First day
I arrived at noon to find a welcoming party with my French (host) mom and professors of the program. My luggage was lost AGAIN—the first time being from STL to Chicago ORD. Apparently I wasn’t the only one. Another American student did not find his suitcase after all the bags had gone through. We chatted and waited at the conveyor belt a few more minutes. He was in Nice for a 5 week program too and he was quite handsome. The only thing was that he dressed a little too hole-ly for my taste. We wished each other luck and went our separate ways to filled out claim papers for lost luggage. Mine would be delivered at my host house in Nice that afternoon at 2pm.
My French mom Mireille drove us from the airport along the beachfront to her house on the other side of town. I had never seen so many palm trees and so much balmy, blue sky at once. Cote Azur is truly appropriate for the area. My other trips to palm tree infested areas—Corpus Christi, Los Angeles, Orlando—were either overcast or winter-y.
The house on the other side of town is called Villa Alba, “dawn” in Niçois, the old language of Nice.
Villa Alba
Villa Alba 2
Roger (Row-Jay), my French (host) dad greets us at the door. This house is impeccable. Everything was spotless and in the right place. Mireille shows me my “apartement” in the basement, private room and bath next to the well-stocked “Cave du vin”—ho-ho!
Later, Mireille, Roger, and I watched the Monoco Grand Prix together on TV. Apparently that was something that Roger always attended live with his company. Wow. I got into auto-racing (Indy 500 and carte racing) a bit while in middle school because my favorite driver at the time (Dario Franchetti, husband of Ashley Judd) was doing very well, but wow, to attend the Monoco Grand Prix, that’s pretty darn cool. So we watched the race and I had my first coffee in France. Life was good.
That afternoon, Mireille proposed to show me around Nice and the mansion of Ephrusie Rothchild at Beaulieu, a nearby town on the way to Monoco. We took a tour of the mansion, which was PINK! (“La maison rose,” like the president’s house in Argentina) and walked in the immense gardens, and had a drink together. We then saw the middle school Roger attended, the school where Mireille used to teach, the hospital where I would work, the med school where I’d take classes, the music conservatory of Nice, several opulent mansions that rich Italians had built long ago, the ancient castle on the hill, and another hill where Roger likes to go running on the weekends. The coffee that I had earlier must have been decaffeinated—all the while that Mireille was telling me about Nice, my eyelids wavered and threatened to close. Must not fall asleep on host mom. On first day. Must not. Fall asleep. Uh-oh, I was really falling asleep. I made the mistake of not sleeping on the plane. I had always done so for my trips to China to correct for the time difference, and upon arrival, everyone would be jetlagged but me. But it didn’t work so well this time. Maybe the flight wasn’t long enough. Maybe I’m getting too old for staying up so long. When we got out of the car at 6pm, I shuffled to my room to unpack, but instead (WHOOSH) fell into the bed into a comatose sleep until 8am the next morning. I missed dinner and breakfast.
My French mom Mireille drove us from the airport along the beachfront to her house on the other side of town. I had never seen so many palm trees and so much balmy, blue sky at once. Cote Azur is truly appropriate for the area. My other trips to palm tree infested areas—Corpus Christi, Los Angeles, Orlando—were either overcast or winter-y.
The house on the other side of town is called Villa Alba, “dawn” in Niçois, the old language of Nice.
Villa Alba
Villa Alba 2
Roger (Row-Jay), my French (host) dad greets us at the door. This house is impeccable. Everything was spotless and in the right place. Mireille shows me my “apartement” in the basement, private room and bath next to the well-stocked “Cave du vin”—ho-ho!
Later, Mireille, Roger, and I watched the Monoco Grand Prix together on TV. Apparently that was something that Roger always attended live with his company. Wow. I got into auto-racing (Indy 500 and carte racing) a bit while in middle school because my favorite driver at the time (Dario Franchetti, husband of Ashley Judd) was doing very well, but wow, to attend the Monoco Grand Prix, that’s pretty darn cool. So we watched the race and I had my first coffee in France. Life was good.
That afternoon, Mireille proposed to show me around Nice and the mansion of Ephrusie Rothchild at Beaulieu, a nearby town on the way to Monoco. We took a tour of the mansion, which was PINK! (“La maison rose,” like the president’s house in Argentina) and walked in the immense gardens, and had a drink together. We then saw the middle school Roger attended, the school where Mireille used to teach, the hospital where I would work, the med school where I’d take classes, the music conservatory of Nice, several opulent mansions that rich Italians had built long ago, the ancient castle on the hill, and another hill where Roger likes to go running on the weekends. The coffee that I had earlier must have been decaffeinated—all the while that Mireille was telling me about Nice, my eyelids wavered and threatened to close. Must not fall asleep on host mom. On first day. Must not. Fall asleep. Uh-oh, I was really falling asleep. I made the mistake of not sleeping on the plane. I had always done so for my trips to China to correct for the time difference, and upon arrival, everyone would be jetlagged but me. But it didn’t work so well this time. Maybe the flight wasn’t long enough. Maybe I’m getting too old for staying up so long. When we got out of the car at 6pm, I shuffled to my room to unpack, but instead (WHOOSH) fell into the bed into a comatose sleep until 8am the next morning. I missed dinner and breakfast.
posted by R at 6:00 PM
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