I was dreaming last night. In this dream, some guy had tickets to a basketball game to be played in the Coliseum of Rome. I was annoyed that he was too lazy to get on that train, but then I got him to go and soon we were there. Then I awoke at 5am to see Barbie tuning into the Laker game that was being played live on another continent. I watched the Lakers finally lose at 6am, a bit annoyed with them but not heartbroken. (What can say when your hometown team makes a lot of mistakes, including missing many free throws, and their opponent makes the highest percentage of shots in NBA Finals history, and your team still nearly wins at the end? You say that they are likely to win the championship.)
The reason I bothered with all that was to inform you that, hey, I didn't go back to sleep. As the kids say, "Dang it." I waited for Barbie to wake up and then we headed to the train station with, randomly, the same taxi driver who picked us up at the train station days earlier. I almost got a pic of him answering his iPhone on the drive, as it was cool to see the caller ID appear on his dash and all that bluetooth coolness that in the USA is reserved for luxury cars.
There she is, the TGV to take us away. If I had bothered to bring a full-feature camera, then I might have bothered to try to stand still enough to leave the aperture open and catch this sucker zipping into the station as a blur. But then I'd be not traveling as lightly as possible for 59 days. I cannot tell you how great it feels to step out of a hotel room and know that you have everything you need in three small bags.
Barbie again slept on the train ride, so I whipped out my special edition Newsweek that I never read from January all about the Obama inauguration. Lots of history in there, which I like.
It is obligatory, when the sea becomes visible from the train, to take a picture.
It is not obligatory to take a picture from the train of graffiti, but I often do when stopped in a station.
We switched trains in Nice. This is the Nice train station. Pronounce "Nice" like it's English and suddenly you have a Mister Rogers moment; "This is the nice train station. With nice tracks. And a nice train." But this wasn't "nice," it was, "Neese."
We got off the train and we were soon in the back of a car headed up a hill.
We headed up the hill, not towards the ocean. Good pics of Èze village will have to wait until tomorrow. I couldn't get them from the car. But it is a tiny village on top of a hill overlooking the Mediterranean. Our car dropped us off at an office where we gave them our bags and then we had to walk up the hill for ten minutes, on a fairly steep path.
I did take a picture of the valet parking area of our hotel. This pic suggests that those staying here are not impoverished.
Here's a moment along the path to the hotel. You get the idea this place is not new.
Sorry, I was too exhausted to take pictures until they sat us down for lunch. I should have gotten very close to this "welcome drink" that was fizzy and sweet and strong with liquor, but you should be able to see the naked woman stem if you click on it.
The view from our lunch table. Beautiful place, though when you are from California you are reminded of home when you see this.
This woman sat with me at lunch. Then came with me to my room. I will try to get her name later. By the way, here is where we had our first rude French restaurant experience of the trip. Not in the big city Paris, or the medieval town Avignon, but at the luxury hotel overlooking the Mediterranean where they are supposed to bend over backwards with brilliant service. Go figure.
We got a little two level hotel room. Here you see the bed, stairs on the right.
Here you see the stairs, bed on the right.
Here you see the view from the room. Yes, the same view from lunch. Not long after taking this pic, I had a video chat with to my brother and his kids on Skype, and then I went to sleep for 13 hours. I woke up and got to the blog just now. And now you know why I bothered telling about the lack of sleep the night before.
The only pic I took of our downstairs area is this. Note the theme? Picasso is truly the theme of this trip. I forgot to mention him in Avignon, but it was once again one of Pablo's stomping grounds.
For fun I include Picasso's, "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon (The Young Ladies of Avignon)," 1907. Yes, this should have been included when we were in Avignon, not leaving it. These are prostitutes in Barcelona, not Avignon, but they "of Avignon," and we'll be in Barcelona so, which means you can expect more Picasso references in two weeks. You see, the entirely unintended Picasso theme of this trip is stronger than ever.
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