From the early 1990s to the mid 2000s I had the pleasure of including Nice in one of my two yearly book buying trips to Europe. Each December I would follow more or less the same itinerary, the first week in Switzerland (Zurich, Basel, Bern and Geneva), and the second week in Nice, Vence (a lovely town about an hour by bus in the hills above Nice), Marseille, and Barcelona. Though I loved Switzerland and almost always found a trove of good books there, and though there was a sense of pre-Christmas festivity in the air, it was almost always cold, overcast, drizzly, and slushy, so it was a great relief to arrive in Nice and see the sun. In fact I could count on that whole second week providing a respite from the wet socks in which I tramped through Switzerland, and it provided a last gasp of good weather before heading back to the New England winter.

My impressions of Nice were fleeting--I would spend less than two days there each trip--but overwhelmingly positive. I didn't usually buy books in Paris, but the few times I did I found many of the proprietors sort of cranky and unhelpful and not very tolerant of my pathetic French. But the folks in Nice were always friendly, welcoming, and helpful, and my little side trip to Vence for half a day was often a charm. Granted, I was in Nice during off season so it wasn't filled with crowds of tourists, so my impression would probably be much different if I visited in summer. The city wasn't crowded and older couples walked slowly along the boulevards bundled up with scarves against the 50 degree "chill". Hunting for books there was only marginally successful, but I kept going because I usually found at least enough to justify the stop and because it made sense geographically. I do have a vivid memory of one shop because looking for books there was downright dangerous. An older couple ran the place and they could be found sitting in thick smoke in the same chairs year after year, Gauloises stuck on their lips, chatting with friends and customers. The interesting, uncatalogued stuff was in an attic above the shop but it wasn't structurally sound. Books were piled knee to shoulder high, but only on the parts of the floor that would support them. I would go up there alone, and I was told that I should step only where there were books because I could fall through any part of the floor that was exposed. Interesting, but I made it work. I'd shift one pile onto another, hear some creaking, stand in that spot, and do it over and over again. I actually found good stuff up there...and I survived.

But one visit stands out, and it was quite an eye-opener. I arrived at the Nice airport on the afternoon of December 7th, 2000 to find the city in turmoil. There was a mass protest going on against the EU and globalization, inspired by the 1999 protests in Seattle against the World Trade Organization. Apparently 75,000 protesters had been in the streets the past two days, smashing storefronts, attacking banks, etc. The public transit system was suspended, no busses or trams running, and it took about an hour to get a taxi to take me to the center of the city where my hotel was. But the taxi was stopped by the military outside the center and I ended up having to drag my suitcases for about a mile through the streets, a t-shirt wrapped around my mouth against the lingering tear gas, past battered buildings, broken glass everywhere, and checkpoints at just about every intersection. I had to show my passport at least half a dozen times and my suitcases were repeatedly opened on my way to the hotel. And at the hotel, metal detectors and pat downs. Needless to say, my book buying in Nice that year was squelched--none of the shops were open the next day--though through a convoluted array of taxis and busses that were running outside the city, I did at least make it to Vence.

So of course all this got dredged up last night as I watched with horror as events unfolded there and I can only imagine what a nightmare that city is going through. It always struck me as the epitome of, in Matisse's term, "luxe, calme et volupte". But sadly and tragically the cult of death continues.