I thought I’d share some of the photos I took of this tiny little french village in the northern countryside. We were a five minute walk from Belgium and a half hour drive to Luxembourg. Surprisingly central for what upon first glance seems to be the middle of nowhere.
Holy cannoli it’s been a while, hasn’t it? It seems I wasn’t able to find time between all the eating, drinking, and exploring of the nearby countries of Luxembourg and Belgium while we were staying with some family friends in Northern France. And time to write was ever more scarce during the insufficient five nights we spent in London. There were quite simply too many sights to see, too many museums to visit, too much money to spend, too much tea to drink, and too many things to buy in Camden Town. And only now, after spending two weeks on a farm in Culcheth, an hour or so away from Manchester, it has occurred to me that it would probably be a good idea to actually pretend that I have a blog.
Good work, Katya, good work. That kind dedication is going to get you really far.
Of all the favorite foods I thought I’d be favoring in France, the food I least expected to leave the strongest impression was a fish. That was, until I ate this fish.
The impression it proceeded to leave upon me was unparalleled to that of any fish I have ever eaten before. And this was not only because it was ridiculously delicious, but also because this special meal was served by an accommodating and friendly couple, shared in magnificent company, and we felt as if we were dining upon hidden treasure.
Based on the lack of customers on a Saturday night, I couldn’t help but be surprised this place was still in business. But then again, based on the deliciousness of the food and the friendliness of the proprietors, I couldn’t help but be surprised that there wasn’t a line of people out the door. So as a general consensus, I was surprised concerning all aspects of this business which epitomized the concept of a hidden gem.
As another general consensus, this was seriously one of the best meals of my life thus far. And therefore, it deserves a thorough recounting. An explanation of how we ended up at this inconspicuous african restaurant is in order. Two weeks into our stay in Nice, we met a girl from sweden at school and she invited us to eat delicious fish. Of course, we agreed to go. She had been first introduced to the restaurant by an african guy who had attended the school earlier, and now the recommendation was being taken up by six new people (me and my travel companion, and four other students from the school). That Friday night, now what seems so long ago, was a revolutionary fish and dining experience and I admonished myself for not bringing my camera. I promised myself I would return and take an obscene amount of pictures.
I fear I am on track to becoming an addict.
Just kidding I fear nothing.
What’s blogging consistently anyways? Blogging is for people who actually have time…
Me, I’m busy living the Nice way, lazily, slowly, and carelessly. Rough life, I know. A “nice” way of living if I do say so myself. Here, you never know what the night life entails until it begins. Plans are more loosely made than your favorite pair of oversized sweatpants. And a stroll through the old town usually ends up as rendez-vous with someone you know. It’s fabulously carefree and it’s been consistently astounding how things just seem to work out in the end.
Equally as astounding, is the sun. There is always sun. Well, except at night time obviously, but it’s an incredibly rare moment when the sun isn’t out during the day. I haven’t seen a drop of rain in the past three and a half weeks that I’ve been here. The temperature hasn’t dropped below 55, and is usually at a lovely 60 degrees. For a weather-worn new englander, it’s like living in an alternate universe where beautiful, consistent weather actually exists.
There is no such thing as the best view in Nice because all the views are beautiful.
