoa, the birthplace of Christopher Columbus, when we decided to turn back, unsure of how many kilometers we were from Nice. We stopped in Menton on the way back and walked through the market. I found a bracelet with my name spelled correctly and had to get it. We asked the salesman if it was a French name and he said, “No it’s English!” Maybe it’s British, because I can tell you from experience Jessy is certainly not an American way of spelling that name!
We returned to Nice at about 1:30AM and left the car behind. We finally fell asleep by 3:00 only to be woken again at 6:00 by our noisy roommates. We woke up (for real) at 10:00, after being yelled at by the hostel manager for not checking out on time. We went to our local grocer, the same one we had used for breakfast and lunch the day before, and then walked downtown. We walked down the main tourist shopping street then up along the shore. On the promenade we found a small tour bus called “Le Petite Train” and rode it throughout the city. I bought a chocolate croissant then it was time for me to go.
My flight was for 5:30 so we got the bus stop at 3:00, where a bus shuttle ran every half hour on the half hour. We waited. And waited… and waited. We didn’t realize that “every half hour” translates to “whenever” in French. After 45 minutes the bus still had not come and I was beginning to stress out. Corie and I ended up talking to three American girls who also needed to go to the airport. The girls were so nice and let me share a cab with them. The driver raced to the airport and we got there at about 4:15. Luckily there was no line and I made my plane with plenty of time to spare.
Overall, the trip was fantastic. It started off frustrating and ended a bit frustrating, but everything in the middle was amazingly awesome. The best part, of course, was that I was with Corie. So to answer that question, “Why Nice?”, well why not?!
