Finally we landed in Nice and a ragged, exasperated cheer went up. Everyone filed off, ignoring the staff again and we rattled through the baggage collection. Delphine was there to meet me and it was nice to see a smiling face for the first time in far too many hours. The last time I’d seen her was in Darwin a few months previous. Time flies!

With little further ado, we drove back to her parents’ flat where I pretended I could understand French. I dropped my stuff, had a shower and we went for a walk along the Promenade Anglais to see the sights. The beach here is all pebbly which makes for uncomfortable walking, but great noises as the sea moves back and forth across it.

Despite the heat, we walked west to a hill atop which is a waterfall and a good view of a harbour with too many posh yachts in it. We wandered around an “Israeli” (read “Jewish”) cemetary with some touching monuments including a bowl made from the fat of human bodies retrieved from Auschwitz (if I read the plaque correctly). Grisly, but a reminder and it’s in the right place.

Back downhill in town we tried a local speciality for lunch – socca. This is essentially a type of doughy pancake and is rather filling if a little plain. Expect to pay 2 Euro or thereabouts for a plateful. After a quick shop in a supermarket for drinks and fizzy cola bottles we walked back along the promenade to the flat where I flaked out for about 5 hours. It’s a good job the French eat quite late in an evening as it meant I didn’t miss dinner.

During the meal, we watched a 1973 Carry-On style French comedy set during the war. It’s incredible how some stuff just doesn’t need to be translated to be understood. We chatted as much as I was able with Delphine and her father being the only two real bilinguals at the table.

I then overused Delphine’s internet before collapsing in bed. Despite the nap earlier I was still dead beat.