A Trip to Nice

At first I had no idea what the noise was. I opened my eyes; it was pitch dark and I was snuggled warmly beneath the soft white sheets, suddenly stirring from a most pleasant sleep. Tequila’s fur bristled under my chin where she cuddled dreaming. I groaned. It was the alarm ringing. 4:40am. Jommy & Carol were leaving.

I dragged my exhausted body out of bed, threw on whatever clothes I found on my floor and trampled my way downstairs where they were already packing up. There was hardly another car as we drove to the airport, the moon still shining bright in the sky, the day showing no signs of beginning. It dawned on me as we drove past the sparkling lights of St. Tropez that I would never be ready to go home. Jesse was eager to see his friends and his dog, Carol was excited to see her boys off to college, Jommy ready to return to the real world. I may miss some parts of home, but this is where I’d rather be.

Regardless, I wished my family “bon voyage” in the kiss and fly lane at the airport (I’ve always thought that was a sweet name to call the quick car lane; it’s posted on all of the signs and seems much nicer than drop and go or something) and began my journey home.

The autoroute had slightly more traffic, but mostly I had the four-lane highway to myself. The darkness began to fade. Cruising along with the windows down and radio on, I was delighted to watch the molten red sun rise quickly in my rear-view mirror. There was a slight fog hanging above the land and as I took the curves of the road carefully, I looked up to the jagged mountains lining A8. There, perched precariously above the craggy rocks jutting sharply out of the surface in randomly sized cubes of orange, was a simple clay house with green shudders surrounded by forests of dull olive-colored trees. I smiled. God, this place is beautiful.

But as I drove on, the fog grew thicker and the music stopped. A news program picked up, informing me of the disasters back home. My heart sunk. Living here makes it easy to pretend that bad things don’t happen, the real world doesn’t exist. Listening to the reports of Hurricane Katrina’s damage in New Orleans reminded me that the harsh reality of death and destruction continues despite the golden sun and azure waves of the Riviera. I grew angry; I hate talking politics (only because I find that no one is willing to really listen during a political discussion, people are generally so stuck in their ways and convinced that their opinions and beliefs are absolute and correct) so I hesitate to write about this, but I couldn’t stand it any longer.

What the f---? I don’t get the full scoop of politics while living here; everything is written or spoken from the point of view of Europeans. It’s interesting, but painful. Yes, everyone here hates George Bush. I’m used to that by now. But to hear the rest made me cringe. Have we really sunk this low? Are our parties so divided that we resort to physical threats? That’s embarrassing: the Europeans are mocking us openly. Is it true that even in the case of tragic disaster the two warring sides of Democrats and Republics cannot unite and instead they shift farther apart, pointing blaming fingers at each other in anger? Even natural disasters return to politics nowadays? And is our government and constitution so outdated that it threatens to collapse, that the state and federal organizations blame each other and cannot work properly to help those in need? What is happening? Will the all-powerful, perfectly organized, “patriotic” United States of America fall apart because of warring parties, an obsession with politics and blame, lots of talk/accusations and no action, and perhaps an out-dated system which requires a third party that doesn’t exist? Is our lack of central ground going to tear the nation apart?

The fog grew thicker, dimming out the morning light, as both my mood and the news grew darker. We now were hearing of the war in Iraq. I noticed the density of mist had increased between the mountains, completely hiding the ocean under its rolling blanket of gray. Suddenly, a camouflaged Hummer emerged from the gray clouds to my right. Soldiers were standing up, poking their heads out of windows up top, driving along A8. They were dressed, armed and ready. I passed them quickly only to find another army vehicle with soldiers ahead of me. My heart dropped. These were boys preparing to fight for their country, to follow orders, to give their lives if necessary. Sure, I have no idea where these particular men where headed or what they’d do, but they were soldiers and that demanded a certain respect. I waved to each truck as I passed. Some waved back. Some didn’t bother.

And then I couldn’t see anything. It was like I was trapped, driving through a thick gray tunnel of ephemeral walls. The taillights in front of me were difficult to make out. I drove, slowly, still listening to the radio, eager to get home. It grew lighter. Then, in the middle of the road, I saw a shoe. Then a scrap of metal. Some plastic, torn to smithereens. The break lights flashed intensely. Before I knew it I was stuck in a traffic jam surrounded by the obvious littering of an obliterated vehicle. The fog lifted slightly, revealing a wretched white car smashed to bits and lying upside down. Beside it stood a young man covered in blood, chatting on a cell phone. I sighed with some relief. At least no one died.

As the fog began to dissipate, I looked at the horizon and saw nothing I knew. I’ve driven to that airport countless times and I was lost. Frustrated with the fog, I pulled off the autoroute, paid a whopping 10€ and changed directions – back to St. Tropez, to fantasyland, to a place where time no longer passes you by. It was like magic; I was suddenly driving under a cloudless sky, the sun shining brightly, a beautiful beach day.

An electric sign that usually works as a clock flashed in front of me. “Attention: Prudence! Brouillard!” (Careful! Fog!) I grunted. “Too little, too late, huh?” I asked the tiny black and red ant that had been marching diligently back and forth across the dashboard throughout my whole adventure. It was almost time for breakfast.