After the frigid Denver weather, it was such a pleasure, as well as a shock to the system, to at last arrive at my destination, where palm trees swayed, the sky was an impossible blue, and oranges not yet picked appeared plentiful enough to satisfy the most citrus-starved! Normally a proponent of public transport (and the tram was right there waiting), I indulged my exhaustion in the form of a comfy, fast taxi into town. My hotel (Hotel le Grimaldi) was welcoming and about an 8-block walk from the beach. After a rest, I set out to stroll the ancient, narrow streets, which these days are peppered with a panoply of fare, from Michelin-rated restaurants to Mom-and-Pop kebab joints, and, of course, all the other types of establishments locals and tourists require. There were not only French voices in the streets, but a certain number of Italian and Arabic ones too, due to nearby Italy and North Africa. Oh, and a few English speakers, as well, but, not, I imagine as many as in prime tourist season.
I walked hours along the beach and through the city, remembering, at some point, that I needed to get a new Pass Sanitaire that would reflect my recent booster shot. At about 5:15 pm on a Saturday night, there were many open pharmacies. I went into one, and some 25 minutes later, walked out with my new Pass. The pharmacist mentioned that he would not have been able to do this until recently; I gathered that the former, specific list of pharmacies where one could go to convert one’s vax card, had opened up to most, if not all of them.
Sometime later I was on the boardwalk when I heard drums in the distance. I had forgotten about the reliably-every-Saturday protests. Sure enough, hundreds of people came marching down the street, carrying signs, but not in an unruly manner. One of my favorite signs read (in French):
Propaganda is the true virus.
Yes, these were Anti-Vaxers. There was quite a police presence, but they were staying on the sidelines, there if needed.
