Not so Nice

---

**Some character names have been changed in this story to protect their identity. In fact, some of their identities have been slightly changed as well to make it more interesting. But the rest is entirely true. Mostly. **

I was enjoying a pleasant breakfast in a youth hostel in Nice yesterday - the breakfast was fairly ordinary but the company was wonderful. I was with a gorgeous young Brazilian seamstress I'd met a few days earlier called Julieta, a jewel from South America. Breakfast was OK, but there was a small challenge between me and six Frenchmen to get the last bowl of sugar puffs. Little did I know it wouldn't be the last time I would be surrounded by six vulturous frenchmen all wanting something I had...

Julieta and I were disappointed with the rain and planned to head to the cinemas for the afternoon, taking under our wing a young man name 'Hans' from Poland. I had been hanging out with Hans for a few days now, great company, a man living on the edge, blowing with the wind, drifting with the breeze. Also a self-proclaimed crazy, which should have been a clue for what he'd do later. I never picked up on it. We stopped off in the supermarket, bought some cheese and a baguette for lunch, then headed for the tram.

We got to the station as a tram approached and had only seconds to buy passes before the tram would leave. "Don't worry, I have a few spare tickets" said Julieta, in broken but beautiful English. What a woman; organized, beautiful, and an expert with any kind of fabric. We jumped on the tram as the doors closed, carefree, relaxed... perhaps a bit of love in the crisp French air. A few stops later, six or seven burly-armed transport policemen got on board right next to us. The tram stopped, the doors opened, and the guards looked straight at us - "Billets s'il vous plait" they said to us alone, picking on the obvious tourists. (Even though I was clearly holding a fresh baguette in my hand - unbelievable I know).

I wasn't worried at this point, I turned to the seamstress and watched her searching her handbag for her spare tickets. Somewhat frantically I noticed. It appeared she could only find one. Now, I was beginning to worry. Everyone has a character flaw or two - mine is that I panic when I don't have a ticket on public transport. (Also, I don't floss very often). I had to think quickly. There were signs everywhere detailing the penalty for anyone stupid enough not to buy a ticket. The actual amount you get fined is irrelevant to this story - for some it might not seem much, for some, a walletful. For some, say, people travelling on a shoestring budget towards the end of their trip around Europe, it could only be described as unjustifiably ridiculous.

"Do you have the tickets," I asked her, as casually as I could. She started muttering in Portuguese. This was a bad sign, but boy, did she sound so exotically glorious.

When she was approached by the guard, she fluttered her eyelashes, showed her sole ticket and the trademark smile of a femme fatale. He blushed and validated it for her (!) and began to explain in English that she should try to remember to validate it next time. He would turn to me soon.

We were in trouble... I looked to Hans, he was speaking to the guards in confused Polish, even though his English and French were close to perfect. Clever move, the rascal. I decided now was probably the best time to leave the tram and forget I had anything to do with it. I stood up and as casually as I could I put my hands in my pockets and stepped off the tram into sure freedom. But for some reason my mind flashed back to Hans. Loveable Hans. He'd made me dinner on my first night in the hostel. He'd played basketball with me when no one else would (dare). Such a crazy guy. All alone, with the tram guards, about to be slapped with the astronomical fine for certain. Maybe I could help him out, maybe we could play ignorant together. I could have run... but something was holding me back.

It turned out to be a ticket inspector.

By now, the whole tram was waiting for this ordeal to finish... the driver had stopped completely and everyone was watching us. The seamstress meanwhile had found a spare ticket and passed it to me, but this didn't go down well at all. For one thing, it wasn't validated. For another, they saw through such a cheap trick. I looked to Hans and in his eyes was a kind of lunacy I'd never seen in him before. He smiled a daring kind of maniacal grin. He was surrounded by three train guards, so was I. In his eyes was a kind of kamikaze eagerness. He said to me Wydaje mi sie ze spoko z ciebie gosc, ale ja stad spadam! and then like a flash of Polish lightening - he broke through the three guards and burst out the door, disappearing into the wet streets of Nice.

Incidentally, I knew exactly what the Polish phrase meant... it meant "You seem like a nice guy, but I'm outta here". A few Polish girls had said it to me in various nightclubs around Poland.

