Today the Fnac, which is a French chain of stores that sell multimedia, books and music, held a “photo marathon” in Nice. I signed up a few weeks ago, thinking it would be nice to get some challenging ideas, plus registration was free. The day started at 9am, and we were given three themes on which to shoot photos, one every two hours. There were three hundred of us in all, and we had to turn in two photos per team (I was a one-person team, most were two-person) after the two hours. The prizes were some Canon cameras; I forget which since I didn’t participate with winning in mind (plus I’ve always preferred Nikon). All participants got a free cinema ticket, which is nice with movies so expensive to see nowadays. The themes were “le reflet dans tous ses états” (“reflection every which way”), “de haut en bas, de bas en haut” (“from top to bottom, from bottom to top,” which I translated to keep puns on “haut”, up, and “bas”, down, also being able to mean items of clothing), and “politiquement incorrect”. I was a little disappointed that they were so generic, since I’d been hoping for topics specific to Nice, but it was fun nonetheless.

The photo above is not one submitted to the contest, but is similar to one that I used for a theme. I took other non-theme-related photos as well, since it was a beautiful day today. At the Villa Arson, which is a museum on a hill in the north of Nice, there were two huge, ancient olive trees; I photographed one of them. Olive trees can live for more than a thousand years, and considering the size of that one’s trunk, it’s likely to be at least a few hundred years old. A bit younger and livelier, a friendly kitty let me photograph her/him after I introduced myself. After leaving the Villa Arson, I noticed two neat homes nearby.

This will come as a bit of a surprise to readers, since I never mentioned it before, wanting to keep quiet until I knew for certain. This morning I had an interview for obtaining French citizenship at the préfecture in Nice. It went very well, and the préfet’s representative told me that there was no valid reason to refuse my application. In legal French, and in the context of the naturalisation for which I’d applied, this means it will be accepted by the Ministry in charge of naturalisations. That will take about a year, as the representative also told me.

Of his own accord, he also pointed out that the process had gone surprisingly fast. Indeed, I had applied around the start of November last year, and received notice of my interview at the end of January. The préfet’s representative explained that it was because the police investigation had gone quickly. “I can’t remember the last time I got a police report so soon after requesting one,” he laughed, then he asked me, “did the police ever contact you or visit you?” I answered “no, but I’m often in contact with them, ha! I have a dangerous neighbor, so I call them a lot.” Continuing with the joke, the man pulled out the police report and chuckled, “well, they say they have no idea who you are!” In French legalese, “ne pas être connu”, “to not be known” by the police means that you have no criminal record. The man interviewing me even added another layer of word play when he saw that I’d understood the joke, saying “et bien, on peut rajouter que le français ne vous est pas étranger !” In English, “well, I can add that French isn’t foreign to you!” It was nice to have met with someone easy-going.

That said, I’ve almost always dealt with easy-going public employees in France. At the tax office, train station (SNCF), post office (which is where I’ve met the grumpy ones), prefecture, city police, national police — they’ve nearly all been helpful and even funny. I’ll never forget the towering gendarme (national policeman) in my living room who, after he’d recognized my violent neighbor was indeed a danger to others, and after I’d showed photos of excrement she kept putting on my patio, said in his booming, authoritative voice, totally deadpan, “En effet. Mademoiselle, on peut dire que vous êtes dans la merde.” “Indeed. Miss, it could be said that you’re in a shitty situation.”

In addition to having a new home country, my home apartment became much more welcoming this weekend, with the addition of a sofa and two matching chairs, shown in this entry’s photo. On Saturday, I went to my favorite brocante, secondhand shop, to look for a small end table. In the window was a gorgeous forest green leather Chesterfield, but well out of my budget range. Further inside, I noticed a sofa and chairs set with oddly-styled arms; curved wood over an upholstered arm, but the wood “floated” over the upholstery. I love clean, curved lines on furniture. Furthermore, it looked like the pieces were narrow enough to fit through my living room door frame, which is just 75cm/30 inches wide. I checked their price, expecting something in the 300-500 euro range. 50 euros — fifty! “Oh dear, something must be terribly wrong with them,” I thought, and so I looked around the rest of the store. Finding no end tables I liked, I returned to the living room set. “At that price, I might as well try them out and check them over,” I told myself. They were in perfect condition, and incredibly comfortable, with firm springs. They were in such good condition, in fact, that I had no idea what period they could possibly be from, since they obviously weren’t contemporary, but not antique, either. I measured their depth: 70 centimeters (27″). Perfect. I bought them. Delivery cost as much as they did, and in another stroke of luck, I’d bought them ten minutes before the delivery van arrived for its afternoon round — they kindly delivered them the very same day!

