Breakfast was served a bit late today; rather I should say I stumbled over to Le Circuit for another cheesy omelet at Noon to be exact. I have seem to of acquired a wee bit of a hangover from last night. My intention for a quiet evening in my hotel slurping down a can of tuna mixed with sun dried tomatoes and mayonnaise (why can’t we get this shit in the States?!), and a quintessential baguette while doing homework when I got interrupted by the sounds of wonderful jazz music coming from the street below. I ended my call (er, homework, did I say call?! ) with my friend to go investigate where the fun was being had and found it around the corner at Caves Romagnan. (Hey AnDre – it was a jam session with Frank DeLucca on guitar, Jean-Marc Barccarini on sax, Laurent Roquebrun on bass, and DeDe Guiglion on drums – awesome!) I was so excited to see my cute couple from the Nicose restaurant the other night was there, too!
I was not so excited when old man Aldo wanted to dance with me with his nasty, tobacco stained teeth. He bribed me with wine, so I relented to ONE spin around the dance floor. Thank GAWD the song was short because I was now gagging on the cologne he had bathed himself in. When the jam session ended, I went down to the Promenade Des Anglais to watch the teenagers make out on the beach and break their Saturday night curfews. I stopped briefly to watch a band from Italy playing old Broadway tunes in the Plaza (in a rather interesting formation, I think) when Aldo caught up with me…..sigh….
He had bought a bottle of wine and asked if he could join me at the beach (at least that is the best I could translate from the little French I remember from the five years I studied it in school, good lord!). I told him that was fine, but he better keep his distance because his cologne smelled like patchouli and I hate patchouli (and anything else that smells of Woodstock and Yoga). Sadly, he didn’t seem to understand my French all that well and he made a move on the beach to kiss me –GROSS! I said I wanted to fall in love in Barcelona, with some hot latin lova – not some old douche bag in Nice who hadn’t even asked my name, was 4’6” on platforms, and smelled worse than Old Spice. I got up, kicked sand at him, and stormed back to my hotel – which took an hour for my pissed off, drunk arse to find, but it didn’t stop me from getting a picture of the Notre Dame lit up like a disco at night.
To put myself in a better mood, I went to see the Musee Marc Chagall – and they actually let you take pictures of the artwork! Chagall was Jewish and fled to France to hide from the Nazis during WWII – he painted some really amazing interpretations of the Old Testament as the Jews fled Egypt and in many of the pieces he ties in a pictorial in one corner of each painting his own story fleeing the Nazis. It is the first exhibit of religious art that I was totally enthralled with. Here is another interesting tidbit of trivia: it is also the only museum that was constructed while an artist was still alive. The museum displays other contemporary artwork by young French artists of which I also took pictures. My most favorite piece of ironic work displayed juxtaposed in a museum full of stories of the Old Testament and the Songs of Solomon……the Penis Rug!
Now refreshed and inspired to work on my own writing, I headed back to La Plage to enjoy the remainder of the afternoon, allowing the creative juices to flow. Not less than 15 minutes of me sitting down to pull out my journal, Enzo sat down next to me to chat…. let’s describe Enzo as Jersey Shores meets Euro Trash, with bad shoes. Quick into our conversation he asked if I was married and if I wanted to go to dinner…..
Now the Universe is just f**king with me…….