Niceties

Today was my very first real day off on my own since arriving at Xmas. I needed a break, so headed for Nice on the train, using my Carte Sénior. The journey cost the equivalent of a cup of cheap coffee, but more of the pricing policy later.

Nice was actually hot, much warmer than Antibes, and at times the almost perpetual shade in the narrow streets of the old town was welcome. Upon arrival, I spent a dutiful half hour in the local FNAC, researching printers (ours is giving up the ghost, page by page), and looking into a mobile phone and also a mounting for our GPS. Phone contracts require the combined analytical expertise of an electronics engineer, a finance expert and a commercial lawyer. Needless to say, having watched some poor geezer getting sold a phone well beyond his actual needs put me right off. The GPS business was simple by comparison: the model we have doesn't yet have a mounting. As to the printers, they were ENORMOUS, so multi-tasking that they would probably make you toast and cappuccinos whilst printing your colour photos. I thought I was looking for a printer...

I then headed off into the backstreets, parallel to the rue Gioffredo. Nice is very much a city of 'quartiers', and I was passing through a section almost totally devoted to antiquarian bookshops and artists' supplies. One of the small bistros on the way had a menu which proved that France is indeed multi-cultural and open to foreign influences: the first two items, in order, were:-

Raviolis frais niçois
Pavé de kangourou

Crossing the exquisite Place Garibaldi, where the Turinese influence is still strong, even if the arcades are now filled with North African halal shops and fruiterers, I headed down the rue Bonaparte to get to the port district. It was a miniature Marseilles, with the same vibrant mix of nationalities, and the same profusion of small shops, selling not much, but a bit of everything. Amongst the shops was an unfortunately named Love-Models, which had nothing to do with inflatable erotica, but sold kits for model makers, including eye-catching bateaux pointus. One day I'll have a go at making one of those!

The port is a lot smaller than Antibes, so on the whole the boats are less excessive in terms of gross tonnage, but they make up for (relative) lack of size by the opulence and sheer bad taste of their fittings. Next to the port offices was a poster whose hypocrisy was, for once, in proportion to the surroundings. It was for a carbon-offset scheme specifically targetting the huge, gas-guzzling behemoths in the harbour. Little did the fools offering the scheme realise that these boats never leave harbour, their gas-guzzling abstemiousness advertised by the made-to-measure and very permanent-looking covers battened down over their funnels and exhausts.

I promised I would return to the pricing policy of the SNCF. On the 'caisse à savon' (English translation 'boggler') train coming back, a smiling conductor asked to see our tickets. The chap behind me grunted the equivalent of 'No have teecket', and the conductor's smile evaporated instantaneously. "ID", he barked, and as he did so, a good dozen other inspectors turned up, blocking the carriage at both ends, and starting the equivalent of a police raid. At least a third of the passengers were journeying without a ticket. I expected a ruckus, but they complied meekly, paying the hefty fines plus the peak hour fare (it was an off-peak journey). Why this meekness? I can only surmise that these people made a habit of boarding the train without a ticket, as commuters, and getting caught out once in a while was still a cheap option compared to the season ticket.