I caught a slight bug on our last day in Paris, but if there’s any place to recover from a cold I can’t think of any better than Nice. Nothing like a little salubrious sea air along with a night’s sleep not suffering from jet lag.
This morning we took a bus into the hills and checked out the Matisse museum. After the First World War when Matisse was dividing his time between Paris and southern France, he had a studio in the old part of town and the museum has a good collection of his work.
Both Ella and I have always had a love for Les Fauves and admired painters who colored the world to their imagination. It’s been almost two years since we visited Copenhagen, but the painting of his wife is still fresh in my mind.
Matisse’s paradisal “Le bonheur de vivre” is surely worth a visit to Philadelphia. But here in Nice we can enjoy some lively prints.
Matisse’s drawings are on full display at the museum as well as the early cut-out studies for his colorful figures defying space in “La Danse.”
There you go, Simone, that could almost be the universal sign for freedom. It’s what must be shown invaders from outer space.
Naturally outside the museum there was a park and a place to sit and have an espresso under the olive trees. Up the path there were areas named after Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie.
We took a stroll back towards our neighborhood passing gated apartment complexes that preferred to be called “palaces.”
And then Ella led me to the greatest coffee shop on earth.
Modest looking on the outside, but a menu of crafted coffee that would put Starbucks to shame.
Sipping a decadent cappuccino after experiencing the visual splendor of Matisse followed by a balmy walk past orange awninged upscale apartments, I didn’t need to channel Henry Miller to be merry and bright. Cold, what cold? That’s only my sinuses freely enjoying the sea breeze.
Seems like there are many good reasons why the riviera has such a good reputation. Is it crowded with tourists like Paris?
There are tons of people but it doesn’t feel mobbed like Paris did.
The closer you get to the seaside promenade the larger the gathering of tourists. Sort of the way we found it in Porto, Portugal. But the pace is more relaxed; none of the Paris hurry on the streets. Up the street in the hills the tourists disappear and the neighborhoods are quiet.
Almost any random (French) café will put Starbucks to shame.