The cover of our local newspaper tells the story of Paradise Lost:
The artist Mesia puts it even more touchingly:
Such a bleu-blanc-rouge waves outside Bellevue, too. The flag is an ever-present sentry at the tip of a quay jutting into the Mediterranean bay. It flaps day and night, in blazing sunshine and howling mistral – until the endless winds, rays and saltwater of the Côte d’Azur render it an embarrassment. An invisible hand eventually brings a new flag, but otherwise no one seems to bother with it. Today, though, our tricolore has shimmied halfway down its pole:
French Lessons says a gros merci for the emails flooding into our inboxes. Here in nearby Antibes, a relative backwater to Nice, the police were surveying the beach road this morning. Sirens blare more frequently than usual – or maybe their NEE-eu NEE-eu simply sounds more acute. Festivals up and down the Côte d’Azur are cancelled for reasons of security and national mourning.
A friend SMSs this afternoon. She, too, had tickets to Jazz-à-Juan tonight. “I say we TRY to live life and not let the terrorists win!” An Earth, Wind & Fire concert morphs into a group dinner.