1936 On the Continent

will certainly have heard or read times out of number of the Carnival of Nice.
    And one day you will arrive at the Place Massena, the porter of your hotel having given you a little booklet of tickets (the last, he says, in the whole of Nice) for all the spectacles of the Carnival. With guide-book in hand and camera slung over your shoulders, you take your place with a little thrill of pleasure in one of the best rows of seats just opposite the Casino Municipal.
    The immense square is crammed full. The neighbouring streets too are just a mass of people, and not a window in sight is empty. Several bands of the local firemen and infantry regiments are playing waltzes,
cacaroudchas
, and Provençal tunes. You feel more than a bit excited, and have already started to think of what your best friends at home will say when you describe the unforgettable scene.
    Then suddenly a shout rises from the crowd:
    “Here they come!”
    And there at last is His Majesty Carnival the 57th, or is it 63rd? preceded by heralds, children and the grotesque carnival chariots.
    The bands strike up. Children and grown-ups alike shout with joy.
    The procession enters the square and goes round it. three times. A few confetti drift down on to your coat. And then, without any warning, it is all over. The musicians are wrapping up their trombones and putting their violins into their cases. The people are moving slowly out of the rows of seats.
    On your way back to your hotel, as you cross the magnificent Jardin du Roi Albert 1er, you can’t help feeling a bit disappointed. You murmur that nowadays, at apeak-period of technical achievement and consummate showmanship throughout the world, what you have just seen is just a little thin for a Carnival of Nice. You’ve seen better at the cinema, music-hall, or even theatre. There was nothing very unexpected or terribly impressive about
that
.
A Good Excuse
    The Carnival is an excellent excuse for escaping from the office, for seeing the sea and listening to the restful murmur of the waves on a bench in Nice or Cannes, for being “together.” But as far as the solemn and long-awaited entry of His Majesty Carnival is concerned, take my friendly hint and don’t expect to be carried away to the seventh heaven of delight and amazement.
    Even the flower battles are full of fun, ragging and humour, but there is nothing grandiose about them … at Hollywood they do them far better.
The Beach—Winter and Summer Sports
    Nowadays Nice has practically as many visitors in summer as in winter. A dozen or so beaches have been arranged and thousands of bathers prefer the reliable sunshine and calmness of the Mediterranean to the capriciousness of the Atlantic or Channel.
    The most elegant beaches are the Plage Beau Rivage and Le Ruhl Plage, the most popular and crowded the Aquarium Beach and the Grande Bleue.
    But for all that there is one big disadvantage in Nice, and that is the entire absence of sand. If you want real sand you have to go to Juan-Les-Pins or Cannes. It would be sad for Nice, but from the bather’s point of view I don’t suppose you would regret for a moment the change over to Cannes or Juan.
    Nice has a come-back in any case, which makes up a great deal for the lack of sand. It has the unique privilege for a summer and winter resort of offering you bathing and winter sports simultaneously.
    If you want, you can take a bathe in the morning (from March 15th onwards), then shoot up to Beuil at two and a half hours’ distance in a car, and there have a bout of ski-ing at a height of nearly 5,000 feet. Or you cango to Peira-Cava, which is even nearer. In the afternoon you can come down again to the warm shores of the Mediterranean and look in at the Negresco to find out who are the latest arrivals from Paris.
    There is plenty of scope for yachting too. In the port there is the Club Nautique; or you can go to Villefranche or Cannes, a yachter’s paradise, where any of the old sailors in the port will be delighted to give you full particulars should you suddenly be filled with longing to hire the yacht of the ex-Kaiser, the Tsar, a dethroned Sultan or the Dolly Sisters. They’ll offer you a cruise if you like to the Ile Sainte-Marguerite opposite or even to Madagascar. But be careful! These historical yachts are pretty old and may reserve some nasty surprises for you when you’re out at sea. It even happens that the captain gives you a price per day, and then adds, with a perfectly serious face,