Wifi and I have not been good friends throughout Corsica, Spain and Morocco... and thank you to those of you who expressed concern that I may have gotten lost and/or died somewhere in the Sahara.
Why hello, strangers! Remind me what this website is? What all this photo and prose business is for? Where I live? What my name is?
As suggested by my radio silence, Wifi and I have not been good friends throughout Corsica, Spain and Morocco... and thank you (thank you) to those of you who expressed concern that I may have gotten lost and/or died somewhere in the Sahara. But no, there were no phantoms (nor Alexeis) Instagram-ing on my behalf, and I'm very much alive and well in Marrakech - albeit having slightly overdosed on this city's famous orange juice.
And so the backtrack continues: back we go to glorious Nice, which Alex described as everything he wanted Paris to be, and not without reason, if you are yet to read my little Harper's spiel on The Paris Effect. Paris was all of the buzz, sugar and wide-awake excitement it promised to be, but not so much of the charm.
Nice was the charm.
All of it.
Starting with our adorable apartment* and most likely every other piece of real estate in the city.** Every white washed, naturally lit, french windowed, loft bedroomed, balcony tanning apartment dream you've ever Tumbled, Pinned or swooned over is basically embodied in Nice's housing situation. Perhaps, not such a wonder that Parisians are packing up and shipping their well-tailored derrières to this marginally commercialised fragment of the Côte d'Azur. The closest cousin I can think of in Paris would most likely be Montmartre - your 2500€ per square metre of apartment floor there (true story) would surely go much further in Nice, where the sunsets are sweeter, ice-cream is cheaper, and I still felt perfectly comfortable sequined up while unpacking and repacking my suitcase (I'd worn it to an event in Paris the night before, if that's any indication...).
More on that later - for now, I'm running out of socially acceptable time at this little Djemaa El Fna institution, where I may or may not have expired their entire month's worth of internet usage in order to upload these photos for your aesthetic enjoyment.
*for those of you who have been asking, our apartment was literally 500m from Gare de Nice-Ville (a welcome fact after a 6 hour TGV), and about a 20 minute walk from Vieille Ville, Parc du Chåteau and the main Promenade.
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