Once home, I photographed the sofa and the two chairs, and submitted a question to one of my favorite sites, ApartmentTherapy. “What style are these chairs and sofa? Commenters all agreed: 1940s French Art Deco! My apartment building is Art Deco too, and was built in 1953. My living area truly is d’époque, period, and I didn’t even do it on purpose! I am very glad to finally have a couch after two years without, and the kitties are happy too.

On Wednesday (the 10th), we got news that a strong winter weather system was heading our way. Dozens of inches of snow were predicted for the hills, and up to six inches along the coastline — never before seen on the French Riviera. We get snow once every few years, but it’s usually a dusting, like we had in December, and melts by noon.

Thursday morning, I woke up to 4°C (39°F) and rain. I decided to try for the bus, and put on my nice hiking boots, wool socks, a turtleneck, and a wool knit cap, as well as taking along a pair of gloves just in case. I figured that if the bus came, it meant the weather was fine at our offices in Sophia Antipolis, some 28 kilometers (17 miles) to the west of Nice. The bus did indeed come; when we arrived in Sophia an hour later, it was raining there too.

Until just before 11am, that is. Snow began to fall, but it was still above freezing, so it wasn’t really sticking. Then the temperature began to dip, and the snow started picking up. By 11:30, the snow had built up noticeably. Roads quickly became blocked. The buses were no longer running. Not long afterwards, our prefect formally forbade drivers from going on the roads, and the highways were closed. Weather reports said that the worst was still to come in the evening! At 4:30pm I took the photo above, as well as a few others (full photoset here), and then my reflex’s battery died.

With roads still closed, buses not running and the news continuing to report a larger storm front about to roll in, I realized I was probably going to spend the night at the office. When I joked about camping in front of my office radiator with another colleague, he mentioned that he lived 8 kilometers (about 5 miles) away and was going to walk home — he offered to let me eat and sleep at his place. His children were with their grandparents, so there would be a spot for me without a problem. I took him up on his offer. In addition to working together, we often cross each other’s paths on the trails at lunch time — he goes running, and I go mountain biking. So we both knew we’d be fine with the 8-kilometer hike through snow.

It turned out to be one of the most beautiful hikes in my life. We passed the Mougins golf course, Fontmerle lagoon, and Picasso’s former home. Just as we passed the sign pointing to Picasso’s home, the setting sun set afire the Estérel coastal range beneath the grey storm clouds. I took these photos with my mobile phone, since it was the only camera we had available. A few minutes later, we looked behind us and had our breath taken away again, this time by the all-encompassing ink blue that was enveloping the Pré-Alpes just to the north of us. To the south, the sunset skies had transformed into pinks, purples and blues.

The next morning, it was below freezing, so we set out to walk the 8 kilometers back. It was more dangerous than on Thursday, since melting snow had frozen. We both had to catch ourselves from slipping a few times, but thanks to our trusty hiking shoes, we made it to the offices safely. Along the way, I took more photos (reminder, full photoset) and shot two videos:
o Etang de Fontmerle in the snow and morning sun
o Trail after the Mougins golf course, about a kilometer from Sophia Antipolis

Luckily the weather warmed up on Friday and I was finally able to get home by bus. There’s no more snow in Nice, but it is still falling heavily in the back country! And today I made sure to get some nice chocolates for my kind colleague.

Today while walking home from grocery shopping, a man called to me from his rental car in the street, while waving a map. Used to being asked for directions here (I seem to have an “ask me for directions” face), I approached, cautiously nonetheless. He pointed to the railway station and asked if I spoke Italian. “No, sorry,” since my Italian for directions is pretty terrible. He then asked if I spoke English. “Yes, I do,” I smiled. “Your English is good!” he remarked, “where are you from?” “Oh, I’m American,” and suddenly his story got complicated.

He said there’d been a problem at the airport. “Radio, boom!” he said. “Ah,” I nodded, puzzled. “I have been in Nice for three days. I am a fashion director for Armani in Milano,” he said with some confidence. I looked at him: hair shaved at the same length all over, no-name watch, nondescript beige V-neck sweater over a nondescript white dress shirt, black canvas man-purse. Hmmm. He continued, “I have been staying at the Negresco, giving a fashion exhibition. And after the exhibition, you know, we give away the clothes! Because we can’t keep them! And now I have to go back to Rome. Would you like free clothes?” Hm. Milano, he claims, but then he says “go back” to Rome? Milan and Rome are not exactly close to each other. In Nice he’d been at the Negresco? That’s only a couple kilometers from the airport, what was he doing on the opposite side of Nice, and what on earth had been the original story about the railway station? Plus, an international fashion director who doesn’t speak French, only English and Italian? Yeah right. I smelled a rat. Ever the curious cat, I pretended to be interested, just to see where his scam went. There was no one else on the street, it was my own street, the shop behind me is owned by someone who knows me, and I was safely ensconced between two parked cars on his passenger side; even at the worst, he couldn’t open the door and nab me.

