Nice is Nice

It was weird to pop down to the French Riviera solely for the Leonard Cohen concert and then split right after. My friend Courtney and I took the train down to Nice early Tuesday morning for the concert that night, and then left for Paris again the next morning. In our excitement about planning for the concert itself, we sort of forgot we were going to the Riviera, a place that holds tons of allure even without a once-in-a-lifetime concert to look forward to. So we were somewhat unprepared for the gorgeous scenery that awaited us — the sun beating down, the palm trees, the beautiful architecture, the unbelievably inviting blue sea beckoning to us — even though we'd both been to the south of France before on earlier trips. We spent a leisurely afternoon before the concert exploring the winding streets of the old town and eating lunch at an outdoor restaurant on the beach, a stone's throw from the water.

Leonard Cohen's performance later that night was part of the Nice Jazz Festival, and it was held on top of a mountain in a crumbling Roman arena (which was actually less dramatic and beautiful than you might expect, but still a nice, comfortable, very pleasant ourdoor venue). The concert itself was downright amazing, and I'll remember those ninety minutes for the rest of my life. In anticipating seeing the 73-year-old Cohen take the stage, I remember something my sister said about recently seeing Patrick Stewart in Macbeth: "I wanted to be close enough to see him, but not close enough to see how old he is these days." I prepared myself to be sad at the sight of Leonard Cohen; I pictured him walking slowly up to the microphone with effort; I imagined his voice weaker than on his records. Instead, the band came out and quickly took their places, the crowd started to go insane, and Mr. Cohen ran out to the microphone. He ran. We were standing a few hundred yards away but I could see the smile on his face. He was wearing the sharpest black suit imaginable, white shirt, black tie (the whole band was black tie) and a black fedora. When he took off the fedora to bow to the crowd, the spotlights made his head of white hair glow like a halo. I couldn't believe how strong and happy he looked; I don't know why I expected him to be so frail; I'm sure part of my mental image was colored by interview clips from recent years where I was surprised to see how much he's aged. So, the band had launched into Dance Me to the End of Love, and Cohen popped down on one knee to take the hand of a woman in the audience and sing directly to her. If I'm still in such a daze about the concert, imagine how she's feeling right now! Anyway, they played for an hour and a half, and the songs from the set that I can remember right off the top of my head were The Future, Suzanne, Hallelujah, Bird on a Wire, Ain't No Cure for Love, So Long Marianne, Tower of Song, Everybody Knows, Closing Time, and a few more I can't remember right now; mostly greatest-hits-type stuff, which suited me just fine. The crowd was composed mostly of French folks, Germans, English, and Americans, and everybody was insane for Mr. Cohen. I would've loved to be a bit closer to the stage, but the sound was incredible nonetheless from where we were standing, and I couldn't believe how strong and rich and unwavering his voice was; even a little stronger than on his records, if that's possible; I thought he honestly sounded excited to be performing, which I suppose is possible after not touring for the last fifteen years or so. He thanked the audience several times in English and in French throughout the set, and he sounded so genuinely happy to be there and genuinely grateful to be so loved by his fans. In Tower of Song, when he got to the line, "I was born like this, I had no choice, I was born with the gift of a golden voice," the crowd burst into cheers and thunderous applause, which doesn't normally happen mid-song like that, you know? That totally gave me a chill and was maybe my favorite moment of the night.

I didn't bring my camera to the concert because I figured there was too great a chance it wouldn't be allowed and it'd get confiscated. So I don't have any photos from the show, but I did take a bunch of photos of Nice in the daytime, which I'll post below...

The Riviera is ridiculously beautiful.
Courtney and I had lunch at this restaurant on the beach. I was too distracted by the topless women endlessly flipping over on their 16-Euro rented beachchairs to hear anything Courtney was saying.


We climbed the stairs of this tower to get to a manmade waterfall a bit higher up; no small feat under the extremely hot sun.
The view from halfway up.
Courtney is standing in the most comfortable place in Nice: in the shade, directly in the path of a breeze carrying a shower of mist from the waterfall.
We're not done climbing steps yet.
The view from the very top.
After the tower and the waterfall, we explored the old town a bit. The bright colors and winding streets reminded me of Southern Spain, and the Greek Isle of Corfu, and Dubrovnik, and even parts of Transylvania, and parts of Rome, and parts of Istanbul...



Early morning before our train back to Paris.



A few apricots for the road.
This chair was in our hostel room. I have no idea what the "NO!" was for. I defiantly (but carefully!) sat down in the chair and it didn't break or electrocute me or anything.

That's all! See ya, Nice!

Did I mention Courtney and I are going to see Tom Waits in Paris tonight???