Sometimes I forget I was born here in Nice.  That's where I am at this moment, enjoying renewing my roots.

Nice has only been French for the past
190 years or so and was the unfortunate platform of countless wars from what
were then the Italian kingdoms and France, as well as invading Maures and other barbarians. Needless to say, people from Nice don't particularly
feel French and even less Italians. We are from Nice. The local dialect says it well; "M'en bati, siu Nissart!" which translates to; I don't care, I am from Nice.  While the king of France
fought his battles here against the Italian kingdoms, it meant decades of
occupation, famine and repression.  The people from Nice are tough, small, black
hair and have a wonderful leathery face.  Well, at least the older generation,
now a rarity.  The only kingdom that was halfway decent was the
Savoy one.  They loved Nice and were good for it.

Nice is a
particular place.  The environment is sun drenched most of the time, the soil isn't very rich, and
potatoes and tomatoes are some of the rare things that thrive.  As with most places that
are tough, the local folklore is rich and colors abound in traditional art.  The
catholic faith had a huge impact and churches are beautiful adorned, while the
people had close to nothing.  What captures my fascination is the deep azure blue
of the sea. It's saltier than the oceans and you can easily see 30 feet below
you when you swim. It's a blue that cuddles me, that warms me, that cups me in
The All's hand.

The light is harsh
and has drawn countless of artists, Picasso, Chagall, Matisse, and more. 
Watching the arid hills, you can see the contrast trees shed on the dried soil.

All in all, it's
recharging my batteries.