11:30 am

Maybe there's more of a breeze. Maybe it's just a cooler day, but it doesn't seem as hot here on the beach in Nice as it was in Menton. Another gorgeous day. I was going to go parasailing, but I don't think I will now. It's too hazy. I can do that back home, too, with some people which would make it more fun. I'm thinking of spending some time at the casino in Monte Carlo, though. I'd like to see Cannes, too. I got a good exchange rate on $100 on my MasterCard. So I'll treat myself to something. I didn't eat supper again last night. No money! Had a beer again instead. There aren't those guys selling "7-up-up-up-up-up," Coca-cola, and Orangina on the beach as I remember seven years ago. If I do this traveling thing, I should look into a motorcycle. It would be much easier to get around. Perhaps cheaper than the train, but maybe not. There is an absolutely wonderful French man laying next to me -- with his two small kids. He is gorgeous. Not so much the face, but the body.

7:00 pm

All right! I'm at the Nice Jazz Festival. "Grande Parade du Jazz." It took a long time for me to walk (and get lost) here. And I'm so bummed that I have to leave at 9:30 - just as the Andy Summers band starts. Shit! The 23:32 train to Barcelona that I had planned to take doesn't start operation until tomorrow night! How stupid! So now I have to take the 22:20 -- much too early! What can I do? I need to get to Barcelona tonight. Another adventure starts tomorrow! It's like a brand new life. In a new world! Time to make it or break it! Mary Tyler Moore -- Mary Richards! I have to get a cool Nice Jazz Festival t-shirt. I'm having so much fun. Oh yeah, I'm high! On the French Riviera! In a beautiful park, listening to jazz -- 3 choices! There are all sorts of people here. Old Niceans, young Americans, sophisticated French women, Italian jazz-lovers. It's everything. I can hear the other band in the distance. I wish this one would start. I like recording this. Journalism. I just wish it weren't so darn hot. So sweaty. Hot jazz!

8:50 pm

C'est magnifique! I met Emeline Michel, who was one of the performers earlier. She's from Haiti and does some great stuff. Good music with African dance added. This is a great festival. And the headliners haven't even started. It's okay that I'll miss them. It's been so fantastic already! It's such a more intimate (and safer) atmosphere than Detroit's Montreaux. There's a little of everything here. Some great horns! Some great food, too! I had eaten before, so I wouldn't have to pay expensive prices here. Oh well. After stuffing myself with fettuccini carbonara earlier, I had a Gran Marnier crepe and a native Nice dish -- mashed chick peas with olive oil and spices rolled out and fried in a wood-burning stove. Great stuff. I want a Belgian waffle, but I'd explode.

11:45 pm

I had to stay to see Andy Summer's band. I refused to be a slave to time. I was watching the Jazz Futures Band at 9:00, thinking I really should leave soon. They were so good. All the bands were fantastique! I'm so glad I got high so I could enjoy it even more. But I had to see Andy Summers! He was to start at 9:30. My train was to leave at 10:20 -- loading at 10:00. It took me 45 minutes to walk to the park -- I did get lost and had to walk uphill, though. The buses were running, but only sporadically. I had just spent my last coins on water, so I needed change for the bus. At 9:25, I got a beer, so I'd have change, went to the arena stage, and waited. And waited. Of course they were late. I kept thinking, "Come on, come on!" My knees were killing me, too. I thought, "I don't care if I have to run all the way to the station and kill my knees and feet. I'm staying!" They finally came on. 9:45, I think. I listened to one song and I left! And I ran. I ran and ran. I stopped at a bus stop. Next bus -- 10:05. Wouldn't work! I had to get my baggage out of left luggage still! I kept running. I was sweating like crazy. It was probably still 80°. I was soaked! I kept running. "I have to make that train!" What would I do if I didn't? I thought I could maybe just take a train to somewhere so I could sleep. Or I could sleep on the beach. NO! I was going to make that train, dammit! I kept running. I didn't dare slow down to look at my watch. "The train will be late anyway -- it's coming from Rome." I had to stop occasionally to look at my map. All odds were against me. A mad dash through the steamy streets of Nice. I got to the station at 10:08. The train was already there -- on time! I still needed to get my baggage. Success! I got to the platform at 10:15. But I still needed to find First Class because Second Class was very crowded and rowdy Spaniards or Italians -- I don't know which -- were hanging out the windows, singing and drinking. First Class was all the way down -- of course! I got there -- it was pretty crowded as well. I finally got the sixth -- and last -- seat in a compartment. Very uncomfortable, but I made it. Now I don't want to talk to these people. Here I barge in on them, a sweaty, smelly pig, having to climb over everyone and pile my luggage on theirs. What an oaf. I’m a smelly, sweaty oaf!