Paris Day 37: A Trip to Nice-Ville

Really, that’s the name of the train station in Nice, France. I thought it was appropriate since someone is livid that I’ve spoken publicly about my husband’s affair and I’ve been instructed to be very careful about what I write and tweet. O.o This means, I won’t be mentioning the affair after this post because I can’t.

But that’s beside the point – despite all the craziness I wrote about in my last post, things aren’t all doom and gloom. Yes, my heart’s been broken and yes, I’m struggling to make sense of what’s happened, but the good times are excellent. Waking up from a nightmare is always a good thing. Especially if there’s someone there to hold you and help wipe away the tears.

So, let’s get back to our regular programming, shall we?

Last weekend, Bug and I took a trip to the beach town of Nice. I’d written up a lengthy post about para-sailing and drinking champagne next to the sea, but WordPress ate it. Since I’m too lazy to re-do it, here is a truncated, photo-heavy version.

Nothing like ice cold champagne on a hot day to lift the spirits.

Nice has private beaches that come with waiters, chaise lounges, towels, and umbrellas; or it has public beaches which are free, but are basically piles of rocks you can spread a towel over. We chose to pay for the hotel’s private beach.

The demarcation line between the public and private beach.
A better illustration of the difference between the private accommodations and the public beach’s rocks. Bonus shot of me giving Bug the evil eye.

Before I forget, this was the view from the bed. Gorgeous, non?

I’m just a little spoiled.

We never ventured beyond the beach and the hotel. Partly, because we were too lazy, and partly, because there was no reason. We ate lunch at the beach, and breakfast and dinner on our balcony

Gratuitous bikini shot because I get up at 5:30am to go to my trainer’s and run like a mad woman. Plus, I look genuinely happy.

We were supposed to leave on Monday, but as we were checking out, Bug looked at me and asked, “Do you want to stay another day?” Ummm…yes. They gave us back our room and we promptly headed to the beach again.

He dared me to try the fish pedicure thing. It felt like dozens of weak spa jets blasting my feet and legs, and afterward, my skin felt silky smooth. Of course, when we got back to our beach chairs, I started reading about fish pedicure bacterial infections and freaked myself out.

Gross? Cool? I’m still undecided.

Before I close, I need to thank everyone who reached out via direct message and email to give me support and/or share their stories after my last post. Knowing I’m not alone helps make everything a little more bearable.

Okay, on to finishing Nightingale edits!