Bienvenue!

I'm not really a stranger to Europe. I love the culture, the markets, the history, the old cities, the tiny cars, the old-fashioned way of life, etc. But I had never been to France. Based on what I'd seen already of Italy and London, I was expecting a bunch of well-dressed smokers who know how to eat well. In this regard, I wasn't let down. I got in to Nice (surprisingly without them checking my passport) by train from Ventimiglia (on the Italian border) at dusk. I didn't have a map, or wi-fi access for my smart phone. They're not really that smart without the internet (which is also true of many in the rising generation). I had a general idea of where I needed to go (east) and the address of my host's apartment. And most importantly, I had a sense of adventure.

So off I set into the darkness wearing my guitar on my back, and with my luggage rolling noisily on the ground which changed rapidly and frequently from marble, to cobblestones, to cement stamped with a tiny square pattern, to pavement, each producing a different tone from the wheels of my suitcase. I then had my first experience speaking French to a native, in France. I asked a gentleman where I could find Rue Giofreddo. I think. I'm pretty sure that's what I asked, because he pointed me in (what I would later find to be) the right direction.

I walked for about five minutes and asked another person if I was headed in the right direction. I kept this pattern up for a bit until a man who owned a Rôtisserie got out his smart phone (which had internet access, so it was actually smart) and looked up walking directions. It was a straight shot to my destination, but it was still pretty far away. "You're on foot, yeah?" he queried. I responded in the affirmative, and he made the face you'd expect one to make in that situation. So, wishing me the best of luck, sent me happily on my merry.

I stopped by a late-night fruit stand (which is apparently a thing, here) and bought an apple to eat along the way, and biting in to it once again realized just how amazing the produce is on this side of the pond. They don't bother with calling anything "organic." It's just a buzzword used in the U.S. to charge you more money, and that typically means there were less chemicals used to grow such an aesthetically displeasing apple. No, it's not "organic," it's just food over here. Anyhoo, I kept walking for about an hour. Only a couple of people along the way weren't super helpful. Take that, French stereotypes. (Although there were a lot of smokers. A LOT.) So, uh... yeah.

When I finally got to the apartment (feeling like a million bucks for having successfully navigated myself to my destination on foot in a city, country, and language that were all new to me) and rang the intercom, I didn't get an answer. I learned later that my host had gone to the train station to look for me. I asked a passing stranger where I could find a phone, and he handed me his; what a nice fellow! I called my host, and she came back home and let me in, and I hefted my possessions up four flights of stairs. She laughingly chastised me for walking all the way, and sent me off to bed. I complied without hesitation. After traveling all over Italy and London for almost two weeks, it will be nice to sleep in the same bed twice. And it’s a bunk bed. I get the bottom, and my roommate gets the top. My fort is already cooler than his.

End of Day 1.