Cote D'Azur

The air felt warm and sweet, transpired with bits of champagne and last night’s pleasures, forced through nostrils into the dura mater, refusing to stop permeating all of my membranes. It was bright and iridescent morning on the Mediterranean, letting the aroma of delicious artisan breads and sweets engulf your senses, while visually stimulating every neurotransmitter within me. The rays of the morning sun did not burn, but rather caressed your body, fooling you, teasing you…letting the warmth block out any sense of consciousness.

The reality felt off key, somewhat askew, perverted and yet inviting. Sleepy streets began to awake, radiating life into every particle of air around them, bringing the noise level to a humming, lively background. The smell of freshly washed streets and garbage trucks navigating the medieval dimensions resonated along with mothers calling out to their respective off-springs to hurry up and get to the lyceums. It was déjà vu and I was in it for the first time.

As the bus approached our hotel, terracotta shine of the building and its tall, grandiose windows seems to be in striking contrast with the renaissance almost like feel of the city. This was a bright and stoic monolith, nestled firmly between its more exotic cousins. The doors felt heavy and smelled of cigar smoke. The knob felt almost velvety, transferring the oils of many hands before mine, entering this strange domain. The inside was very Hollywood and quite abrasive to the pure essence of the sleepy town right outside its doors. I inhaled a very stale whiff of air, mixed with a laundry and cheap liquor and hint of saffron. This was the beauty of this hotel: it’s own and as raw as I let it be.

When the door to the room opened, the unassuming décor and dim lighting made it feel small and uninviting. I felt almost suffocated, bombarded by yet another round of dark furniture and bourgeoisie-like wall paper tones. The sudden urge to flee came and then dissipated, as I noticed a ray of light gleaming against the lacquer headboard. My eyes travelled to the source and I was greeted with an amazing view of the Nice skyline, with it’s laundry lines and graffiti on each roof, pigeons migrating in swarms and architectural geniuses glistening in the sun’s rays. This was el paradiso, le magnifique! The window was abundant in its size and light in its frame. I felt that my excitement may damage its already fragile state…but, could not resist leaning on the sill….and inhaling the aroma of Nice, with its smelly seafood and fresh bread, cheap cigarettes and dark alleys, rich and poor strolling along side the beaches and artistic flames engulfing within you simply upon the mere act of breathing.

After the initial melting sensation, my eyes moved further towards the horizon, to take in the Cote D’Azur and its emerald beauty. Waves were foaming and aggressive, jerking the yachts, left and right…as if trying to tare apart the man-made demons encroaching on its territory. Seagulls flew close, hoping to catch a few tasty morsels of the menu de jour. Everyone’s white linen attire and tan bodies mixed in like buttery nuggets floating amidst the summer air, superfluous and elusive and yet rather philistine. This was simple and unassuming summer day, without a doubt a pinnacle of provincial pleasure. Provence...