Human nature is bloody scary. We all like to think that if it happens to us we would take the high road or whatever, but when chaos reins the layer of civility peels off faster than a ripe banana skin.
It’s one of those things. You live in an area and you keep putting off exploring certain parts of it because, well, you live there and there will be plenty of time to explore later. There were these buildings between Nice and Antibes that caught my eye early on. I mean, they are hard to miss. They look like a broken up Roman amphitheatre. They are massive. You can see them as you land at the Nice. You can see them if you from the beaches in Antibes. You sort of wonder what they are and then you move on and forget about it. At least if you are like me.
This is a bit of a left-field post, I know. I am filing it under Travel, which I guess is appropriate enough. I am British, my wife is (born-in-the-ex-Yugoslavia) Canadian, and we live in France. With Brexit looming large and expat status in doubt all over Europe, my beautiful wife thought it would be a good idea for me to go along to the prefecture in Nice and try to get myself a carte de sejour.