He once again brought up my nationality. “You’re really American! Wow!” Idiot, I thought, you take me for a tourist who won’t see through your bullshit story and who wouldn’t know who to contact before it’s too late. “Would you like a leather jacket?” Oh, sure, I pretended. He flashed his plasticised “business card”, his thumb placed directly over the company name, then showed me photos of models wearing crappy box-cut leather jackets. “I give you this one, all right? But, I explain you my problem!” Ah, we finally get to the point, I thought. He continued: “So, haha, you know what it is like, you go to the casino, you gamble, and, eh, you lose. Five thousand euros I lost yesterday! Ah!” Uh-huh, sure. He went on, “and so, my problem is I have no gas to get to the airport and no money to pay for it. I’m very happy to give you a leather jacket!” as he set a cheap, no-name plastic bag on the passenger seat, then added, “I just need some money for gas.” “There’s a gas station a kilometer down the street,” I said matter-of-factly. “Yes, but, I have no money to pay for it! Haha! I lose everything yesterday! Five thousand euros, can you imagine!” “Yeah, that was irresponsible of you, wasn’t it,” I backed off. “You have no money you can give me? But I give you free leather jacket! Not even a few euro to get to airport?” he insisted. “No! Ciao ciao!” I walked off.

I called the city police as soon as I was home, two minutes later. However, the city police told me that they don’t handle scams like this; the national police (gendarmes) do, so I phoned them. The officer asked me to describe the scam, and if I had the guy’s license plate. Unfortunately I hadn’t thought to memorize it, but I did know which rental company his car was from, and what kind of car he was driving. Normally it’s the license plate that matters, but when I told the gendarme that the guy was still driving around my part of the city, the gendarme took what I had for a description and thanked me.

If you are approached by someone telling a story like this, do not give them any money. Even if it were true, someone who works for a company and who’s on a business trip, would be able to contact their management and get emergency funds. (Or, y’know, he could have sold his leather jackets, if it were true he didn’t need them and so urgently needed cash.) Besides that, if someone is so foolish and irresponsible as to blow everything they have at a casino, including their gas money, well, quite frankly, they can walk to the airport, for all I care. Take down their license plate number, but don’t make a scene of it, and phone the French national police once you’re somewhere secure. Scams and rackets here can and do get violent, there’s no point risking your personal safety. That’s precisely why I checked that the guy didn’t have associates somewhere, that there was at least one witness who knew me, and, obviously, I was on my own street. Anywhere else, I would have just walked away.

This morning, Nice woke up to snow, for the first time since January 2005. I remember where I was those five years ago: in a run-down furnished hotel room, where I’d been since having ended the relationship with my ex of six years, who had taken everything. The lease on our apartment had been in his name only; according to him at the time, it was “easier”. The car was in his name too, so it was also “easier” for him to put everything in it and leave me with just my clothes, even giving away my cat, Malo, at Christmas after telling me I could come take care of him during my ex’s vacation. Furthermore, as a freelance translator at the time, his taking my computer effectively meant I was without a livelihood. And since I was a foreigner, in addition to being a freelancer, landlords did not want to rent to me.

Family chipped in to help me purchase a laptop so that I could get back to earning money. I found the cheap furnished hotel that offered long-term stays (these types of hotels are called meublés here). And three months after that snow, I got an email from two men — fellow freelance translators — who would soon become my landlords, mentioning they were readers of my blog and they had an apartment free to rent. In a joyous coincidence, Malo was returned to me at the same time, since his recipient had had enough of his fur. Six months after that, I was offered a job. With an income that bankers could verify as regular on paper, I was finally able to purchase an apartment a year and a half ago. Slowly but surely, I built a new life.

I was surprised by the strong memories that seeing snow outside my patio evoked. Five years ago, seeing the snow at such a dark time in my life felt cold and hopeless. Seeing the snow today cued those feelings, even while I felt happy to see plants and my patio roof covered in white. I realized how far I’ve come; the cold weather is merely cold weather now. My life is filled with wonderful colleagues, dear friends, fluffy kitties who are always waiting impatiently for me at the door, and of course a home of my own. I hadn’t thought of those difficult times in a while, my life being filled with, well, life now!

