Nice Beach 1989

Me and my mate Ali had come down to Nice after the 1989 bicentennial celebrations in Paris. We checked out Jean-Paul Goude‘s parade and then jumped on the overnight train to Nice. The previous day, Ali‘s credit card had been swallowed up in a cash machine and so we were well under manners and a tight budget, until his girlfriend could make it down to nice and hook us up with some cash. On the train I hooked up with a French/African guy going south into the army who sold me a large chunk of hash. We smoked all night in the corridor from Paris to Nice We checked into the temporary youth hostel (a fire station) that opens each summer, and lived out a meagre, but chilled, existence, trying to make the money I had last. Each day we‘d get up and walk to the cheapest supermarket and buy some food: Salami, Laughing Cow cheese and a couple of baguettes. This would last us all day. We thought about buying and selling soft drinks on the beach (BOISSON FRAIS!) but the competition from the Moroccans was a bit fierce. After tanning all day listening to Balearic beats on the Walkman, we‘d go back to the youth hostel and shower. I‘d wrap up a joint and then we‘d go back to the beach to eat the other half of our daily food ration and watch the night descend, stoned to the bone. Sometimes we‘d throw stones at floating Evian bottles, just for the thrill of hearing the crack of stone on plastic, and the sea would merge with the sky and I‘d have to look away. This was how we spent the summer. Ali‘s girlfriend eventually turned up and that night we went out and eat at a small Italian restaurant in the old part of town that served up killer pizza. One of the best tasting meals ever. Peace+love to Ali, wherever you are.