Allez Les Bleus

For those of you living under a very unexciting rock, the World Cup began on Friday (well, Thursday with the opening ceremony). The most important tournament in football/soccer is taking place in South Africa this year, which is the first time it’s been held on that continent. Very big stuff. And those of you who know me or have been reading this blog since back in Sri Lanka know that I enjoy playing and watching soccer so I’ve been very excited for the games to begin. I also figured it would be a good opportunity to mingle with more locals.

France was playing against Uruguay on Friday night so I decided to go down to the market area where I’d been told there would be big screens and lots of people. Sure enough, virtually every restaurant was broadcasting the game (except one, which proudly had a sign out front that said “No Game, Just Eat!”) I figured it might be hard to find a good seat so I went down to the market early – around 5:30 (game started at 8:30). It was surprisingly not that busy yet. The South Africa vs. Mexico game was still going and I accepted the invitation of one maitre d’  standing out side to watch the game on the patio of his restaurant, which was empty except for one super handsome guy watching the game.

I sat and ordered a Campari (making the same mistake I make every friggin’ time. I always mix up Campari and Cinzano – love the latter, don’t like the former and always accidentally order it. Grrr.) I ended up chatting with the smokin’ hot guy who was from South Africa and was visiting his friends here with his girlfriend. Everyone was down on the beach but the guy felt that he should really check out the game. We rooted for South Africa together, which was up 1-0 when I arrived but Mexico tied it up at 82 minutes or so (of a 90-minute game). His friends and girlfriend arrived then, and it turned out that the friends were a British band who was playing that night at a bar called Wayne’s.

I haven’t been to Wayne’s but it’s one of those “everyone of a certain age who comes to Nice knows Wayne’s” kind of place. It’s a backpacker haven.  The friends and girlfriend were super nice and I quickly developed a teeny-tiny crush on the super-cute bilingual drummer (the girlfriend’s brother). They said I should come by Wayne’s later so I said I’d try.

They left and my friends Lina and Fed arrived a few minutes later. We met up with another Thai/French couple, Ki and Def, and the five of us found a bar where we could watch the game and eat. We had perfect seats and the bar soon filled up and became very lively. Unfortunately, the people who sat next to me were Spanish so there was no practising French for me. But I did get to join in with the crowd singing a rousing version of Le Marseillaise, the French national anthem. I learned it in grade school and was hoping I’d get to use this otherwise useless knowledge on this trip. Yay!

Def, Ki and Lina. Ki says all the girls in Thailand always make peace signs in pictures.

The game was kind of boring with only a few really threatening attempts at goal on either side. It ended rather undramatically with a 0-0 tie. I was very amused at half-time when about half the restaurant got up and went outside for a smoke.

Before the break...

... and during the break.

Even with the tie, the French spirits were still quite high and as we poured into the streets, there was still a festive feeling all around. Some of our classmates had texted that they were at Wayne’s (what a coincidence) so we headed over there. I went inside and the band was already underway in the back room. They were pretty good and room was insane—a total drunken university vibe with everyone dancing on the tables. Sigh… I miss those days. I said hi to smokin’ hot guy and his girlfriend and gave them something they’d left at the table at the other restaurant and then went back outside to chat with my classmates. We came back in and watched the band for another half an hour or so and then went back outside to escape the heat and increasing claustrophobia.

Before more and more people came in. You can't really tell but people's heads are brushing the ceiling.

Lina and I sweating in the bar.

Outside, a young guy came up to me— aged 21 MAX—and asked “Parlez vous Anglais?” and I said “Oui” and he asked for a cigarette. For some reason, even though I’d just said I could speak English I felt like continuing to pretend to be French so I said in French that I was sorry but I didn’t smoke. Fed, who does smoke, gave him a cigarette and the dude continued to talk to me. “So do you speak English?” “Yes,” I said. “Fluently.”

“D’oh! Then why did you answer me in French?!”

“I don’t know. I’m here to study French so I just felt like it.”

We had the usual conversation – where are you from (Australia), how long are you here (got here today, staying for a few days), what are you doing (travelling the world for 10 months), are you enjoying yourself (totally)—and the whole time I was thinking, “dude, I’m old enough to be your mother. What are you doing talking to me?” He asked if I was going to hang around at the bar and I said I wasn’t and was probably head home soon with my friends. (I would have stayed, just to get to know the drummer, but I was weighted down with a giant heavy purse and I also had a grocery bag full of snacks that I’d brought for the game because I thought we’d be watching it outside on a big screen.) He finished his cigarette, left and then came back a few minutes later and asked if he could talk to me alone. He tried to convince me to stay since my friends who were leaving were couples and I was single and he wanted to buy me a drink. It was sweet, even though he was drunk and not my type (my type being, oh, LEGAL) so I politely declined. It was bizarre but also a nice little ego boost since all of this sleeplessness has me looking old and tired and feeling completely unattractive. Vive la France, and underaged Aussie backpackers.

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