First impressions

There's a reason they call it the "Azure Coast."

Looking out the window of the airplane as it makes a final turn before its descent, I see a nearly seamless expanse of deep blue, broken only by the thin white line of a rising wave. It's one of those startlingly vivid blues that holds your eyes prisoner with its sheer intensity, one that merits a name as lofty as "azure."

The liquid sapphire runs straight up to the coast, which cushions Nice and its neighboring cities. From this vantage point, Nice really does look like one of those picturesque Mediterranean spots featured on glossy postcards that sell for a dime a dozen, where everyone in their mid-forties who wants something more European than California or Miami dreams of retiring. The air seems absurdly crisp, clear enough that I can imagine counting the red tiles on the houses below.

I'm surprised to see that the water runs flush against the runway, as if the plane is almost skimming the surface of the sea as it lands. It's a little hard to see in this picture, but if you look closely, there's a thin strip of blue where the coast meets the sky.