The Nice Job

First off I would like to let everyone know that blogging is not the easiest thing in the world. Not only do we have the terrible burden of travelling through multiple countries every week; but then we are expected to write about it. This life is anything but easy, so for those of you who have commented on Drew's grammar, I would like you to take a step back and realize that writing about once in a lifetime experiences is far from a simple task. Sometimes it is raw...ipso facto, so is the grammar.

...................We arrived in Nice, France on a train from Milano Centrale relatively late in the afternoon. Alex and Garrett left the hostel finding up to Drew and I, since they had decided to leave early to Paris to meet up with Alex's friend from school (apparently they prefer champagne to one Euro screw-capped Chilean red, our bottle of choice). We found the hostel quite easily after being lost for only 45 minutes. The man who worked the front desk immediately turned off by the fact we were American, and one of us had a serious volume control issue (not naming names). Since Alex was not there to sell us as Canadians, we were forced to deal with this man's freedom-envy.

Either way, we settled in and waited for the boys so we could hit the beach. Unfortunately the beach in Nice is not the type of beach you hit...but rather the type of beach you nearly break your ankles on. It is made up of rocks the size of a softball and is extremely uncomfortable to walk or sleep on. Seeing as how I came to Europe to lay out, my plans were quickly foiled and we needed another source of entertainment. Now what to Garrett and Drew do in this type of situation? What else can you do...rock stacking competition.

We got about all we could've out of this setting and returned to our hostel. The man at the front desk had since warmed up to us and gave us suggestions on where to eat and where to go out. At this point we met our roomates...two Australian girls straight out of high school. While Alex and Garrett brightened up a bit, Drew and I checked our facial hair in the mirror while flex-walking (this is a combination of walking and flexing at the same time). We were actually quite uninterested in our new roomates and more interested in finding food. Garrett asked where we could find "a fat steak and fries." The answer, "We are both vegetarians" was not what we were looking for.

We bid farewell to our new friends and found that steak and fries. It tasted so much better knowing that the cost alone would not allow us to eat the next day. We then made our way to the most touristee bar we could find...Wayne's World. The best part about this place was the 10 dollar beers, closely followed by the tables full of scowling Europeans. I have to say that we Americans were a hit in Nice. After spending all our money for not even enough beer to intoxicate a small child, we trotted back so the boys could catch the early train to Paris.

We awoke the next day on a mission. With the boys gone, Drew and I had some business to take care of...Mo-ped business. Now, if you drive a moped in the US, you park it in between your retainer case and Clay Aiken CDs. But in France, riding a moped is a status symbol...status that we desparately desired. We each rented a scooter from a place across from the train station on recommendation from our friends at the death jump in Interlaken. For the record...we also chose the most ridiculous helmets we could find just to fit in.

We rode along the coastal rode to Monaco which took about an hour. I have to say it was the most fun I have ever had doing something that I was nervous to tell other people about. The Meditteranean views (rapidly approaching corny) were some of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The best part was that, since a moped is always travelling just slow enough to create traffic, everyone else got to share these views with us. Nothing but the sound of the sea and then several car horns and a handful of middle-fingers.

We arrived in Monaco to find that the beach was much nicer than the one in Nice...rather than large rocks or sand, it was composed of small pebbles and the ubiquitous topless European supermodel. This did not interest Drew and I however...all we could do was stare into the sunset.

We sped back to the hostel extremely satisfied. Drew and I then found a supermarket with a special on 26 cent Belgian beer which we naturally took full advantage of. Then, sitting in our room...window open...I heard my name being yelled from outside. I looked out to find my good friend Chuck Flynn, a man entirely too tall and loud to be from anywhere but the American Midwest. I had told him our Nice dates and the hostel name, and he had taken care of the rest.

We had what closely resembled a high school party in our hostel room...replacing natty light with Derheinzenbeerin label and your parents with the hostel manager. He and his travelling partner BJ regailed us with there travel stories while we returned the favor. All that was left to do was to recommend the mopeds and show them the way to Wayne's World. So, what did Drew and I do to finish up Nice, France...hang out with our American buddies in a bar. This trip is all about trying new things.