No art today, just a sadness as I remember my love for beautiful Nice.
My first visit was in 1969–I had just graduated from college. I had saved up enough money for a couple of months in Europe. Italy, Greece, France and the U.K. were on the itinerary. Arriving in Nice my friend and I were struck by its beauty, that wonderful promenade, the unexpected stony beaches. I remember one meal: little fishes the size of minnows, fried, heads and tails intact. I bravely ate every one.
Fast forward many years. My parents used to rent a house in Roussilon and would generously invite the family. We always flew home out of Nice and used to spend a few days. One night we were riding down the boulevard and spied some ladies of the night. “Hookers”, said my sister. “What are hookers?” asked my young daughter. Much chortling from all and my father said “they fish”. Very funny at the time.
My heart hurts thinking of the exuberant Nicois folks celebrating Bastille Day and being mowed down by a madman. When will the madness end?