Nice is a three hour train ride from Marseille. As it began raining on the day of my journey, I cannot attest to the beauty of the land between towns. I can tell you that the southern coast of France has water every bit as blue and envy rending as that found along the Dalmatian coast or surrounding the land fingers and islands near Mount Athos. When people coo and guffaw over the French Riviera, it is the Mediterranean Sea they are speaking so highly of. The cities I visited are leaving the upkeep of their buildings and other infrastructure to future generations.
Nice has a low hill called Mont Boron in its eastern quarter which has been set aside as a park. Much of the park has been allocated as a cemetery. Lookouts from the park provide vantages from which one can observe the city below; a Tetris puzzle of yellow faced buildings with orange terracotta roofs interrupted by an occasional spire or half-ellipse armored in fist-sized fish scales. 
In rain, or in instances of other coastal weather, Nice is quite a limited venue for visitors. On the boardwalk, which is a raised concrete platform behind the beach, I found a few rows of straight-backed beach chairs which were populated by people who enjoy a bit of salt with their conversations. The breakers in the surf and threatening clouds above had all but the very young and macho avoiding all water exploration. I found some peace simply taking deep breaths as the wind surged and kicked about me. 
Nice is a hub for surrounding cities with more charm, as I was about to discover.
albaniacalling 