Nice, St Paul, Scott & Zelda

During my high school years, I pondered hesitatingly on returning to England. During my years at university, I wistfully thought about venturing to France. But why was I drawn? In fact only one city had piqued my interest, and with spring rolling in, the time had come to breathe in the tranquil sea on the French Riviera.

Hemingway and his pal Fitzgerald

The undoubtedly divine city of the expatriates, Hemingway and Fitzgerald, Nice was also visited by other literary geniuses: Yeats, Virginia Woolf, and Charles Dickens. I however, was concentrating on Fitzgerald, and more specifically on my kindle, 'Tender is the Night', which I finished while sitting on the one and only Promenade des Anglais.

A solitary bench on the promenade?

During my walkabouts through Nice I could think only of where Scott F. had wandered,
where he had drank a cup of coffee while reading a newspaper,
where he had fought with and loved Zelda,
and most of all,
where did he sit and write?


A few of my guesses.

Down on the pebbly beach?

An inspirational view from the Chateau?

A few minutes after taking a bus to the center, my toes were wet from soaked through boots muddling about in puddles in Vieux (Old) Nice. I soon retired hopes of taking shimmering photos and instead thought of changing socks. 

Soaked Place Garibaldi

I had the opportunity to couchsurf with the lovely Lydie in her glowing fragrant abode. Once inside, I felt I had stepped into a corner of an enchanted India. A scent of oils and hints of mythical stories swathed the air sifting around my nostrils. The veiled burnt orange and hot pink curtains cradled the assorted cultural paintings giving the space a hint of soft authority.

After creating a satisfyingly tasty meal, the night was spent chatting of philosophies of different dimensions. Staying with Lydie was one of my most insightful and touching couchsurfing experiences to date.









On waking to sunny skies I scurried off to find the bus to St Paul de Vance. The bus flew through Antibes and up into the rolling hills, reminding me of Spain's sprinkled houses and warm mediterranean view.

The fortified castle was chockfull of the most beautiful art the Riveria could offer. The gallery which struck my tastes most included works by Roman Garussuta, Nadia Cascini, and Etienne.

If you're not in the mood to click on the links, here is a sample of each (and perhaps you will now want to click to see more):

Garussuta

Cascini

'Baiser dans la main',  (Kiss in hand) Etienne

Bright swirly paintings
and bronze statues missing body parts were to each side of the narrow passageways, and I gaped at pricetags as well as talent.

The gate of La Colombe d'Or

I accomplished my self-given tasks of finding the charming and well-known restaurant Columbe d'Or (in which Picasso and others traded paintings for meals) and after, the provincial fountain, one of the oldest still running.

I wonder if Scott and Zelda ate here..?

On returning down to sea I settled on the pebbly beach with some biscuits. I then chanced upon an old franc from the 1940s and considered my luck.

To satisfy your curiousity..(it certainly satisfied mine)

And night set in. The Negresco, one of the most aristocratic hotels in europe, tastefully lit up the promenade, surely inviting anyone to come in for some well-bred jazz.




Did the Fitzgeralds stay here?

 

The following morning I traipsed up through Old Nice once again (this time accompanied by a friendly météo) and up the many rocky steps to look over the remaining tall walls of the old castle (for fabulous view, scroll up for the first picture).

Not much has been around of the old castle for a few hundred years,
but the visit is certainly worth the hike.
Especially when the trees are blooming.

To conclude on a slightly triumphant note,
walking back from the chateau
to arrange myself for the next part of my journey,
I did finally happen upon the Fitzgeralds.