Day on the Cote d'Azur

Every day is a wonderful day in the south of France. Ooh la la.

Our wake-up call came at 7 a.m. but we took our time getting ready to go. The ship had to anchor away from port, so we had to be tendered in. Our tender boat took us to Villefranche, a little fishing village, around 9:30.

My husband is fearless. I kid you not. While most people got on tours that took them to Nice or Cannes or Monaco, we took off searching for the city bus that would take us from Villefranche to Nice. After walking around for 30 – 45 minutes looking for the bus stop, Bill finally said to me, “Maybe I should have followed those signs to the bus that were posted where our tender ship let us off.” Seriously? There were signs? Yes, but he thought he knew a shorter way.

However, having wagered that complaint, I have to say that it's the times we get lost that we see the prettiest parts of the towns. We wandered through the winding back streets of the little French village where we met local residents and their pets. “Bonjour, Messr. Dog,” we remembered to say, as we were aware that the dogs in France speak French.

We finally found the bus stop, thanks to the single nice person in France, who overheard me say something about the bus station and PROACTIVELY told us how to get there. In broken English! Without being asked! To Americans!

After getting off the bus in Nice, we worked our way over to the old part of the town that is just up from the beach.

We had spent two or three days in Nice two years ago when we traveled in Europe, and so we had a few things we wanted to revisit. We started out by having a cafe au lait in a cafe overlooking the market as we watched the cruise ship tourists frantically shopping. After getting refreshed, we took off to find our old stomping grounds.

We found everything we sought, and ate the following things in the following order: a baguette from the boulangerie that Rick Steves describes as the best in France, a gelato from what Kris described two years ago as the best I ate in all of Europe, a socca (which is fried ground-up chickpeas with a texture similar to a frittata), and a crepe filled with nutella. We ran out of stomach room for the moules e frites (mussels and french fries), so we'll have to come back in a couple of years.

We found the bus stop again, and took the bus back to Villafranche. Before we got back on the tender boat, we sat at a beautiful cafe right next to the harbor and drank some wine and ate some garlicky olives.

As could be predicted, we got involved in drama. Sitting next to us were two local French women, obviously rich and spoiled. I'm not sure what their problem was, but they were clearly unhappy with something – their food maybe, or the wind that at one point blew their umbrella open. They were having a serious confrontation with their waiter, and all of a sudden they began to try and involve me. Me! Me? She kept pointing to me and saying something to me in French. I seriously have no idea what she was saying. Apparently whatever was making her unhappy was supposed to also be making me unhappy. But I wasn't unhappy. In fact, I was very happy to be sitting next to the Mediterranean and drinking wine and eating olives as the sun shone down on me and my wonderful husband. I looked like a deer in the headlights as I tried to figure out what she was saying. I never did.

At one point, the waiter came over and asked us if we would like to move away from the women. We said no. Why miss the fun?

Each night there is a big production in the theater on Deck 3. Last night's show featured The Counterfeit BeeGees. I kid you not. That was their name. And sure enough, the looked like (and sounded like) Maurice, Robin and Barry Gibbs. The show was very entertaining.

Afterwards we came back up to our room and watched the Mardis Gras parade down the Royal Promenade from our window. It was colorful and fun. Afterwards, I went down and got us each a little sandwich from the cafe. It hit me as I was walking back: this is what happens to you when you're on a cruise. If, on any given night back at home, at 10:30, Bill was to say to me, “Kris, would you care for a ham sandwich? I'll be happy to make it for you and bring it up to you in bed,” I would tell him he was absolutely crazy. But somehow it seems like normal behavior. And I don't even care that much for sandwiches!