Bonjour Mesdames et Messieurs

Foreign languages - the most difficult aspect of travel aside from a ridiculously absurd ‘no taxi’ policy. From Spain, where we managed well and understood a little, to the UK where we managed better and understood a little more, to France where, mon dieu, people speak faster than machines and we understand almost nothing unless it’s in English. In France our ears are in constant confusion and our tongues are tied up like hostages, trying to remember a French word when there’s only Spanish. Hopefully things will improve when we pass through Italy….ha ha.

Easy Jet from Alicante to Gatwick was Easy – the hard part was adjusting to the change in weather. We quickly learned that the UK had dipped into the coldest deepfreeze in 17 years. What about our luggage full of shorts and Tilley Hats, we snivelled? We paid UKL5.40 (about CA$4.75 per ticket) for the ten minute train ride to Crawley, a town near Gatwick where many of the airport employees live. From the train station we were able to ask directions to the Holiday Inn Express and walk to the hotel. Most of England, Scotland and Ireland were under snowfall warnings but London was clear, just cold. By the time we reached the hotel we were baffled as to why we would leave a sunny place like Benidorm, where every UK citizen with a day off was currently smoking and drinking, for England where our upper lips had quickly become stiff and our faces started crackling with ice. Oh well we said, let’s just kill ourselves. Just kidding, we thawed out at the hotel and immediately did what every good red-blooded Canadian does when the weather is bad. We went to the mall. Seriously. We wanted to experience a round of pushing and shoving from the weekend Christmas crowds and thrill to a jolly good price thrashing. Even Santa Claus was shopping, we saw him in one of the stores. Crawley has an excellent mall with adjacent pedestrian shopping streets and all of the stores have heat. Mmm. Heeeat. We bought nothing.

It was fun to spend a little time in a London suburb where there are few tourists because we realized while we were bumping around like ping pong balls that the majority of older folks seemed healthy and the younger folks had kids and babies and strollers and were not like the stereotypical Brits we had seen in Benidorm. The British at home were of normal weight and size, most men seemed to have hair and the ladies appeared stylish and happy. Also to our amazement, Crawley and Gatwick had serious smoking bans; maybe all of England for that matter as we could easily breathe through the two little passages above our stiff upper lips. So I guess, just like partying Canadians at resorts in Mexico, Benidorm attracts specific types of vacationers.

We had been to Crawley several times in the past because during my travel agent years we would fly into Gatwick on a reduced fare and hang out until we found a last minute deal at a Crawley travel agency, then we would fly away that night or the next day to some exotic destination. In fact we visited Tunisia, Majorca, and the Costa del Sol on last-minute bargain packages. So here’s a tip - if you are travelling anywhere in Europe and don’t much care where it is, then fly into Gatwick and spend a night in Crawley. You too will find some mighty fine deals.

On day two in Crawley we planned to go into London and visit the Bridge and the Park and the Queen, but no, she was off travelling in the Middle East where the weather was warm. Without the Queen London was just too empty so we hung out at Crawley another day and wandered the streets as good as any homeless couple anywhere. You see, we did not have a hotel for the second night. Early morning flight to Nice with very early check in made another night at Gatwick a good option. It was fun; we got to the airport early on bus number 20 (cost UKL1.70 per ticket) from Crawley and quickly scored two of the best benches in the South Terminal. Envious people wandering around in transit daze all night stopped to covet our restful space. We came prepared. We had food and drink and a cable lock for our luggage and our Gore Tex jackets for covers. We still froze.

The miracle of travel. A few hours later, voila! Nous sommes a Nice. Like being dipped in the world’s finest chocolate and rolled in nuts. We had been to Nice many times while travelling on rail passes in 1994 and 1997 so the area was familiar. Bus 99 from the airport cost 4.00 euros each and dropped us off at the train station. We made the walk to the hotel in about 10 minutes. Yes it was overcast and cool, but not as cold as London. Well the lovely receptionist at the Best Western New-York Hotel (don’t ya just love the name - they must have run out of French cities) was so overwhelmingly French that we wanted to kiss her on both cheeks and speed away in her Renault. But non! We just stood there and paid for the room with cozy little smiles pasted on our faces. The BW hotel is very well located, couldn’t be better in fact, and fairly priced for low season in a class destination, so we were happy. It wasn’t until two days later that we learned the truth. The beautiful blond receptionist is actually not French at all; she’s from Slovakia and speaks four languages, Slovak, French, English and German. Well la di da…she seemed French!

