Quick Hit: Italy vs. France

Strolling around Nice, I can't help but envision a huge throwdown going on between Italy and France. Word on the European street is that these two heavyweights don't particularly like each other. True to form, after eight days in Italy, my first taste of France is jarring, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. If nothing else, these two distinct places seem to enjoy vying for the title of Most Influential European Country, and transitioning from one to another is proving to be not quite as easy as I thought it would be.

Let me explain. You see, I think I must have gotten used to the daily "bongiorno", or the routine "ciao", or listening to the loud-talking, friendly locals speaking Italian at warp speed. Or eating food that had me oooohing and aaaahing several times a day, sometimes even to myself. Italy left an indelible impression on my brain, stomach and heart. There is a hypermasculinity that runs rampant throughout Italia that is both somewhat endearing and a little bit disgusting, and occasionally both at the same time. Love it or hate it, nobody can deny the passion that exists there. Being in Italy can feel a little like being punched in the face by your best friend, then later being fed the best pizza ever known to man by his momma as part of the reparations. There is a nurturing quality to Italy that is simultaneously very rough around the edges. And blatant sexism is everywhere. I was greeted with a smile and a wink by most of the Italian women all over the country, but had train tickets literally thrown at me by some of the men behind the glass windows. You know what? Get over it. It's Italy. I confess to loving every minute of it. Every single one of these interactions only made me want to learn how to speak Italian more, just to be able to communicate with these folks. I already know the hand motions and gestures (I'm Italian after all), but I had an intense urge to learn how to express myself verbally during my stay there. I want in on all of that passion, damn it!

And what about France? Well, my first impression is that this is a gentler, more aloof place. If Italy is the bully on the block, then France is more of the girl next door, smiling demurely as she peeks through the sheer white curtains on the front window of la maison. Even the French trains feel more feminine, with seats covered in pastel blue and white, all air-conditioned and downright luxurious compared with the yellow, red and green hotboxes that shuttled me all over Italy. And then there is the language difference. For some reason, I can't get Italian out of my head even though I don't speak it beyond having learned a few words here and there. I most definitely remember some French from a bygone era (high school), and I can make out most of the signs I see all over Nice, but when I hear it spoken in its home country I feel totally lost. I keep wanting to respond in Italian, or Spanish, or (gulp) English. Si or oui? Ciao or au revoir? Hello or bonjour? My mind is like Rosetta Stone on crack. I can't seem to keep any of it separated anymore. What to do?

You guessed it. EAT, that's what.

This is where the battle royale between Italy and France gets most interesting. I walk around Nice wondering why anyone would ever eat a pizza here, or a gelato, but that is exactly what everyone appears to be doing. So I try some of the cold stuff, mostly out of habit--pralines n' cream--and the first bite tastes a little off, sort of like it had freezer burn, and definitely not the fresh and creamy eat-it-in-seconds gelato that I have been used to. Uh oh. I've been spoiled. I decide quickly that I will not eat pizza here. I can't tarnish the memory of the pies that graced my plates all throughout Italia. I just can't do it, which is probably for the best since for the past week or so I have been carb-loading for that marathon I will never run. So what shall I eat? Never fear. This morning I discovered my new best friend. Allow me to introduce him.

Everyone, please give a hearty bonjour to my new ami, Pain Au Chocolat.

The first few bites melted in my mouth, leaving behind only a hint of chocolate amidst the dreamy flakiness, as well as a wish for about 20 more of these beauties. I discovered in just a few small mouthfuls what all the French food fuss is about. Pastries and bread here are to die for. Coupled with an espresso, this morning's breakfast was downright heavenly. More carbs? Don't mind if I do. And hey, these ones are buttery and sweet. I think I might have some issues with the food here, ones that will require me to keep eating my way through the country to get to the bottom of them. Kind of like what I did in Italy. Do you sense a pattern forming?

Which leads me to Nice. Yes, it's (ahem) nice. Very, very nice indeed. The Cote d'Azur is dazzling here, sunshine sparkling on it like diamonds in a Tiffany's store window. And make no mistake--the French Riviera is full of bling. I took a cheap bus over to Monaco today, and half-expected Jay-Z and Beyonce to come floating by on their yacht, sipping the best champagne, nibbling on mussels and avoiding the paparazzi. Monaco definitely feels like a fortress for the rich and famous. But now back to reality. On my backpacking budget, for a quick midday snack I opted for something called a Maxi Comte, which is still a bit of a mystery to me, but here's what I know: It was a large pastry, it had some kind of cheesy filling, and it was gone in about a minute. And it only cost 3 Euros. That's what I call winning, backpackers style.

But back to the original battle. Who wins this ultimate European throwdown? With only 36 hours of France under my belt, It's hard to say. Beautiful sights, incomprehensibly wonderful food, and languages I cannot really understand but most certainly want to---for me, France and Italy are like yin and yang. They may not understand each other too well, but more and more it is easy to see why each culture is so influential throughout the world. In fact, tomorrow morning I plan on doing more research at the patisserie down the block. I hear my new friend Mr. Chocolat has more delicious friends I should meet, probably even some that will continue washing the taste of that below-average gelato from my mouth while replacing it with a certain "je ne sais quoi" that can only be found where the blue, white and red flag flies.



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