Coup de foudre

While Nice may be a romantic getaway for besotted couples, the only relationship I have in Nice is with my wine collection on the upper shelf in my living room. So if you expected this post to be about love, sorry to disappoint! Nonetheless, I dedicate this post to my "coup de foudre" (and to other extreme Mediterranean weather elements). 

"Coup de foudre". I don't understand why the French named this thrilling phenomenon of love at first sight after the frightning wrath of the gods on a sticky summer night. A coup de foudre, or better known as an ordinary lightning strike, is what befell (and luckily not fell on) me here in Nice on a rainy Sunday night. It struck so closeby that, as it hit, it shook my body, deafened my ears and blinded my eyes. I swear, this bang, it's nothing you've heard (or felt) before, and after that, a long, creeping silence. Result: no electricity, total darkness. Was I in a horror movie?

For a moment, it felt like that. And I swear, ever since that night, I've been scared of thunderstorms, whereas before, I used to be fascinated by them. And clearly karma had a tooth against me: as if one strike wasn't enough, two days later, lightning struck again and left me in the dark in my apartment whilst cooking spaghetti. Was my apartment located in a magnetic field that somehow attracted lightning, or just cursed? Who knows. All I know is, no matter the cause, dumb coincidence or not, I was left without electricity, but worst of all: without internet!

Luckily, the electricity was soon fixed. But the internet? Have a guess... Three bloody weeks. Three weeks without internet, can you even imagine!? Blame it on the French bureaucracy. Because who should you turn to? The agency? The landlord? The internet provider? Of course, one will tell you to ask the other, and so you get sent back and forth without making any progress.

You can imagine the frustration. Especially since, during three weeks, I was condemned to studying and working at the BU, the Bibliothèque Universitaire, where they kicked me out at 7 and thus, in the evenings, (how unfortunate), this kept me from working for school and instead (how unfortunate) forced me to watch Harry Potter movies (thank you L. for saving my life during these dark times). So far my coup de foudre. In hindsight, I would have prefered the romantic version... 

But hey, let's not complain too much about the weather - I can count on both hands the times it rained here. But dear lord, whenever it rained... It poured. And just like the Belgians have this problem whenever it snows, the Niçois can't handle the rain. I just don't get it. Heavy rainfall is an everyday occurance in Belgium and yet we manage to survive, whilst the Niçois, being granted an incredible 300 days of sun each year, are panicking that they're nearly drowning. Despite the fact they might overreact a bit, I do get why they feel like they're drowning: Nice simply can't handle rain. Streets become rivers, squares become pools, rain gutters wild water slides and storm drains look like miniature maelstroms. Kraken!!! 

So guess how Nice reacted to the potential news of tadal waves! Yes, you read it well, mini-tsunamis! Floods! I don't even know why I am so excitied about this... I guess it's because I felt (falsly) invincible living on the second floor?

Let's start with the beginning. The PACA Region established the code orange for possible avalanches, floodings and tidal waves in the entire region. As a response, schools sent their pupils back home, shops closed for the day and traffic was stuck after police closed down the Promande des Anglais to anticipate the upcoming floodings: Nice was preparing for an apocalypse of some sort. In Belgium, we call it rain. 

I, of course, wanted to know what all this excitement was about. So I put on my thickest raincoat and I weathered the storm. As I walked down to the Promenade, I had to push myself forward not to be blown back by the strong winds. On the Promenade, a long line of cars were stuck in the traffic while huge waves hit the Promanade walls. It was kind of a 2012-scene where people flee the country in vain. Palmtrees were blowing in the wind, tranches and benches lay on the ground, and the sky was some 50 shades of grey and even darker. I tried to get as close to the beach as possible, but police spotted me and urged me to leave.

The next day, yesterday, the weather cleared and the sun shone behind a thin veil of clouds, casting a somewhat cloomy atmosphere over the Baie des Anges. After taking my exam in the early morning, I walked down the Promenade to admire the damage. The waves were still violent and inpredictable, but no more mini-tsunamis. So I ventured on the beach, which, by my great surprise, got 2 metres higher than before, and now consist of sand instead of cobbles. I like this new infrastructure, Nice.

I like your child-friendly policy!

Baby showers! #punoftheday

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