The sun is beating down on me. I am merely feet away from the lovely clear, cool waters of the Mediterranean. Foreign tongues from all corners of the globe can be heard. It sounds like a relaxing day at the beach, doesn’t it? Living on the French Riviera sounds like a dream come true, right? Maybe not…
Yesterday, I thought I was living in hell. The sun was wilting me slowly as the car idled in some of the worst standstill traffic I have ever seen. Yes, I was near the beach, but it merely taunted me and teased me. Visitors from everywhere imaginable had seemed to descend on the road from Nice to Antibes just to add to the chaos and confusion. The roads along the coast are best avoided in August at rush hour.
As my body and the car seat molded to become one, I started to have some strange reactions.
“What? This isn’t really happening. No, traffic backed up from Nice to Antibes. Just at a complete standstill. Not possible. Never. No.” Denial.
“Are we SERIOUS here? I am gonna KILL someone if traffic doesn’t start moving.” (*Starts beating at the front dashboard of the car like a rabid chimp.) Anger.
“Com’on! Let’s just get it moving a little bit and I promise this will be the last time I complain about the traffic on the Riviera. No, I won’t even mention a word about parking either. Ever again.” Bargaining.
(*Tears start to fall.) “But I have been sitting here for 45 minutes!” (*Hysterical sobbing starts.) “I. Just. Can’t.” (*sniff) “Handle. This. A-a-a-nymore.” Depression.
Welcome to the French Riviera in August. Acceptance.