Rise and shine! Off to the land with "pebble" beaches, to see some celebs, and live like leeches.
To say Nice is just nice is an understatement. Hotel Paradis, our quaint hotel, was located in the heart of luxury - right in between Armani, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton- a pleasant change from the pojects of Marseille.
Upon our arrival we encountered a lonely, young, Scottish lad, John. We quickly changed into our sunbathing attire and headed to the famous "pebble" beach with our new friend. Contrary to popular belief these pebbles (more like large rocks) are not condusive to the art of sunbathing. We left the beach a couple of hours later with a few dents in our ribs and bruises on our hearts. We self-medicated with ice cream on the boardwalk.
The following morning, after a peaceful sleep in the lap of luxury, we consumed a Clif bar and headed to the highest point in Nice. Once again we came, we saw, we conquered.
That afternoon we hopped a train to Cannes with our closest mate John. Croisette, the magnificent harbor, hosted the most elite fleet of yachts known to mankind. Surrounding the prestigious Croisette was water bluer than the Southern sky, mountains more grandious than the Western canyons, people dresses more glamorous than Fergie, and ostentatious automobiles that put Lady Gaga to shame. In laymans terms in was easy on the eyes.
First stop: Carlton Intercontinential
You might recognize this hot spot from the hit HBO series Entourouge. After freshening up in the hotel we hit the town with John and our new additions Matt (the American), Lucy and Zoey (the Brits). Do to the lack of our dolla dolla bills instead of ordering our own meals we stooped as low as to scavenge our new friend Matt's leftovers. Yes, this was a low point (once again).
To say Nice is just nice is an understatement. Hotel Paradis, our quaint hotel, was located in the heart of luxury - right in between Armani, Chanel, and Louis Vuitton- a pleasant change from the pojects of Marseille.
Upon our arrival we encountered a lonely, young, Scottish lad, John. We quickly changed into our sunbathing attire and headed to the famous "pebble" beach with our new friend. Contrary to popular belief these pebbles (more like large rocks) are not condusive to the art of sunbathing. We left the beach a couple of hours later with a few dents in our ribs and bruises on our hearts. We self-medicated with ice cream on the boardwalk.
The following morning, after a peaceful sleep in the lap of luxury, we consumed a Clif bar and headed to the highest point in Nice. Once again we came, we saw, we conquered.
That afternoon we hopped a train to Cannes with our closest mate John. Croisette, the magnificent harbor, hosted the most elite fleet of yachts known to mankind. Surrounding the prestigious Croisette was water bluer than the Southern sky, mountains more grandious than the Western canyons, people dresses more glamorous than Fergie, and ostentatious automobiles that put Lady Gaga to shame. In laymans terms in was easy on the eyes.
First stop: Carlton Intercontinential
You might recognize this hot spot from the hit HBO series Entourouge. After freshening up in the hotel we hit the town with John and our new additions Matt (the American), Lucy and Zoey (the Brits). Do to the lack of our dolla dolla bills instead of ordering our own meals we stooped as low as to scavenge our new friend Matt's leftovers. Yes, this was a low point (once again).
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