I was stuck with six guards who had turned pretty nasty by now. They were furious that Hans had escaped, and they weren't taking any chances with me.

Ou est votre identification!? They demanded.

Mon Dieu, I was in trouble.

I stuck with my line: I don't speak any French. (Lies)

Passeporte - ID, they said. I explained my passport and driver's license were at the hostel (partly true) but I didn't want to hand over anything just yet. Maybe I could get out of this one.

They pulled me off the tram, and roughly surrounded me at the station. As I was leaving, I looked into Julieta's desperate eyes and said "Wait for me at La Place de Massena. I will come for you." A Brazilian beauty, it broke my heart to leave her.

I tried to keep cool with the guards. "I HAVE a ticket - does anyone speak English, this is ridiculous" - I showed them the one the girl had passed me. I took a bite out of my baguette, tried to act casual, but I could hardly chew it. It stuck in my throat like scrunched up sandpaper. This wasn't very pleasant any more. One of them snorted, took my ticket off me and crumpled it, stashing it in his pocket.

"Not your ticket." None of them really spoke English, but they were all talking to me in French, crowding me, confusing me, worrying me. It was entirely intimidating.

Meanwhile, another of them questioned me in French. "You understand French, don't you?" - no. "Yes you do, don't you?" - no. "I can tell you understand. Listen to me, if you don't give us this ludicrous amount of Euros right now we're gonna call the police. You can either pay the money right now, or sleep tonight in prison. Do you understand this, you little maggot brain?"

When he said this, a few thoughts went through my head. Why was he calling me maggot brain? He must have been the bad cop. How did he know I understood him? It must have been the comfort and ease with which I carried the baguette. Or maybe it was the designer stubble I have almost managed to grow over the past month. Also, I wondered: did I want to go to jail? Pros: Free night of accommodation, pretty interesting story, might teach me a thing or two about the world.

Cons: It is jail.

I argued for a while about how I actually had a ticket, until one of them explained in simple English: "You pay, or we call the police. Will you pay? Yes or No."
"I have a ticket"
"Will you pay? YES OR NO!"

With a mouthful of unchewed baguette in my mouth I said no. They called the police. They had seen through my bluff. I was hoping they'd just let me go when I said I wouldn't pay. No such luck.

The reason I was so adamantly refusing to pay was because of how ridiculous the whole situation was. I had a ticket. Sure, it was an old one, but it was fine. Also, I had no money to spare. I think after Hans escaped I had no chance in winning this one.

Like I said, I have been travelling on a shoestring, living off free entry to museums, the grungiest accommodation known to mankind, and a little delicacy I like to call banana sandwiches. I had to do everything possible to avoid this fine. It was a dagger in my nervous heart.

I listened in as the guy radioed the police, heard that they were on their way, then decided this was something I would prefer to avoid. I reluctantly pulled the equivalent value of 400 banana sandwiches in Euros from my wallet, handed it to the guard, and slunk away. In despair, I headed to La Place de Massena, to find my Julieta, my beacon of hope. My love, my light, the one girl who would stick by me no matter what.

It turned out she had abandoned me just as Hans had. Defeated, cold, and miserable, I sat in the dry, arching shelters among the homeless and tried to eat the rest of my baguette.

I never saw Julieta again.

****

The moral of this story is: if you ever get caught without a ticket, always run.

Also, as beautiful as seamstresses from Brazil might seem, they can't really be trusted.

And it's probably worth buying tram tickets in Nice.

And if anyone is interested in the recipe for banana sandwiches I am happy to send it on.

I still really like France though, especially this Southern area.

---

Photos

Museum of Perfume, Grasse
Grasse is the town where the novel Perfume was set. These flowers were beautiful, they're lilacs, right?

View from Eze
From the top of the Exotic Cactus Gardens at the top.

Walk of Fame, Cannes
Another of my infamous tributes to Clint Eastwood and Gran Turino.

Cactus in Eze
I had cactus flavoured ice-cream here.

Juliet's Balcony
Perhaps like all these other people, I headed to Verona in search of my Juliet. Who'd have thought I'd find her in Nice, and that she'd betray me so.

