A Summer in Pictures – III

A little must also be said about (and shown from) the two least exciting weeks of my Eurotrip – the French Riviera, Venice and Rome. Alright, the French Riviera was really pretty, I met some great people too. Venice had amazing seafood. My grouse is entirely against Rome. I hated it the first time I visited it four years ago, and I guess neither of us has changed much in four years.

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My most lasting memory of South France is sunning myself on a beach in Villefranche-sur-mer with two fellow backpackers. One wholewheat slice in a loaf of good ole’ white bread. Hmm, definitely not a good Waldo puzzle. This was also the first time I really swam in the sea, and accidentally also announced it to my friends. They looked skeptical, almost incredulous.
“I am sure you have heard how dirty India is. The beaches are no different”, I lied. Ah well, not entirely. India’s speckled landscapes became my alibi for having learnt swimming just earlier this year

Ambling along in Cannes alone made me think (realize?) that traveling alone with a backpack is perhaps not always the best way to see the world. I missed A. I hated being a poor backpacker on a budget in a place peppered with yachts, villas and designer boutiques. This crabbiness lasted all of a few hours till three (relatively non-shady) men told me how pretty I was. So much for empowerment and women’s lib.

I also took an instant liking to old Nice with its fruit and flea markets and colourful scenes. Sample these pictures (but not the cuisine, Niçoise food was a big disappointment)

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Venice is a crumbling Disneyland, so surreal that it is almost fake and yet, so imperfect that it remains real. The food though, was almost perfect. Fish with zucchini flowers, spaghetti in cuttlefish ink, 5-euro house wine, a part of me lived in paradise that weekend. (And in case you didn’t know, don’t believe guidebooks, grappa is NOT Italian wine. Do not order it with lunch, unless you are in the mood for the equivalent of three tequila shots at noon)

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Rome was definitely the low point of the trip. Initially I asked myself why I was wasting 5 days of my time in Europe in Rome. By the third day, I was asking myself why I was wasting 5 days of my life in the city. The men were sleazy and the city bland. Not the best recipe for good memories. I did meet some amazing people in Rome (only briefly though) and it was here that I had the most meaningful conversation of my trip with another traveler. And then I was back to being alone.

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I must confess that Paris was not exhilarating every single minute of the six days I spent there. However, in Nice, all I remembered was the waltz on Pont des Arts, the kaleidoscopic crowds of Montmartre and the constellation that was the sparkling Eiffel Tower at midnight. I wasn’t surprised that Nice couldn’t match up.

In Rome, I looked back fondly at Nice, the sounds of the vieille ville (the old city), the sepia-toned buildings and the cinemascope markets. And Rome paled in comparison. It’s a strange far-sightedness. What’s past is always so much clearer and brighter than what’s at hand.