Points of Interest is the label I am using for pieces which detail my exploration of cool locations I somehow find myself winding up in. Whether it’s for work or a holiday this is the best way for me to appreciate these wonderful places.
This was written in February 2020.
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As I write this I’m sat in Nice’s municipal park. It’s one of those parks on a hill with a slightly excruciating number of steps to climb up (especially if you’re carrying a bag with a laptop) but when you reach the top you really don’t regret it. I’m on a bench after deciding that nothing will stop me from getting my thoughts recorded straight away.
I’m in Nice for a work trip, or rather a work trip that is starting on Monday in Monaco. I decided to catch an early flight to take my time exploring Nice. It’s a beautiful city – being so close to the ocean – the air makes me feel so much calmer. The weather also helps with a lovely breeze amidst the delicate glow of the sunshine.
I started my morning on the beach, my hostel was only 5 minutes away so it was a wonderfully brief walk before catching it in my sights. I decided to spend today taking my sweet-ass time walking amongst the coast. The motivation was choice coupled with my footing being a bit rocky on the pebbles.
I recognised the beach from Driver 3 (stylised as Driv3r) on the PS2 because I used to be chased by the Nice Police (sounds like something from a shit Orwell rip off featuring a totalitarian dystopia) up and down it in the Survival game mode (in which the entire police car squadron came after you, it was amazingly fun chaos). The palm trees are overly familiar since I would weave between them to get the police off my tail who would inevitably crash into them. Even hearing the sirens of the emergency services takes me back to the evenings I spent playing that non-stop – I’m almost certain that I’ll find Timmy Vermicelli (the weird parody of GTA Vice City’s protagonist, Tommy Vercetti) in one of the hidden points of the map. Killing him was the best way to get an M16 quick! Oh and I do recall a Volkswagen Minibus being hidden here somewhere.
When I popped my sunglasses on at the beach, it prompted me to think that there is something inherently contemplative about the ocean – most likely because of the visual. Sitting on the beach, I was reminded of iconic frames and homages of Barton Fink (a particular reference in Fargo Season 3 Episode 3 comes to mind, with Gloria Burgle emulating it) and the crashing of the waves against the rocks creating a clean white foam makes me think of every scene from film and TV which zooms in on this natural drama all at once – overwhelmingly so that I can’t name just one film or TV which does it.
Looking out at the ocean, I kept thinking that I ought to have an epiphany, but nothing really came to mind. However it got me thinking about how it’s the closest thing to a visual representation of pure chaos that one can come up with. No wave is the same. I was sat on the rocks nearby and was trying to anticipate when a wave would be violent enough to get further than the previous one, but I couldn’t. Waves impacting waves impacting waves to make new waves.
I remembered how I always used to contemplate if I was going to ever meet the same particle of water again in my lifetime. One that I drunk, washed my hands with or saw at the ocean. It’s strange – it’s a hyperextension of this childish habit of personified sentimentality with inanimate objects. You have a book or a pencil you’ve had since you were little and when you find it again when cleaning your room for the first time in 10 years you say “Hello old friend”. I do that, but I also used to think about it with water. Of course, now I know that the odds are impossibly slim and that the amount of water ‘drops’ in the world are unfathomable. But it’s one of those weird ‘romance of being reunited’ beliefs which we always like to imagine happening in life. I don’t know, it does sound fucking dumb writing it down.
Anyways, en marche! I made my way along the coast – spilled a glass of Coke at a restaurant whilst eating mussels and fries. I wandered up the winding road and got to boulevard Mont Boron but was unpleasantly surprised that there wasn’t a specific landmark – just beautiful houses that I would love to live in one day. It might just be because I’m on top of a big hill (or because I’m just not in London anymore) – but the air here is so much nicer. The sun setting this high makes it so much more wonderful too. And as I sit in the park with a patchy, high view of Nice slowly fading into night I feel so calm.
I don’t think I would have been able to do this trip without technology since it really has really helped me here. I use my work phone for portable Wi-Fi so I can keep in touch with people, share photos, find directions and research landmarks and learn more about the area. Also, translations for things my incredibly early understanding of French can’t help me with. I haven’t even dived into my list of locations yet. A week and half ago I planned ahead using Google’s maps feature to make a note of all the points of interest so I can keep referring back to it like the map in a videogame. It’s super useful for when you’re travelling so I recommend it if you ever get up to some predetermined meandering yourself.
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Hi there – picking up this laptop again in Promenade du Paillon, set on a bench and a view featuring a Ferris Wheel and one of those flat fountains that give you that childish temptation to run through and risk getting soaked by one of the freezing cold, dormant geysers.
The thoughts of water come to mind again. The waterspouts shooting upwards are pre-programmed, who knows how pretty and uniform this fountain looked like to the designer/programmer when they made it (I checked from the top of the Ferris Wheel, it’s lit up to make the French flag). I keep staring at the top of one of the vertical beams of liquid firing up and you see it losing its structure and crashing down again. You anticipate what it will look like, every permutation and iteration of it falling is familiar, yet unique at every instance. Internal waves again creating something predictable yet chaotic.
I don’t know what it is but the feeling of sitting and doing nothing but replying to messages and browsing the internet whilst people watching feels overly familiar. This feeling of déjà vu is probably due to this becoming a routine on all my trips. It might just be my way to soak up the location, but it’s calming. It’s nice to do absolutely nothing and appreciate your surroundings.
It’s also a moment to appreciate where you’ve come from both spatially but temporally. I like to think about how I am here in the south of France, a place I would never have planned on coming to a few years ago – having since mustered up the confidence to catch a flight here, book and stay on my own in a hostel, and even badly attempt to order food in French. It’s a nice benchmark to look back at. But also, geographically I was born in the north of England and it’s only until recently I realised how anchored I was there. I always used to imagine I would be there for the rest of my life but now I visit Berlin or Nice and I really do want to live here one day. I’m not trying to say that I was “made for bigger things than Manchester” but it’s that I don’t necessarily feel an attachment to it.
You often read about celebrities and see where they were born in their Wikipedia article. You know some famous people were born close to you and your local area takes great pride in it. I was in Liverpool recently and the amount of pride they have around The Beatles is immense. But I had to think about Paul McCartney and whether he feels the same way. He more than likely loathes the place. Celebrities have residences in glamourous locations and probably never reside in their town of origin again.
I don’t know why I have this feeling that when I eventually shuffle off this mortal coil I should slowly rest in Adlington. It’s the weird trope of returning where you came from. But more than likely that’s not going to happen. It’s like that fact about how your mother picked you up and put you down and that was the last time they held you.
You will leave your place of origin for the last time and you will never return.
minutiae+musings 