We found a temporary parking space in Old Town and thought it be best to walk to find our apartment since so many of the narrow streets are only for pedestrians.   I could feel the joy rise up as we snaked through the locals mixed with tourists.

Each shop full of rich character and I wanted to unrealistically spend time in each one.  We struggled to find our building and stopped into an incense shop out of desperation to ask for help.  The shopkeeper walked us around the corner and pointed to our door.  We never would have found it without his help.  The street names are written on the sides of the building and our street name was covered by scaffolding.  We had our set of keys that were mailed to us by the owner.  The location was exactly what I had hoped for.  The door leading to our apartment was nestled between a fabric shop selling aprons, tea pots and tea cups, and a restaurant called McMahon’s.  Also, we were across the sidewalk from a jewelry store, a Turkish restaurant, and around the corner from a bakery and a gelaterie–all within a compact 20 steps!.  The quiet hustle and bustle of people and silverware hitting the plates of the outdoor diners hinted at the liveliness we would experience through our windows at night.  I felt a lump in my throat, suddenly missing my mom.  She would love the little shops, she would share in my appreciation of Old Town.

We stood at the door, two keys in hand, but no key hole.  We chuckled at being so close.  All twelve hands feeling along the door, pushing on a gold plated square, but nothing–no hole, no flap to lift to find a hole.  We looked behind us to find the shopkeeper of the jewelry store, a tall black man that had a relaxed French Riviera look to him, smiling.  He told us to wave, what we thought to be the key chain, in front of the gold metal plate and push the door.  And so we were in, climbing the 72 steps through a wide, unkept hall, each flight looking out the window to see into the building across the street.

 

We had such fond memories of our 2011 visit to Nice, and although we did not want to fall into the trap of trying to repeat the magic of this city, it inadvertently was created, effortlessly.

The girls stayed back while Den and I went to hunt down a parking structure that we used on our last stop here.  Luckily it was just a block away…..so we remembered.  We walked up and down the way for 45 minutes, completely puzzled.  In place of a huge parking structure was now a beautiful park, six blocks long.  Our jaws dropped, it was going to be a good week for Raleigh!

Our temporary parking became our permanent parking.  We had to lug our bags several blocks, but most embarrassing for the girls is that our parking was under the  most famous street in Old Town.  The  Saleya Market turns into outdoor dining in the evening and the only exit from the parking was right in the middle of it.  Yep, we had to schlep our gear through the hundreds of fine diners.  The three girls are very aware that they all look alike, and they get many stares and comments.  When you put us all in a line, with similar backpacks and similar stuffed animals in tow, it’s just a sight that people gawk at and then the “audience” is always extra surprised after the “triplet” shock that there is a little baby bear following behind with his own little backpack.  I tell the girls to just smile at the people, but when you’re 16 it doesn’t seem that easy.

First on the agenda after getting bags to the apartment was the beach, we have to get to the beach!

The sun was nearly setting, we hustled through the crowds, past the fine diners, across the promenade, and there it was, our beach!  I was so excited to take pics of the girls.  Oh brother, do you think they would let me?  They were so giddy and goofy, I was lucky to get the above shot on our way to the beach.  To mothers of young children, taking pictures doesn’t get any easier as the children get older.  Me, following them around, yelling, “Girls, turn around, girls, I want to take your picture, hey guys, smile, girls, do this, girls look out to the ocean.” Evidence below that I gave up, they won.

 

What I love about Nice is that there is always somebody on the beach, early morning or late at night and usually somebody in the water.

LOVE THIS TOWN!