Is Nice Nicer?

Or at least preciser?

I admit that I have been remiss in blogging about the fabulous! Corsican! vacation! but part of that is because it took me so long to get the photos out of my camera and into my computer, and I still have to crop and shrink and spiff them and upload them to Flickr, and before I do that I have to think about how much of my husband and kids I want to show on the blog.

A thing, though. We drove to Livorno, and caught the ferry to Corsica, and on the way back we did the reverse, and the ferry experience taught me that if you are going to do anything that has been organized by Italians, then you shouldn’t bring any Germans with you. And I noticed, because I am the Navigator and I have to hold the map (sometimes for hours) that there is another ferry to Corsica that sails from Nice. That would take the Italians out of the picture altogether (because I really can’t leave the Germans at home, however much I would like to after one of them has been made to wait for an Italian to let him on a boat and now wants to vent all over me – but I name no names), and is therefore worth considering.

Laura has been writing about Nice lately. It looks very pretty, and of course I am a sucker for markets (which makes a certain German wish he could leave me at home, but again, I name no names), especially markets with lots of olives (Sorry, Amy). The question is, are the French ferrypeople less… prone to improvisation than the Italians? And therefore less likely to make my husband’s head spin three times around on his neck? And then fall off? And then explode? Because that would make the trip a bit less stressful for me. And traveling with kids is already stressful enough, I think.

Song du jour of the day: well, of course, Nicer in Nice, from the Boy Friend.