Nice, France (Aug. 5, 2006) -- The list is long -- so I'll spare you -- of the ideas that French people have in their heads about any number of things that one might find frustrating, but the idea for a topless beach is out of this world.
Granted, I'm not certain that they invented this, but they certainly embrace it.
And you may ask yourself, as you sit on a beach in St. Tropez with a Cuban cigar in one hand and a beer in the other, what is the big deal? It's only the human
body.
Ah, the French Riviera, that snobby cousin of the Redneck Rivera. What surprised me about this riviera was the geography; huge green mountains with red rock formations breaking through the soil. The calm water laps lazily. The villas are painted shades of orange and yellow. It makes for a colorful train ride.
All cities have the reputation they deserve. Detroit, for example. Nice and St. Tropez support this belief. Nice, the sixth or seventh largest city in France after a bunch of others that are hard to pronounce, bills itself as a mini Paris. I wish Paris had palm trees and this kind of weather. And they have a Mexican restaurant here and a posh casino where hicks from Kentucky go to play 20 euro hands of blackjack. If you're wondering, I didn't win much, but I did memorize the French numbers from 15 to 21 by heart.
St. Tropez, situated in a bay that must have been quiet before all the rappers and Puff Daddy showed up, has clear water and cloudless skies and huge yachts that you could easily confuse for
cruise ships.
A bartender at a place called the 66 told me that there were about 6,000 people living in St. Tropez in 1995. Now there are around 70,000 in the summer. "It's too much," he said with a shake of the head. He added that he does make a lot more money now.
Hope this email finds you all well and tan and rested.
I'm off for some more Mexican food.
Take care,
Brett
