Mrs SP and I spent last week "en vacance" in the Cote d'Azur and very nice it was too. Our hotel was handily placed just on the edge of Nice's old town (Rue Giofreddo)and within easy walking distance of shops, bars, restaurants and galleries. This is, of course, a double edged sword. By day, very little effort was required to find sensory pleasure. A perfect morning coffee, a stroll along the Promenade des Anglais, a genuine salade nicoise, a potter in the quaint boutiques and a cold "pression" in the late afternoon were to be had without the need for too much engagement of the brain. At night, however, restful sleep was at a premium. Slumber was interrupted by the usual street level din at which our European city-dwelling cousins excell. It wasn't quite on the richter scale of Paris or Rome, but it was still a racket.
That old euro-favourite, 3am refuse collection, was much to the fore, but this was supplemented by a procession of over-refreshed party animals and what sounded like at least two attempted murders. We would have been oblivious to all this if we had been there this week, by which time the hotel's air-conditioning would have been switched on and we could have slept with our window closed. As it was, it was too hot to close the window and we were doomed to listen to the night sounds and snatch short bursts of poor quality sleep. Still, we had no urgent appointments in the morning, so it didn't really matter.
We had good and bad food experiences. Our worst was at La Petite Maison. Our trip more or less coincided with our wedding anniversary so we thought we'd try somewhere a little bit special. La Petite Maison was much praised in our guide book and it looked lovely (we checked it out before we booked). We had asked for a table inside to avoid the cooler evening breezes and the ubiquitous smokers intent on slow lingering death. It seems that absolutely everyone in France smokes, shrugging and gesticulating away the health messages with the same blend of arrogance and stupidity exhibited everywhere else.
The trouble began at La Petite Maison when we were shown to our table, a small square piece of furniture real estate wedged between larger tables for four in what was clearly a passageway in the middle if the room. There were two other table similarly placed. My immediate requests for a table move triggered insincere and unconvincing mutterings about being full and all other tables being booked. Hadn't we booked? Cue Gallic shrugs and facial expressions which said "tough". The waiter's attitude could not have been better communicated to us if he'd been wearing a teeshirt with "If you don't like it, you can p*** off" emblazoned across it. We should have.
We decided to stay because the room was not yet busy and we though we might be lucky and that the adjacent table might remain free until much later. Bad move. No sooner had we ordered our starters, than the place was flooded by local diners. Lots of cheek kissing and fawning ensued. Glamorous couples and foursomes were shown to the best tables and handed seemingly unordered Kir Royales. We were very quickly joined, literally, by two youngish professional couples. Not only were they joining us for dinner, but they were catching up after a long gap and were determined to brief each other, and us, on all that had happened in their busy and exciting lives. They were unutterably obnoxious and spent the entire meal comparing their wealth, lifestyles, mortgages, share and property portfolios and, in the case if the two guys, penis size (metaphorically of course). All of this at high volume while virtually sitting on our laps. It was excruciating and Mrs SP's initial attempts to see the funny side did not help my mood. Even she eventually decided it was too much when she felt a foreign hand on her knee.
At one point, after I had narrowly avoided taking a bite of the invading elbow hovering above my grilled sole, I politely asked its owner to be a little more careful and to perhaps consider shifting over a little. He was friendly enough and acknowledged our bizarre proximity, but after some platitudes, he stayed resolutely in-situ and continued to talk at ludicrously high volume to his fellow alpha-male sitting two feet from him - which was further away than I was.
The food was actually really nice, but I barely remember what I ate and care even less. We had two courses, no dessert, no coffee and we left no tip. It still cost 160 Euros. A complete rip-off. We couldn't get out fast enough and we made our feelings known to the boss lady on the way out. More shrugging. She might as well have held up her middle finger and said "swivel on that, you tourist sucker". It was thoroughly awful. Don't go there. Unless you are a wealthy local, you will be treated like merde. Since our return, I've looked at reviews of this place on a number of travel and food websites and there is a very consistent theme which confirms that this place is run by arrogant, greedy and complacent owners with no respect for anyone other than their regular clientelle from the Nice glitterati. They deserve to die slowly and painfully for spoiling what should have been a special evening for Mrs P and I.
The following evening, our concierge's advice took us to a place unlisted in any guide book. Again we booked a table inside, although the courtyard looked very attractive and well-served by patio heaters. The experience was the perfect contrast to the previous evening - a friendly welcome from the owner-manager, a table by a window looking onto the courtyard, a convivial ambience and confident attentive staff who actually tried to earn their tips by being very good at their jobs. The food was fantastic and the bill was reasonable. Try La Maison de Marie, just off Rue Massena, if you get the chance. It restored my faith in the French food experience just in time.
Overall, we had a great time and enjoyed our break, although I've decided that European city breaks might no longer feature in my list of holiday favourites. The sun was warm, the sea was blue, the food mostly great and the vibe relaxed, but too many cars, too many people and too much passive smoke can sometimes make you feel as though you're still in Glasgow.