I’m in Nice! The gorgeous French city named after Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Naturally, I laced up my own Nikes in a corny tribute and jogged around Nicetoile in the early misty morning. And by “jogged”, I mean bounced from window to window salivating over divine French fashion then over exquisite French pastries. I transitioned my fluorescent kicks to fashionable (yet totally knock-off) loafers so as to avoid any sideways stares from Nice’s fashion elite in the daylight. Blisters be darned! (I’m a sucker for peer pressure. Don’t judge.)

Nice is a tourist hotspot, rich in weather, sunlight, culture, and cuisine. I did my best to evade the crowds and wandered through the Old Port where wooden boats with colourful tarps nestled in between luxury yachts and terracotta roofs reflected reds into a blue-purple sky. It was like wandering inside of a Van Gogh painting, and my face made of strokes of white, yellow, and pink. Like peonies.

The highlight? Handwritten chalkboard menus on sidewalks with careful cursive and daily specials with names that roll off the tongues of the locals here. One particular board drew me in: Fennochio Maitre Glacier – exotic ice cream served by passionate ice cream aficionados in white aprons and chef’s hats. Not surprisingly, I indulged in several scoops. Cactus, Pomme Verte, and my hands-down, heart-pounding favourite: Lavande (lavender).

I have no shame. Viva la France!




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