A Nice Fling is Hard to Find

5:30 P.M.

5:30 P.M.

Nice is not that nice.

We arrived by train this afternoon. We once again had to divide into rooms of four, but this time the Pennies arranged to stay with Max and Kristin. Wonder why. Anyway, Becca and I bunked with Abby and Joanna. We quickly changed into our bathing suits and met the rest of our group on the “so-called” beach. I write “so-called” because there is no sand. Only rocks. Okay, fine, it’s still pretty gorgeous. The coastline goes on forever and the water is bright emerald. Large, glamorous hotels line the beach and boardwalk. We hung out on a public beach, but right to the left of us was a private club area complete with white beach chairs, fluffy plum-colored towels and bar service.

Because of the rocks, some of the guys had already bought foam mats to put their towels on, so we followed their lead and bought our own from a little shop on the boardwalk.

Then I set myself up – and declined to remove my bikini top, thank you very much. Becca kept hers on as well.

But Abby, and the Pennies? They were on full display.

I enjoyed the sun for an hour, but then felt my skin sizzling and thought I should take a little stroll, broken toe be damned. I walked down the beach, passing cafés and bars and beach clubs and sun umbrellas, and yapping dogs, until I reached path that took me uphill. I walked and walked until I reached the cobblestones of old Nice and a railing that showcased the most incredible view of the beach I have ever seen. And now I’m sitting here, taking it in.

Breathing. Seeing. Riviera-ing. Actually, Nice is nice after all.

You know what I realized? I have three nights left on this trip, and I am not going to spend them being miserable.

So what if I have no camera? I have you, TJ. You’ll always remind me of my trip.

And so what if I have no fling? I have . . . well, I doubt you’re a good kisser.