There is a place, that is small and quaint, tucked in
between majestic Monaco and nice Nice. A place called Boly-eur-Somer , no I did
not just mumble/type a word, it’s a real place. No one can ever really say the
name properly, nor comprehend spelling it ( yes I had to google the legit
spelling to make sure ).
Before we dive into the story here is a little song to serenade you in the background. This summer classic has, with it's comfortable chords, on many occasions grooved its way through my ears. Easy simple happiness inducing listening at it's best.
Before we dive into the story here is a little song to serenade you in the background. This summer classic has, with it's comfortable chords, on many occasions grooved its way through my ears. Easy simple happiness inducing listening at it's best.
This little place is mainly knows for it’s
non-friendly dockwalker shipyard and beautiful beach. We did a sneaky dock
walk there once or twice and some friends got a little lucky with some temp work.
However my best memory of this little hard to pronounce haven comes from a day
spent with a good friend playing about on Jet-Ski’s.
Now in order to properly
set the scene, one must track back to the night before said day of fun. It was
a quiet night in Antibes ( ok not really, but kind of ), and yet another day of
aimless dockwalking had passed on by. Throats were a little parched and so the
ever-responsible idea of getting just one beer from the shop down the road
became an imminent reality. As it goes, other housemates returned home, equally
thirsty and so on and so forth. It was not until the two brothers Rens came
trampling through wet from the fresh rain drops with a certain Cape Town
classic china, Cian.
Cian was to stay the night and we were to socialize, no complaints. Soon enough bottles of Rose were being opened at break-neck speeds, music was blaring out of the small scratchy portable computer speakers and conversations were drifting between the future, present and hilarious past. As it goes, Cian casually mentions that he needs a student for his jet –Ski instructors exam the following morning, in Boly-sur-mer. I immediately jumped on said band –wagon as I had never driven the infamour water-bike before and thought it would be a great change of pace to the rather omninous week of more dockwalking ahead. Glasses were cheered, wine mixed itself with beer and soon we found ourselves at Absinthe bar , drinkers club and a few other watering holes. I being a responsible future-student called it a night at a relatively respectable hour considering… and Cian said he would be home a little after.
The next morning awakened by the sounds of phones ringing, loud rustling, slow hustling and my name being shouted. We dashed through the streets of Antibes, bought some luke-warm water and made it in time to catch a train. We boarded a mystical carriage, one that we had both never seen before, or been on since. The couches were a dirty emerald and there were low-lit mustard lamps, reminiscent of a shifty cigar lounge. It took a good couple of minutes for us to both regain our breath, before any form of conversation regarding the previous nights happenings could begin, by which stage we were already in Nice. We hopped off to swap trains and shared one of the best Lipton peach Ice Teas ever produced in Europe.
Getting to Boly-yer-somer we knew we were a little late, but the big smiles on both of our faces got us through that always-awkward late arrival moment. The lesson began and once we were through all the theory and Cian’s very, very interesting geographic descriptions of the surroundings we were on the water with all of the previous night being cured. The whole experience was amazing and due to my previous lack of experience on a jet-ski I made for quite the good dumb student. After all the various tests and box ticks had been completed we were able to mess about have ourselves some good ol’ fashioned racing competiton. At the end of the whole session, high on adrenalin and salt water we wandered off and got one of the best burgers I have had in France and sipped on some more life-changing Lipton Ice Tea.
All in all it was one hell of an adventure seeming to go at a constant fast pace from Antibes antics, early morning running to throttle-gripping in the sea. I had one of the biggest smiles on my face that entire day and for a long while after. It was the perfect break from all the dockwalks and gave me a lovely boost ahead of the big Monaco Grand Prix weekend. Cian I thank you, Boly-sur mer, I thank you too, however I don’t thank the people that named you.
See photos of the adventure below :
Cian was to stay the night and we were to socialize, no complaints. Soon enough bottles of Rose were being opened at break-neck speeds, music was blaring out of the small scratchy portable computer speakers and conversations were drifting between the future, present and hilarious past. As it goes, Cian casually mentions that he needs a student for his jet –Ski instructors exam the following morning, in Boly-sur-mer. I immediately jumped on said band –wagon as I had never driven the infamour water-bike before and thought it would be a great change of pace to the rather omninous week of more dockwalking ahead. Glasses were cheered, wine mixed itself with beer and soon we found ourselves at Absinthe bar , drinkers club and a few other watering holes. I being a responsible future-student called it a night at a relatively respectable hour considering… and Cian said he would be home a little after.
The next morning awakened by the sounds of phones ringing, loud rustling, slow hustling and my name being shouted. We dashed through the streets of Antibes, bought some luke-warm water and made it in time to catch a train. We boarded a mystical carriage, one that we had both never seen before, or been on since. The couches were a dirty emerald and there were low-lit mustard lamps, reminiscent of a shifty cigar lounge. It took a good couple of minutes for us to both regain our breath, before any form of conversation regarding the previous nights happenings could begin, by which stage we were already in Nice. We hopped off to swap trains and shared one of the best Lipton peach Ice Teas ever produced in Europe.
Getting to Boly-yer-somer we knew we were a little late, but the big smiles on both of our faces got us through that always-awkward late arrival moment. The lesson began and once we were through all the theory and Cian’s very, very interesting geographic descriptions of the surroundings we were on the water with all of the previous night being cured. The whole experience was amazing and due to my previous lack of experience on a jet-ski I made for quite the good dumb student. After all the various tests and box ticks had been completed we were able to mess about have ourselves some good ol’ fashioned racing competiton. At the end of the whole session, high on adrenalin and salt water we wandered off and got one of the best burgers I have had in France and sipped on some more life-changing Lipton Ice Tea.
All in all it was one hell of an adventure seeming to go at a constant fast pace from Antibes antics, early morning running to throttle-gripping in the sea. I had one of the biggest smiles on my face that entire day and for a long while after. It was the perfect break from all the dockwalks and gave me a lovely boost ahead of the big Monaco Grand Prix weekend. Cian I thank you, Boly-sur mer, I thank you too, however I don’t thank the people that named you.
See photos of the adventure below :
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