Two months after the cast came off my wrist, I have about 40 percent use of the hand and a poor grip. But I can type a lot more easily. Not so much that I am going to waste my effort here to moan about the state of French politics, other than to say it follows a disturbing pattern seen elsewhere.
Despite a painful, inoperative upper left limb, I moved in mid-September with a little help from my friends. I like my new neighborhood of L’Éveché, not just for the conveniences, but for the Gallic liveliness. It is much less touristy than Fleurs/Gambetta where I lived before, which incidentally has been labeled “Little America” by some recent arrivals.
Despite the many gorgeous old buildings in my new part of town, it is a bit less posh and inhabited by more regular folks, a mix of middle and working class, and students. The cafes, restaurants and shops on the main street, always bustling with locals, make for a vibrant atmosphere. Some old brasseries, rapidly disappearing in central Nice, are still thriving as local haunts with cut rate prices and classic menus. A big daily market at the Place Charles De Gaulle and a one of those plush-seat movie theaters are an eight minute walk from me and closer there is everything else: supermarkets, pharmacies (in France there’s one every block), banks, a couple of post offices, butchers, cheesemongers, hardware stores, tradespeople, “ambulanciers” (ambulance drivers), nurse offices (to call when requiring a home visit).
Where I live is in a sub-neighborhood tucked between two boulevards known for its private late -19th century villas. Some of these have been converted into apartments but some remain family homes with large gardens. From my fifth floor vantage point, I look over their red tiled roofs.
My balcony has a “vue dégagée” with no tall buildings directly in front, where I can see the sun rise over Mont Boron. I particularly like the framed view from the bathroom window.
It is a residential area with no businesses for a few blocks around so it is quiet for a big city. Of course, there are bland modern structures too, and I live in one. No more the Belle Epoque charm of my prior dwelling. But I am decorating it in a colorful, non-stuffy spirit to make it my happy place. It starts with a reupholstered sofa in a bright coral hue, dubbed “the dopamine couch” by my daughter.
The downside of the area for most expats is its distance from the sea. Seven stops on the tram is a real deterrent. That also means you get more for your money up here. After years of being a short walk from the Promenade, I was ready to trade the proximity to the Med for a more fully French experience.
The other week I went for an evening drink with friends, passing by a packed nearby café where people were sitting outdoors watching — with great enthusiasm —a soccer game playing on a large screen. I know where I’ll be enjoying the next World Cup.
kmazz 