a boy with a story to tell

My very very very favourite place in Nice is the walk-in fountain in the central promenade. The water of the floor magically reflecting the architecture of Southern France upon a perfect sky simply beckoned us in. Within minutes we found ourselves dancing in soaking wet clothes in the middle of the fountain and having the time of our lives. Splash wars were had, people were thrown unsuspectingly into exploding water fountains, and we had the time of our lives. 

Then came Nice, the city where I being the pretentious bum I am, constantly ranted over the nostalgic excitement I felt to be back in the city I lived in during a short-term exchange 2 years ago with 100 other students from my city. There were a lot of “I’VE SEEN THAT”s and “I ATE THERE”s (I get really excited about food ok), and a very pleasant sort of bittersweet feeling to be back in a place that seemed so familiar yet in such a different situation. 

Monaco was full of things that people should not have enough money to afford, pretty buildings, and lots of sun. Our squad enjoyed the most elegant of sandwich bars upon a pier on the water, ran around a castle, and all came back with sunburnt skin tones that would make a lobster jealous. 

After a very very VERY funky drive we finally made it to one of my favourite things on the planet: THE OCEAN. At this point I was edging an almost 6-month-long-ocean-draught which, for someone who lives on the ocean in Canada, is 6 months too long. 

Next stop, Avignon (which geographically very very NOT paris thus we had to leave at 6am {-; ) Avignon is super old and beautiful and smelled like lavender and small/safe enough that Rotex let the dogs out in the city for a night of a lot of dancing and socializing with innocent French people who could not understand us.