Juhannuspäivää is the name Finland gives to midsummer. On midsummer day, Finland and the Scandinavian countries have huge communal parties that are immense fun, and so on 21 June I always have warm thoughts of Helsinginkeskus (Helsinki city center) overtaken by youths in graduation sailor caps, dressed in overalls and, well, drinking. Lots of drinking. For at least 24 hours straight.

This is my patio as it looked a few moments ago. In a month or two I’ll finally get my tax refund and have paid off the majority of the non-mortgage loans I had to take out in order to furnish my apartment last year. (My previous apartment was a furnished rental, so I had practically no furniture of my own and, especially, no appliances.) To pre-celebrate, yesterday I got myself something I’ve wanted for the longest time: a deck chair! It’s a solid oak frame, sold by Habitat and on sale once a year — which happens to be now. Once the tax refund has well and truly arrived, my next purchase will be a small oven, since I’m going mad without one. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a gluten (wheat, oats, etc.) and casein (all animal milks) intolerance, which means I can’t just order out for pizza, for example, and nor can I buy regular pies and cakes. Gluten- and casein-free baked goods are sold frozen and require an oven to cook them. Homemade pizza, freshly-baked lemon and apple pies… I can hardly wait.

Meanwhile I’m making do with delicious market finds. Today there were vegetables grown in Nice for sale, so I got some courgettes trompettes (flower zucchini) and an aubergine. I also got a type of melon I’ve always wanted to try, called le puits d’amour, “the love well”. Last week I tried a Charentais Carlencas melon, which was the most divinely delicious melon I have ever had the pleasure to savour.

I do have an update on my mentally ill, abusive neighbor: a few months ago she once again put crap (literal crap) on my patio and screamed at me, so I called the cops on her. Three VERY large gendarmes (national police, not local) took statements from another neighbor, myself, and the culprit. Two of the policemen had a private chat with her. When they returned they were visibly unnerved and said she was clearly off her rocker and among the most abusive people they’d had to deal with. The good news is, whatever they said to her had a strong effect: ever since, she hasn’t dared to speak to me, much less touch my patio (apart from some benign things like broken pens and paintbrushes). It has been wonderful to be able to use my patio. I do still keep a close eye on the kitties, of course. Her divorce should be final soon, and according to the police, she’ll have to move, since being unemployed (and unemployable in her mental state), she likely won’t be able to afford to buy out her husband’s half to her apartment. We’re all hoping that’s the case.

I also went to the port yesterday, going on foot along the Promenade. Unbeknownst to me, there was a show of cars for the Jean Behra rally, so I was glad I had walked rather than taking the bus.

Nice’s port is lined by colorful buildings and all types of boats can be found there, from cruise ships to NGV (high-speed boats to Corsica) to ostentatious yachts licensed to ports such as Nassau, Cayman Islands and London, to a lineup of school sailboats to small wooden boats painted every color of the rainbow. The two in the closeup here are shown from further away in this picture. I also liked this lavender and bright turquoise boat, as well as the funnily-named M’en bati. In Nice there’s a saying, “m’en bati, sieu Nissart” — “I don’t give a flip, I’m Niçois”, joking with Nice’s strong sense of individuality. Nice was not part of France until 1860, and even that cession was — and still is — strongly debated. Although it’s extremely doubtful that Nice’s inhabitants would ever actually declare their independence, the idea is discussed, and to this nine-year resident’s ears, often seems more like an affirmation of their uniqueness than a true call for secession. (In that sense it is much like Pacific Northwesterners griping about similar issues — see the “Free Cascadia” icon in my sidebar!)

As I mentioned yesterday, I walked to the Russian Orthodox church not far from my place this morning to take some photographs. It was a beautiful day; the church was lovely. You can see all the photos I took of it here. I arrived just before 10am and had a wonderful surprise: the bells started ringing. But they didn’t just ring the time — they played an incredible piece of music that lasted for several minutes! I highly recommend visiting on a Sunday at 10am if you enjoy music, because it was among the most amazing experiences I’ve had. I took a mobile phone video of part of it, but it’s much less impressive than in reality. Do note, however, that you won’t be able to go inside the church on a Sunday morning since they have their services then.

On my way from the church to Nice’s port, I passed our famous hotel, the Negresco, and snapped this picture of it against one of our gorgeous deep blue skies:

A quick catch-up post: a month ago I had the chance to take a helicopter ride over the Bay of Cannes. We had fifteen minutes in a Robinson R44 (four-seater helicopter) and flew to the nearby Îles de Lérins. Six years ago I did something similar in a small plane, where we flew over the Estérel from Cannes airport. That time I got to fly, but not this time, though I did get some gorgeous photos.

