Mike and the 4th of July

I came to the realization yesterday that, in the last 5 years, I have only spent one 4th of July in the United States. As much as I miss the fireworks, festivities, family fun, and feasts, I have come to the conclusion that I enjoy traveling. There's too much to see in the world to be stuck in one place all the time, and traveling during the summer is by far the most convenient for students. Unfortunately, it's also the most expensive and most tourist-infested. What I love most about traveling is meeting natives of the country and getting to know them. This is a difficult task in a tourist trap like Nice, especially when the vast majority of my time is spent chaperoning American teenagers.

Lest I sound critical of the experience, allow me to explain. Nice is a phenomenal city. The weather has been nothing but exceptional, and we have had more fun exploring the city and eating at great restaurants than I would have believed possible before arriving. The setting for my morning run each day is beautiful. Running along the Quai des Etats-Unis (Nice's boardwalk) only makes me feel more at home, and the climate resembles that of southern California.

For dinner yesterday evening, our French cooks at the lycée humored our patriotism. We enjoyed a French interpretation of the American cookout. The banner attached to the window near our picnic tables explained it all. It read (in English): Happy 4th of July!

Over a wood-fire grill (no charcoal, I guess), the chef cooked French bifteck haché, which has the approximate appearance of a hamburger patty. Usually the French will serve this on the plate without a bun, but for us they purchased American-style hamburger buns, complete with sesame seeds. After all the delicious French bread and pastries I've been consuming for the past two weeks, the hamburger buns didn't taste so hot.

They grilled merguez sausages to give the appearance of hot dogs, but merguez is thinner and longer than a Ballpark frank. They must not make hot dog buns in France, because they served our sausage sans pain. The potato chips here have a slightly different texture, too.

Despite some subtle differences in its representation, the consensus view was that the American barbecue was a success. For just one evening, it was almost like being back in the States....

So the RAs got together and went out dancing on the town. We went to a square in the middle of town (complete with carousel and everything) to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the birth of Garibaldi, who was born in Nice. A great funk/salsa/polka band entertained us, and, as usual, I made a complete fool of myself (in front of many French people and my co-workers) dancing the night away. Let's just say I let the music take me away. I was dancing so much like a mad man that the singer of the group came down off the stage and started dancing with me as he sang. A few incriminating photos are forthcoming. Suffice it to say I had a great time.

While there were no fireworks on the fourth, I felt like I celebrated at least as much as I would have if I'd been at home. Happy Birthday, USA!