California Love

Before I came to Nice, Vincent told me that, in his opinion, it must be like the "California of France." I can see it.

Today, I spent two hours at the beach listening to music and reading and dozing off. Then I walked to the Matisse Museum, which was further than I had anticipated -- and the walk there was mostly uphill. The museum was in a lovely park and, since I had walked so far uphill, the view was breathtaking. Old French men played their retirement lawn games and shouted compliments to me (or at me, I'm still not entirely sure). "Vous êtes très belle!" they said between puffs of their cigarettes, which they held between wrinkly and oranged fingers. It was funny.

What I wrote in the museum:
"These brights and brilliants scream Henri, as does my mind. This is the work of no dog, but of a man, a Matisse. To know that Vincent's grandfather was Matisse's hair dresser brings life to these colorful cut-outs and portraits. The photos I see are speaking so romantically to me. I can see Henri dip his straw hat to me as he walks by, no doubt thinking in blue but speaking in yellow. It's a maze of Matisse! This building winds in and out, singing, eating, breathing, bleeding Matisse! Living Matisse.

Bonjour Monsieur Matisse! Bonjour."

Saturday, Vincent and I went to Monaco, which was pretty and extravagant. We walked to the Monte Carlo Casino and two nice American boys gave us their tickets. Apparently, there's a ten euro charge to get in, and they just gave us their tickets so we didn't have to pay. According to my ticket, my name was Christopher Pangburn.

The casino itself was was so baller! Gaudiness to the extreme. The color scheme revolved around gold (duh), teal and mahogany. Everything was adorned, from the carpets to the "Toilettes Dames" sign. And since Monaco is a principality, there is no law against smoking inside so all of the gamblers had cigars and cigarettes, which left an odor of tobacco in the air.

This is what I wrote in the casino:
"Vincent and I sit as high rollers with wrinkled scowls bet their minimum of five euro (but probably more) and goofy tourists with tennis shoes and wide eyes wander the floors trying to look the part. What am I saying? I am one of those tourists here. I'm just sitting on the couch so as to not appear as in awe as I actually am. Smoke billows out of the mouths of men who show no concern for passers. Their eyes are glued to the chips that make that romantic clicking noise. The murmur of the room never rises above the clack-clack of those plastic (or maybe not) chips that are probably worth more than I have in my wallet. WTF MONTE CARLO CASINO!"

My face is hot so I think I might have gotten a little sunburnt today, even though I put sunscreen on so I wouldn't get burnt. Oh well. Dinner time.