One of the photos was of trains along the coast that looked like miniatures from above. Not long afterwards, I found the fun tiltshiftmaker.com and tweaked that photo to truly look like a miniature train scene! I did the same to a train over a stone bridge I shot in Tende two years ago, and to a photo of Nice’s port that I took last autumn. That last photo is the same one I use for the title header here — I love how it turned out.

Tomorrow I’ll be going to the Russian Orthodox cathedral, which isn’t far from my place, and then to Nice’s port to better shoot some small boats whose colors caught my eye last week (I only had my mobile phone at the time).

The photo is unrelated to this post’s subject, but I wanted to share how Grey encourages being petted, and how large his paws are. At five foot eleven (1m80) I’m not a small woman, but next to Grey’s mitts, my hands certainly look it!

I’ve found it interesting to read various “life on a budget” discussions elsewhere, so thought I might share my own penny-saving tips. The biggest one is that I don’t have a car. A bus serves a stop two blocks from my place, and one block from our offices. That costs just €30 a month, and I spend another €10/month for the tram, for a grand total of €40/month. Beyond those set costs, I can go by bus, train or plane to pretty much anywhere from Nice. I also don’t have a television. Now, before anyone scoffs “another anti-TV person argh”, please realize that it costs about 120 euros a year just to watch regular French public television, due to the redevance audiovisuelle, and that’s for only six channels. Cable and satellite are extra, of course. I would much rather save that money, not to mention the cost of a TV, and use it to buy the series and movies I really like on DVD. Then I can watch them on my PC when I want, as many times as I want, and without advertisements.

As internet and phone go, I haven’t had a true land line since 1997, when I was a student in Lyon. In Helsinki in 1998, mobile phone subscriptions were dirt cheap, and with friends who worked at Nokia, I had free loan phones. Once in France, I started out with prepaid phone cards, but a few years ago the validity of cheaper cards was cut from 3 months to just 15 days, or one month at most. I shopped around and found a cheap subscription for 7 euros a month that gave me 10 minutes for free; I upgraded last month and now pay €10/month for 20 free minutes and unlimited free SMS, although no free data. That’s all right though, since I have uncapped ADSL for €30 a month, with unlimited free VoIP calls to pretty much anywhere in the world.

As for utilities, in France there still isn’t much choice. I go through EDF (privatized in 2007) since it’s less bad than its competitors. I use CFL bulbs, an A++ class washer (1 kWh per load) and refrigerator-freezer (less than 1 kWh per day), and dry my clothes outside. My telephone is Eco DECT (60% less power consumption than regular phones), I built my computer with just the basics so it only needs a 250-watt power supply, and I have an electric cooktop and 1.8 kW water heater. All told I only pay €30 a month for electricity. Water and heating are centralized through my apartment building and average out to €50 a month.

I pick up free, abandoned furniture: two nice chairs and a set of wood trestles to date. Other furniture is either secondhand or Ikea, with a few pieces from sales at Habitat.

Sales in France are on dates that are set by decree: Google dates soldes france. Winter sales are usually in early January through mid-February, with summer sales at the end of June through July. Stores have other, smaller sales too, so it’s good to keep an eye out for when they come.

Groceries are more complicated since I have a gluten and casein intolerance — I can’t eat wheat/barley/oats (think pasta and bread) nor any animal milk products. Generally I get 5-kilo (11-pound) bags of jasmine rice from the local Asian supermarket (Promo Asie in Nice), which last me about a month. I spend a grand total of €5 a week at market for potatoes, fruits, aubergine (eggplant), onions, and one or two other vegetables. I don’t think I’ve ever reached €10 at a marché. And the produce is delicious! I dice the veggies and freeze them to use all week with rice, and for breakfast I eat gluten-free muesli with soy milk, since I use a lot of energy while mountain biking in the forests during mornings.

Which brings up a good point: although my GT mountain bike was expensive at 1800 euros (I got it on sale — the original price was 2500!), I’ve had it for three years now, riding at least 30 kilometers a week, and have only had to pay €50 total for repairs since buying it. Other people who spent half as much on their mountain bikes and ride less than me have spent much, much more in repairs, and most have had to buy new bikes in that same amount of time. Meanwhile mine is still running beautifully.

The kitties get high-quality “carnivore” food such as Orijen. It costs a bit more, but they eat less of it than foods with grains (which cats are not meant to eat in large quantities, since they’re obligate carnivores), and they’re so much healthier that I feel badly for not having done the same for Malo. I’ll get 7-kilo bags and have them delivered, which is actually cheaper than going to the store to buy the smaller, more widespread 2.5-kilo bags. I also try to avoid fish-based foods, mainly because there are so few fish left in the seas nowadays.