Ne reizi vien esmu redzējusi, kā Franču Rivjēras maigais vējš un saldās smaržas cilvēkā atrauj vaļā dziņas un kaislības, par kuru eksistenci viņš līdz tam nav pat nojautis. — Izlasi 17 min.
It was a tender April 20s night, not unlike one of those I imagine Francis Scott Fitzgerald wrote about: a gentle wind blew from the sea, a full moon shone above Nice, the bustling of restaurant visitors on Place Garibaldi got quieter already after 11pm. It was an off-season Wednesday, after all. It was around this time that I decided to take a walk from Nice to Monaco. Well, I had no choice. I had forgotten my card and phone charger in my friend's car, and she had left for Monaco much earlier. I had spent more than an hour waiting for the night bus and in vain. As I discovered with help of a passer-by, there was no night bus from the Nice airport to Monaco on Wednesday nights. Meanwhile, I had missed the last train leaving around 11pm. — Izlasi 7 min.