Let me set the scene. We had just arrived in Nice, France. I had dreamt of this moment ever since I watched a rom-com/action spy movie with Ashton Kutcher. It’s based in Nice. Also, he’s topless, a lot. I’m very cultured.
Moving on.
After dropping off our stuff (precious, precious stuff) at our Airbnb, we headed to the coast. It was evening by this point and the tide was in, this is an important detail we overlooked. (God, I’ve spent way too much time in Arizona, a landlocked, desert state). I wore a swimsuit underneath my sweater and jeans in the small chance it would be warm enough to swim. It wasn’t. It was cold and no one along the beach was dumb enough to expose any skin to the sea breeze (foreshadowing).
We leaned against the wall that separated the ocean from the city like the locals were doing (we fit in so well). Above the seawall, people looked out from their perch on the boardwalk. Old couples growled at each other, teenagers in roller blades ran them over, the good stuff.
I slipped my shoes off and dug my toes into the sand. My phone was sticking out of my back pocket so I slipped it into my shoe for safekeeping (oh, the irony) while I readjusted my place on the wall.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched a woman play with fire (not literally, actually she was playing with water). She would get really close to the water and then run back to the safety of the sand. I watched a huge wave crash down on the beach and essentially swallowed her whole. Like a 4-D movie, seconds after I watched this woman be demolished I was soaked by the same wave.
To my horror I watched my shoes be pulled out to sea. I grabbed them and plunged my hand inside only to come up empty. Further down the coast, I saw my phone sticking out of the sand like an ostrich (or another animal who burrows idk). I darted after it with my soggy pants and dripping sweater as the crowd above made gasps as they discovered this truth with me.
This became a show for these people. I heard faint clapping as I tugged it free and basically dried it with my hair (which miraculously remained dry and still looked damn good that day). Once I secured my phone, I had to acknowledge my drenched body. I remembered I had a swimsuit underneath and began to peel my clothes off.
Remember, everyone else was fully clothed. Because it was cold AF. This is an important detail. Apparently, just because I’m in France doesn’t mean people don’t stare at half-naked women in bizarre temperatures. The entire crowd stared down at me as I shivered and laid out my clothes.
When I thought it couldn’t get worse, another wave hit and the time on my [sun] dryer was restarted. I looked up and the grumpy old couples had turned their anger towards me. I waved as they pointed at me and frowned. Looking back they were probably more concerned with the fact that I was this dumb tourist in a swimsuit in the late winter while the tide was moving in. In my shame and experience with angry, religious people I assumed they had something against my body exposure (sexy).
But the cherry on top, the real crowd pleaser (literally), was when the police came. Yes, the police came. This is when I was able to pull my head out of my ass and realize the tide had risen dangerously high and people weren’t just staring at me for no reason. I took a moment to look around and in my self-absorption, I hadn’t realized all the smart people (and by that I mean basically everyone) had left our section of the beach.
A group of five police officers approached us, one was wearing a motorcycle helmet. (That was an important detail, why the hell was he wearing a helmet on the beach? Protection from sun exposure? Seagull poo? Recognition as actor Ashton Kutcher?) We were then escorted off the beach as my swimsuit gave me the biggest wedgie imaginable (but I wasn’t going to pick it in front of helmet guy! He wasn’t getting the satisfaction).
The crowd watched on from above as we finished Act III. I tippy-toed across Nice’s signature pebbles and stones (wonderful souvenirs) and my wedgie only worsened. Soon my butt cheeks had their time in the sun.
Now that I’m safe from French crowds I have come to terms that water damage doesn’t begin to describe my phone’s experience. So I am now the person who doesn’t have a phone thousand of miles from home. It’s thrilling, it adds another layer of adventure, right? Sure, sure.
I’m dying. 😂