As my flight home was not until this evening, I had a day in Nice, an opportunity to see the city. My hostel has an international clientele as you might expect, mainly of people younger than me, however the surrounding area was also cosmopolitan. Arabic was spoken as well as French, and ladies in hijabs were frequent, although not as common as younger men and women in more skimpy clothes. First, I visited the Museum of Marc Chagall, the painter. An emigrant from Russia who settled in France, as a Jew he had to flee to the USA during the Second World War. The persecution of Jews and events in the Bible inspired many of his paintings, as did his home town in Russia that he left behind. After visiting a minor basilica I walked down to the Mediterranean Sea, the natural end to my walk from the Atlantic Ocean in Galway, Ireland.
After shopping and eating lunch in the older part of town, I walked along the Promenade des Anglais, in the direction of the airport. I felt I was following in the steps of English visitors in the 19th century, although they were sensible enough to visit in winter when the weather was not so hot. For a few kilometres it follows the pebble beach, on which people were sunbathing and swimming. Many parts of the beach were fenced off as private beaches associated with a hotel or similar. On the other side of the road there were apartment blocks with wrought iron balconies, shutters and an elegance from bygone times. Further from the centre, the apartments opposite the Promenade were just modern buildings such as you could find elsewhere.
Two men asked me to take a picture of them with the sea in the background. It transpired that they, like me, had just walked the GR5 from Lake Geneva! One of them recognized the make of my rucksack (an Atom Pack), which suggests a high level of interest in backpacking gear. It was ferociously hot as I walked along, the area was on a heat wave alert, I wondered how anyone could want to sunbath under such conditions. I was only looking for shade (of which the Promenade des Anglais has little) and a cold drink. My route along the seashore was taking me to the airport, the last section around the airport perimeter was especially trying in the heat. Terminal 2 where I was flying from was furthest from Nice. As with most airports it was a little difficult to get inside as a pedestrian, but I did with plenty of time to spare.
While sitting in the terminal building waiting until I could check in, I realised that that despite all the rocks, climbs and walking, my left knee was in unexpectedly good condition. Despite some fluid build-up, difficulty bending fully at times and squirts of pain when my foot hit a rock at an awkward angle, overall it had been able to complete the ups and downs of this mountainous trail. Three rest days and a few shorter days undoubtedly helped, I was definitely lagging other people, but it is not a competition. It left the choice of the next trip wide open....
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