All I remember is climbing a tightly enclosed wood-walled staircase at one end of the building up a few floors, and then on the third floor at near the middle of the landing was a door and behind it was a room with two beds that accommodated the pitch of the roof so that you had to lean down over by the outer wall. Inside the hostel everything was gray and woody and kind of cheap looking and everyone was younger and louder and blissfully free. In the room though, once the door was closed, it was quiet. The price was right, and the hostel was about three blocks from the beach. I don’t remember much else about it- a kitchen, or room accoutrements, or what the communal bathroom looked like. It was also gray outside while we were there, and despite the fact it was late spring, the sky carried its own extra coolness and dampness to us.

At some point midday, later in the afternoon, we made our way to the beach, but it was more like a lazy bank of sandy gravel opening to the sea. We were in shorts and the sky was spitting, so our legs were moist and we were cold and we did not stay on the beach very long- which was okay, because no one else was on the beach. The allure of the seaside destination was absent those days. There were kids and nice small quaint yards before homes on our walk to and from the sea, but the waterfront itself was bland and unimpressive and chilly and gray.

I’m sure we had a conversations something like this:

“Hey- we’re in Nice!”

“Yeah!”

“It sure is nice in Nice.”

“Good one. That’s fresh.”

“Yeah. I try.”

“What do we do now?”

“Let’s go to the beach.”

“Okay- where is it?”

[Asking some kid.]

“It’s down the road that way a few blocks.”

“Cool- let’s do it!”

…

“Here it is.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Well, it’s kinda cold. And rainy.”

Looking at the drab sky out over the distant sea.

“Yeah- it is.”

Goosebumps on legs from cold.

“The beach!”

Sitting in quiet.

“There’s no one here.”

“Yeah- you ready to go?”

“Yeah.”