Released from Quarantine

On Monday, I read on our schedule that our tour group would be driving to the Pyrenees on their way to Lourdes.

You will have an opportunity to see the Basilica, perched atop St. Bernadette's Grotto, where the young girl, turned saint, is said to have seen visions of the Virgin Mary. Then, travel west to the Basque Coast, where we spend the night.

The next day we would have been going to Bordeaux, and then to the Dordogne.  Then onward to a Château in the Loire Valley, Mont-Saint-Michel and the Normandy Beaches, and finally back to Paris.  I finally stopped reading the daily agenda.  We were making the best of things quarantined in Nice, but it was a little sad to read about the rest of the adventures that we were missing.

Today was the day when, finally, I was released from quarantine, and could enjoy walking the streets of Nice as Martha had been doing for the past week.  It was very warm outside, but wonderful to be out and about!  Diagonally across the street from us was a restaurant called Aux 2 Palmieres, and it was here that we first sampled a Salade Niçoise for which the city is known.  The ingredients of the salad vary from restaurant to restaurant, but it usually has ingredients seldom seen in salads here:  potatoes, green beans, and anchovies, as well as tuna (thon in French), which in this case was fresh and quite delicious, especially accompanied by Côtes de Provence rosé.

What a beautiful place this was to walk!  There were wide pedestrian walkways everywhere, sidewalk cafes under tall shade trees, broad plazas, and fountains.  Everywhere – at all times of the day, it seemed – there were people sitting outside laughing, relaxing, enjoying either a brunch-time cappuccino, a light lunch, a glass of wine, or an early dinner.

We walked to the nearest beach,  the Plage de Carras, with the special features for the disabled (Handiplage) that Martha had told me about.  It was there where I first actually touched the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea – in truth, I had trouble negotiating the steep, pebbly beach, and almost fell on my butt, which would have been entertaining for nearby bathers.  There were also several topless women bathing in the sea and the sun, which Martha had told me about.  It was all very casual and natural. 

 

We were surprised to see, as we had in Paris, a group of three police officers dressed in tactical gear, walking slowly down the wide, beach-front pedestrian walkway, armed with assault rifles.  This is a sight that would have been very frightening in a place like Myrtle Beach but did not seem to arouse any curiosity here. 

Another sight I did not to expect to see, right on the Promenade des Anglais – the wide boulevard lined with Palm Trees that is adjacent to the pedestrian walkway – was this familiar little restaurant, almost inconspicuous with its tiny sign.  It was tucked into the same building as the Casino Barrière,  rubbing shoulders with the sophisticated shops and cafes in the vicinity like Hermes, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton.  I was tempted to go inside to see if the same fare was available on the French Riviera as in this country, and whether it was wrapped in paper.  Would I have been asked, “Voulez-vous des frites?” (Would you like fries with that?)