Bright memories of a gray day in Nice

There is sorrow in my heart for Nice, France. On July 14, 2016, the actions of one man brought terror and tragedy to this carefree Riviera resort.

My grandson visited Nice nine years ago in July, when he was 16 and on a school trip. He remembered the blue water, the seaside restaurants and the topless swimmers.

On my visit in late March-early April 2016, there was no sun but light rain every day. The water was a wonderful blue, the color and intensity of brilliant sapphires. The beach restaurants all were closed, and there were no topless bathers or bathers of any kind. 

The lovely, swirly-design black-and-white-tiled Place Masséna was dotted with an occasional jogger or dog walker. The city seemed to be resting, gathering its strength for all the summer visitors.

I like traveling off-season. There are fewer tourists. Yes, the weather can be a bit chilly or rainy, but I subscribe to what the Irish say: “There is no bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.”

When traveling with a group, I treasure the times when the guide sets us free. On this particular misty day, we wandered through a small market. I delighted in the towers of fruits and vegetables on display. I stopped to take a picture of baskets of enormous, deep-red strawberries. The vendor laughed at me. As I passed the stand I shared his laugh, as the sign said “Product of Portugal.”

The aromas of baking bread led me to a tiny bakery/sandwich shop. We had been told we could bring a lunch aboard the bus to eat on our way to our next stop. For €6 (near $7), I got a huge sandwich on a freshly baked crusty roll plus a 5-inch-wide cookie and a soda. It was the deal of the day.

As I was leaving the shop, I noticed a lady standing under the awning. In her arms was a large bouquet of bright orange and yellow flowers. On a drizzly gray day, she stood out like a lighthouse beacon.

I asked if I could take her picture and she nodded. It became one of my sweetest memories of Nice — the soft rain, the red strawberries, the smell of bread baking and the demure smile of the lady with the orange flowers.

CAROLYN TAYLOR

Memphis, TN