The first problem we encountered in Nice was a big one. We couldn’t afford to eat. A coffee and croissant cost more than our entire Costa Cruise. Restaurants, even the bad ones, charge more for dinner that the GNP of some small countries. And that’s without frills like cutlery and napkins. More about food later if we haven’t starved to death…

And what about Nice, you ask? Well aside from the language, architecture, culture, epicurean cuisine, designer clothes, exotic wines and quaint little idiosyncrasies like low body weight and large determination, the French in Nice are just the same as people everywhere. And just a note about dogs - there are way more Yorkshire Terriers sniffing the poles of Nice than poodles. We have enjoyed all the sights on our walking tours, especially the architecture. Nice does not have a lovely sandy beach like Benidorm, her classy shores are miles of gravel and not so photogenic but she is being prettied up for Christmas and new decorations appear each day. Even the huge Ferris wheel is lit up at night.

Now let’s return to our lovely front desk receptionist, Nella, because she can help us understand why the French are so damned French better than any adjective or noun. We received our Costa Cruise documents online and some pages had to be printed for presentation to the cruise line at check-in. We wandered around Nice for an hour looking for an internet café. Finally down in old town we found a smoke filled dingy hole in the back of a small café. We agreed on a price with the owner for internet use and for printing (rule number one) before we started to log on. ‘Well, look at that’, Donna said to Richard. ‘At what’? Richard asked. ‘The keyboard’! Donna replied. ‘Some keys are in the wrong place. I can’t use this computer’. Could not believe it! So we left after trying to explain why to the owner. We resumed the search and later found an area with three internet cafes. Sure enough, all the keyboards were the same as the first. We decided to return to the Best Western and see if they could help us. We explained our keyboard problem to Nella, who said, ‘yes because I am from Slovakia I know the keyboards are different in France. I had the same problem when I arrived’. Then she hesitated for a second and said, ‘there is something about the French that is always different. In fact they HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT!’ Richard and Donna got it. They HAVE to be different, that is the law in France. Nella printed the pages for us, no problem.

And now a word about dining. Don’t know if you remember an earlier post where we could buy an English breakfast in Benidorm for 2 euros. We stopped at the Four Points Sheraton in Nice to use the washroom during our walk. We saw the sign, Petit Dejunner 21.50 euros. 21.50 X 2 = CA$60.00 for breakfast! What about lunch? What about dinner? And a snack with a café noir? A couple with an unrestricted budget could spend more on food in Nice in a week than a one week all-inclusive package with air from Gatwick to Benidorm. We truly do not understand how the French can afford to live in their country. Pretty sure we will never complain about the price of groceries in Calgary again.

One of our favourite finds in Nice was really very special. Estandon 2009 vin rouge. The nicest wine I think we have ever tasted. Another favourite was a lovely crepe lunch at a cozy little restaurant in old town. Run by a handsome Frenchman who had no problems with English and went about the business of serving up the best crepes in France. The petit café had eight tables inside (more outside) that would each seat two people. Most of them were full; two were pushed together to seat four young girls in their late teens or early twenties. You should have seen them. So absolutely, radiantly movie-star beautiful you have to wonder how it would be possible that so much splendour could fit into such a small space. They chatted and laughed with each other and the owner like they were regulars. Why them? Donna wondered without intending to stab them over and over with her crepe encrusted fork of jealousy. Well, it’s because the French are different. They HAVE to be different. That’s why.

And finally it’s time to talk about boots. In Spain if a lady doesn’t have a scarf tied around her neck, she’s not Spanish. In France if a lady doesn’t have a scarf around her neck and high boots on her legs she’s not French. You should see them - the boots I mean, sashaying down the rue below the slimmest designer clothes imaginable. Just like on the runway, and I don’t mean Gatwick. So much fun to watch it is worth the trip just for that! Meanwhile, I know people in France have been talking about Richard as well. This trip he is wearing the same plum coloured Gore Tex jacket he wore when he was here in Nineteen Ninety Four - sounds so Orwellian, doesn’t it - 1994? I think we’ve seen some French designers whispering with each other as we pass, ‘Mon Dieu, regardez cette jakat, now zair ees a fashion statement!’

Au revoir mon amour