Thursday 17 July 2014

Bastille Day

The French Revolution started over breakfast.

Well actually I don't know if that's true. but if any of the revolutionaries had been in the breakfast room of our hotel this morning and seen what we saw, I suspect that it would have.

Some of us arranged to meet at 8am for breakfast so we could see off the people who were leaving before we went out to join celebrations for France's national day.  I arrived in the breakfast room at 8.05am to watch a busload of Eastern European tourists literally tearing the place apart to get breakfast.  People were taking handfulls of breadrolls and croissants at a time and filling their pockets.  Within minutes the entire breakfast bar was picked clean and there was nothing. No. food. left.

We sat down and waited and a girl bought out another basket of bread.  Same deal.  

I got some coffee and we waited again and thankfully found that most of the maurding hoards had eaten their fill, packed their picnic basket for the rest of the week and left.  We felt as though we should apologise on behalf of tourists everywhere for such a spectacle.  

Farewells to Maria and Laura - how ever will we do without you!  Suz and I went to do some laundry and then joined Carly on the walk down to the beach to see what was happening for Bastille Day.  

At first there didn't seem to be anything going on at all so we sat on the beach for an hour or two and soaked up the warm sun, cool breeze, blue, blue ocean and pebbly seats.  When our butts were numb, we walked along the esplanade until we found a  nice cafe for lunch.  It was owned by an expressive Italian who wandered between the tables greeting friends, singing and pronouncing his love for the female sex.  I shared a bowl of mussells and then had grilled salmon and veggies with a very welcome cold beer. At the end of the meal we were approached by the man who had been sitting at the next table, and American from Miami who had apparently been enjoying our conversation.  He was a big, gruff guy who was covered in tattoos and he looked like he'd be at home at a meavy metal gig but he informed us that he was in town to compete in a choral competition.  I do love the people you meet on holidays!

We wandered further down the esplanade, stopping for ice cream and again for coffee before settling in a bar with a bottle of chablis.  At 6pm we walked back to the esplanade to watch the parade of police, soldiers, sailors and other military types.  It wasn't the most exciting parade ever held, but we enjoyed it and the lady standing next to me enjoyed our enthusasism.  When we told her we were 'Australiee' (Australian), she got quite excited and clasped my hand and smiled.

After the parade, we went back to the bar and happened to order the most perfect bottle of rose ever. It was so nice, we had to order another one to check that the first one wasn't a fluke - it wasn't.  We had pizza to soak up the wine and were about to order our third bottle when the waiter said that it was time for the fireworks and that we had to leave now to see them.  We were a little reluctant but he insisted, telling us he would have more wine ready for us when we returned.

He was so right!  The fireworks were amongst the most beautiful I have ever seen.  Set off on boats out in the ocean, the display lit up the night sky with a million twinkling lights.  The soundtrack was beautiful and the gasps and cries of the audience made a fabulous accompaniment.  It was the perfect end to a fabulous day.  

At 11pm we returned to the bar where our bottle of rose was produced.  The streets were pumping and everyone was out enjoying their holiday.  Music played, people danced and chatted and we enjoyed our wine and soaked it all in. It was well after midnight before we finally set off back to the hotel.  

If you ever get the chance to spend Bastille Day in France, I can recommend Nice as the place to do it - just don't go out too early!














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