Adieu Carras, Nice

Aside from the odd immoveable rawlplug, the walls are bare. The cardboard boxes, stacked unevenly like a toddler’s set of blocks, wait for the movers to take them away. After nearly 14 years, I’m saying goodbye to our Nice apartment in the neighbourhood of Carras. But I’m not saying goodbye to all of Nice as we’ll be just up the coast in Menton. I’m imagining regular trips, about 35 minutes by train, to visit friends, go to museums and have boozy lunches with the Nice chapter of the Society of Authors.

So long, Carras. What will I remember of you? The busy streets bustle with cars, motorbikes and a menagerie of people, walking and talking, children skipping. The sea breeze shifts the exhaust smells, blending them with fragrances from the bakery, the pizza bar and the patisseries.

This part of the Promenade des Anglais will stay with me too. Unlike central Nice, replete with tourists and often supporters of football teams (as the city hosts international matches and championships), Carras beach is about local people. Women in abayas and burkinis can be found meters away from the topless French and Italian sunworshippers.

While I won’t miss this little apartment, I will miss the idea that for so long it was a place friends and family could stay. As I’m not a name dropper, I’ll just say that the apartment has been a creative getaway for writers and artists. I suspect I’ll feel this sense of connection with those who stayed here for years to come even if we have lost contact.

I wrote last week about a sense of place in literature. Now I’m thinking about a sense of place in one’s life. Carras has been a place in the background perhaps because it’s been a second home and the scenery to my learning about living in France. Carras has been there but hasn’t defined me or shaped my identity – an acquaintance as opposed to a friend to which I whisper a simple adieu.