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Wednesday 18.9.02 | First observtions of Nice: Weird few days. Anna and I are now coming around to the realisation that we've actually arrived (us being a bit slow and all) but the fact that we're not technically on holiday and that we're here until February definitely hasn't sunk in completely. Sitting in the bank yesterday listening to the tide of financial French crap washing over me, I think it started to dawn that this is a bit more permanent than most of my jaunts. But all is well. We went to the odd bus station this morning - literally an urban jungle; concrete and plants everywhere - and jumped on one of the cheerily-named Sunbuses in order to go to the Prefecture to get a carte de sejour so that we can get things like a job and student-cards and a telephone and so forth. First thing we encountered was a splendid traffic-jam. The English really just don't know how to position their cars like the French, who, it seems, have picked up the fascinating ability to make everyone beep proudly and constantly at such occasions. I shall think of a horn concerto in the same way again. The other thing about Nice and the buses is the amount of old ladies - who are, incidentally, everywhere; it's like the entry-gate to Heaven here or something - who will simply throw you out of the way in order to get that prized last seat on the bus. They're vicious, I swear. Anyway, we got to our destination. Am not even going to begin to describe the mind-crushingly bureaucratic hoops which you need to jump through in order to get anywhere in France, but to cut a long story short we've got to go back tomorrow morning (early) armed with every possible document we have ever needed in any country at any time. Needless to say, I'm not relishing the thought. Anyway, other things we've notcied are the state of the water here; you don't get it at a normal temperature, it's either scalding or freezing. We're in the process of deciding which we hate more just at the moment. There's also the fact that we seem to have picked a flat on the same road as the most dangerous road in Nice, perhaps the whole of France; crossing roads in this place, it seems, comes down to a bizarre game of Russian roulette. If and only if you fling yourself in front of the cars - we're talking on level crossings here, incidentally; it's just not worth wasting life on roads without them - just in time for the brakes to squeal and a loud shout from the driver to emerge, you know you're safe. Otherwise, they'll just hit you and laugh. Anyway, must be off now. Just had delicious lunch of bread and Boursin. Anna and I adore Boursin, but it does have the unfortunate side-effect of making me fart like there's no tomorrow, so before I need a mortgage or gas this entire internet cafe, I think it would be best to say a bientot. Saturday 21.9.02 Everything is indeed falling together nicely. Settling into life in the south of France is easier than I had imagined it to be; people are friendly, the town's not difficult to navigate, and everything just seems to be in place when you need it. Admittedly, there are large differences (letting your dog crap on the pavement and double-parking, for example, which in Britain are vigourously forbidden, seem almost de rigeur here) which take some getting used to (and the soles of my shoes are getting used to the former, believe me) but I guess you'd get that wherever you went. Just been to the wicked new municipal library (shameful, I know, but I saw the CD of 'Cats' and got it out) and since we went out on the razz last night on the Promenade (one day I will end up midnight swimming, no doubt) so we're having a quiet day in, pottering around or faisant notre petit train-train as the French say. Plumber came this morning to fix our leaky shower (bloody good - only told femme etrange, our landlady, yesterday) and we were really surprised when he shook both of our hands saying hello and goodbye. People are just so much nicer to each other here. No joy with the residence permits, the cartes de sejour because we can't prove we're financially solvent (this requires French bank statements, so we're going to have to wait a while.) This does mean in the (highly unlikely) event that we're asked why we're still living here as tourists although we've got an address, we have perfect excuses, merci quand meme.
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