Comments

[Tombo]

Hmmmmm
Very different. Great advice to other travelers at the end of the 'story'. I must say i loved the Good train guard/ Bad train guard part. 'Maggot brain' genius.. One week left YYYAAAAAHHHHOOOOOOOOO

[Dani]

You've changed...
...since when do you spell gaol like an American? Haven't you been living in Britain? And perhaps, just maybe, (call me crazy), the reason they knew you were playing the old dumb-tourist card was because they were questioning you in French and you were responding in English? Just a thought. I could be totally out of line. As for your oral hygiene issues...at least you're not a heinously obsessive over-analyser like a friend of mine. A touch of gingivitis - you think you've got issues!

[Julius Caesar]

The good, the bad and oliver.
Ol, Liking the touch of romance, you keep listening to old Jules and you'll do fine. One little comment though. If you were really committed to Ol' Clint you would have probably approached the situation slightly differently. Clint wouldn't have given into those filthy, money hungry pigs. If I know Clint Eastwood at all, he would have made sure every day of those guards lives was a living hell and he certainly wouldnt have lost the love of his life either... or just a brazillian babe. To be honest he wouldnt really be riding a tram anyway, a train maybe but a horse is generally his prefered mode of transport. If I were to tweak the story just slightly I would write it a little like this. 'I knew they weren't bluffing, who was I fooling, the sheriff and his men would be here any minute. It was me or the guards and I wasnt planning on throwing in the towel any time soon, at least not until I had my hands on that bounty. I reached my hand into my pocket, them thinking I was finally going to give them their dirty little bonus. With their supposed victory now so close, they relaxed, ever so slightly, but just enough to make my move. Out came my 6 shooter faster than the western express and before you could blink an eye, all five of them were pushin' daisies. With five bodies on my hands I made like a bird and flew and by sundown I was already on my way, heading west into blackfoot country where my destiny awaited.' Thats how I woulda done it. Anyway another great entry.

[Eddie]

*cough* plagiarism *cough*
Brazilian Seamstress ay? How original..... tut tut tut

[MGD]

... some improvement noted
O - not a bad entry, certainly an improvement on the others, though not sure about the originality of the Brazilian Seamstress as a character and I believe the true meaning of your Polish quote/ comment is actually "would you like mustard or tomato sauce with your hot dog". I await with interest the verdict from King Dulal as I think that Julio went easy on you

[CJH]

The flowers over the doorway in Grasse are Wisteria. Beautiful town.

[Gary]

horticulturally challenged
My knowledge of plants would fit on the smallest of postage stamps available but I think the lovely flowers are actually belonging to a wisteria...... Unfortunately the magnificent specimen that used to adorn our back yard is dead - justice, no doubt, for running away to Australia for a year and leaving it's welfare to the unknown hands of others (bless them). Another good blog entry but I'm disappointed by the ending! For a while there I really thought you were going to be telling us of your experiences in a french jail. Now that would have rounded off your travels wonderfully (and I can just imagine the look on your mum's face)! Safe journeys. Gary

[Scott]

Guest user
Nice one Ol, I translated Hans's Polish and apparently it means "I's cool with you guest user, but i flocks spadam". Apparently he thinks you're a bit of a rookie...

[Dul-ah]

Dont think you can hide sunshine
Ollieeee, I know you checked in to this travelblog on 21st July 2009 (6th sense). So dont even think about trying it. Let me know how things are and any luck with Rosemary or has she disappeared like the temptress or seamstress. Whats the weather like, its been really hot here, about 20 degrees, Also I read about the nullerator or nuberator or something like that which is Never Eat Shredded, WEST of australia and apparantly its really scarce there and dead and dry and empty. I was reading about it, this guy from London has decided he wants to set the world record for the fastest circumnavigation of the globe and I was reading about it in his blog - www.whereintheworldisjames.com Anyway, keep it real, later.

[Fi Fi Carvill]

Does Ollie Have Tickets ON Himself
Well Oliver, this is so you very interesting with you usual dose of sardonic wit and irony! It also leaves you wondering Is it true? As when you speak with this author the truth is out there ,somewhere! Thanks all the same I did enjoy this blog and look forward to more of the same. Au Revoir mon Ami