Hairdressers and Happy Christmas

On Wednesday, I travelled to Nice by train.  No strikes this week. Ridiculously, the beginning of the journey made me think of the Dawlish sea wall. Different sea, different landscape, different colour scheme, but still a train travelling along the edge of the sea.

With mountains bordering the water, there are tunnels pretty much all the way to Nice.  Monaco, as if embarrassed that it has to have a railway at all, has hidden its train station way down below the town.  

Tunnels are tedious, but it's great to emerge from the mountain and glimpse terracotta tiles, purple bougainvillea and the sea, blue—even when the skies are grey with cloud … 

I arrived in Nice and paused for a coffee, as the shops opened their doors.  

It seems sad that, after all this time, police and army are very much in evidence, mingling with the shoppers, carrying their guns as casually as shopping bags.

Opposite the café, a Salvation Army band played Christmas carols. I didn’t recognise many of the tunes but their goodwill is universal.

Before leaving the cafe, I decided that a visit to the toilet would be a good idea. In my best French, I asked the way and was directed up two flights of stairs only to discover that I required a token to use the facilities the could only be obtained from your waiter—a definite sign that I had reached a big City.

Shopping is wonderful in Nice and after some very successful spending, I treated myself to a Salade Niçoise and a glass of Minuty rosé to accompany a little people-watching. Perfect.

Thursday I was trapped inside by torrential rain (well, fairly heavy). I managed to get a walk before the rain really got going but then, with no other option, I settled down to write, read and make shortbread.  I took a video of the rain but everyone knows what the rain looks like, so I decided only to add it, if the apartment flooded—it didn’t.

Friday, blue skies and sunshine returned and so, after putting my washing out, I set out for the hairdressers. 

Oh, the joy of sitting in a hairdressers, looking in the mirror and seeing the sea, behind me. 

 Funnily enough, it was no more daunting trying to give me my requests in French, than it ever has been in English.  I always find that a new hairdresser is a challenge. I try to convey how I would like to look without offending their creative ability.  In the past I have often allowed free rein, with varying degrees of success. Communicating with your hairdresser is obviously a matter of confidence and has nothing to do with language.

Maria, my hairdresser, was a bubbly Italian who now lives in France. She almost danced around me as she did my hair. Her nimble fingers were on the move all the time, she applied the hair dye as if she was painting a ceiling and when cutting, her scissors moved so quickly, it sounded like a sewing machine. I absolutely love the result—it’s just a shame that my efforts at blow drying will not achieve the same. 

The Sunday morning service at St John's church was heartwarming and chaotic, in a very English way.

We were treated to English carols and Christmas songs performed (in English) by local French and Italian children who attend the weekly English lessons in the church. Conducted by their very enthusiastic teacher Arabella and accompanied by the church organ, they sang their hearts out. Proud families filled the first few rows of pews and videoed their little ones' impressive performance. 

The service was in English with a smattering of French for the  families' benefit. One of the children (I'm not sure if she was French or Italian) read the gospel beautifully, in English. She easily outshone the vicar who read the same passage in French.

After the service, in true French style, wine or champagne was offered with the mince pies.  No tea urns here.

 

Menton felt a bit like a ghost town as I walked through to go to a concert that afternoon, I wondered if there would be anyone else there. I needn't have worried, there are obviously a lot of other people who didn't mind missing the beginning of France v. Argentina (or indeed the whole match). 

A wonderful choir, accompanied on the piano by Ben Prischi (the amazing pianist from the jazz quartet and the church organist).  A lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon and the perfect start to Christmas.

Wishing everyone a very

MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY NEW YEAR!

There won't be another episode of 'French Escape' over Christmas—even if I had time to write it, I don't think anyone would have time to read it.  So, I just want to say, a big thank you for reading my blog. I look forward to starting again in 2023.