Nice and the Promenade Des Anglais

Bonjour Family and Friends!
We are at a Bed and Breakfast called Le Mas Samarcande in a stunning Provençal home which sits above the town of Vallauris, and is located about 25 minutes west of the city of Nice. The owners of this B&B are Mireille and Pierre Diot. They are the most delightful couple. Here, there is a magnificent, extensive garden full of the beauty of Mediterranean vegetation. When I say Mediterranean vegetation, I mean blooming echeveria, lots of monstrous agave, cacti, umbrella pine trees, palm trees, bougainvillea, little daisies and other plants. Most people who know me, know that I am forever trying to grow succulents and cacti in a place which can drop to -35 in the winter. It just doesn't work. Anyway, when I open up the shutters of our room and look out, I see plants I can only dream about. I can't believe that they grow in such a magnificent way, and with little argument or coaxing. Only one unfortunate thing - someone very close by owns a rooster, and I can't say I care for roosters.
Breakfast was an absolute delight. First, you walk into a stunning room filled with light, then out onto the terrace on which four small tables are individually set, and each setting has antique silverware. I have never been at a B&B where the hosts have taken such meticulous care with the presentation of breakfast. Mireille had fresh baked bread, a chocolate loaf, all kinds of fruit in many different, small dishes, and tiny packets of Boursin cheese. Croissants, rolls, and French toasted bread were brought to each table in a basket with a white, linen cloth. Tiny dishes of yogurt with strawberries were available, and as if that wasn't enough, Mireille brought a small dish of kumquat jam, which she "made from kumquats in my garden". It all makes you want to weep! Everything was so lovely to look at and all presented in a way that is uniquely French. Little white linens lined the baskets and then,"Voila! Bon Appetit!" Ron commented to Mireille how delicious the croissant was. He mentioned the croissants we had tried (over and over again) in Italy. "Oh No, No! No croissant in Italy!" and waggled her finger.
After breakfast, Mireille said "I propose a program to you - I propose you drive into Nice to the Promenade Des Anglais," a 7 km seaside promenade on the Mediterranean, and then "to the market," because as it was Sunday, it would be quieter on the roads. We were happy with her advice and decided to do just that.
We drove into Nice, parked, and resumed our morning habit of finding a cafe right after breakfast. This one was called Balthazar Cafe where we could look out onto the Promenade with the Mediterranean glistening in the sun right behind it. There were billowing clouds of various shades of white and gray over the sea. This city is called Nice la Belle (Nissa La Bella) which means Nice the Beautiful. It's the second largest city of the Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur region after Marseilles. It's natural beauty, warm climate, and soft air drew lots of upper class English people in the 18th century who wanted out of England for the winter months - thus the Promenade Des Anglais or Walkway of the English.
As we walked along the Promenade, we commented there is nothing that compares with the beauty of water. People were suntanning on the rocks. No sand, only thousands of multiple sizes of smooth rocks.
We took lots of pictures of the water and clouds. We could see a gray funnel cloud in the distance which appeared to be over Antibes.
As we walked along, we could see the Chateau de Nice, a former medieval fortress built sometime in the 1100's way up high on a hill. We could see people who looked like tiny dots at the top. We looked at each other, and decided it would be a good idea to work off the extra croissant, so we decided to do the climb, especially for the view of the Mediterranean. There is also a beautiful, cascading waterfall at the top.
After such hard work, we decided to walk back down to take in the market that Mireille had suggested, but when we reached the street, to our dismay, we found the market was just closing up and all the streets were being hosed down. All that was left was a few lettuce leaves laying around. By this time it was after 2pm, and we decided it was time for lunch.
We walked around and found a little place called Le Vieux Bistro in the old, historic part of the city. The menu was in French only - no 7 languages here. We started out with olive oil called Nicolas Alziari Huile D'Olive from Nice and Balsamic vinegar from Modena, Italy, served with a few slices of French baguette. This was followed by the most beautiful Niçoise salad. I ate the tuna on top and tried to be brave about the anchovies, but couldn't quite get that far. I ate everything else though, even the yolk of the hard boiled egg, which is going quite far for me. The salad was fresh and delicious. I'm pretty sure if I stayed long enough here, I could be talked into trying just about anything. Lunch was all washed down with sparkling water and a dry Rose.
During lunch Ron had an unfortunate accident with the balsamic vinegar. He was trying so hard not to drop anything on his shirt, but accidentally knocked over the balsamic vinegar, which splashed all over his powder blue shirt. So, he was missing in action for about 20 minutes trying to clean the shirt. Meanwhile, I ate my salad. While I was enjoying myself, the Cote D'Azur garbage truck (smaller than normal for the narrow streets) drove by our row of tables. I could have reached out and touched the truck, it was so close. He stopped about 30 feet from our table, backed up, picked up a load, and suddenly I could hear an immense crashing of bottles into the box on the truck. It's just one of the things you learn not to bat an eye at. If you sit at a table outside, you just never know what may pass by.
After Ron finally showed up again and finished his salad, we walked by a cathedral called Basilique-Cathedrale Sainte-Marie. How can you walk by a cathedral and not stop in? I must say though, that instead of darkness and ghostly silence, there was soft choir music playing, and it made the cathedral feel like a warm place. We continued walking through the narrow streets of the old city, and soon we were caught in an absolute downpour of rain and thunder. We stopped in a jewellery store for shelter. I couldn't believe my luck. We just had to wait it out, and while we waited it out, I looked at all the jewellery. When the rain let up, it was quite chilly and windy, so we decided to drive back to our B&B.
It's evening now, and Ron is upstairs visiting with Mireille and ironing ten of his polyester shirts which got exceptionally wrinkled at the laundromat last evening. I can hear their voices, and it sounds like they're having A fun talk. It's very restful here, but the rooster is making a lot of racket right now and it's 8:30 pm. (Something must have gone haywire in the gene pool).
Ron just returned with his pile of freshly ironed shirts. "What an iron she has!" he exclaimed. "Everything went really well! It's a real professional one with steam and everything..."