Written by Mette Theilmann
Every city has its own soundtrack, a melody that reflects the mood of its people and the ebb and flow of life. Over the years, I’ve lived in different parts of the world, and each place had a unique soundscape, one that mirrored the stages of my life. From the romantic echoes of Belgium to the harsh, dissonant tones of China, each sound painted a picture of where I was emotionally, what I was seeking, and, eventually, what I found.
Belgium's melodies were once a symphony of romance and freedom, but over time, they transformed into a discord of confusion and bitterness, eventually evolving into a complex blend of love and mixed emotions.
China, on the other was at first a choir of expectations turned into a harsh noise, a cacophony of voices and life that I couldn’t quite tune into. By the time I left, it was the sound of melancholy, like a lingering echo of things left unsaid.
England was a tapestry of hope and challenges, an orchestra of endless opportunities woven with quiet moments of solitude, yet underpinned by profound connections that would endure for a lifetime.
Yet, when I arrived in Nice, I felt something different. The sounds here weren’t just background noise—they were alive, full of purpose, and a reminder that I was not alone and that I was alive, voices saying 'stay' without talking.
Shutters: A symbol of connection
My first sounds of Nice was a morning that began with a series of ‘noises’ that pull me from my unsettled sleep. I was confused at first and went to see what happened and it was The Shutters.
The first bangs of the day is loud and jarring, a rhythmic sequence that mimics the start of life in the city. The shutters are pulled open in quick succession, one after the other bang bang bang, as if preparing the home for the day ahead.
Each bang is deliberate, each one tells a story, and each one becomes a ritual. It’s not just a practical movement to let in the cool air, but a sign of life stirring all around me.
People leaning out of open windows, gazing at each other with sleepy eyes, not fully awake but enough to shout "Salut! Bonjour! Ça va?" as they bask in the sun slowly rising over Nice.
As I started to join in this loud morning routine, I knew I was truly not alone as I felt.
The rhythm of opening shutters connected me to the people who live on the same street, sharing the same morning air. Even if I don’t know them, the collective act of opening the shutters together gives me a sense of belonging. We share the same sky, the same moment of morning.
Yet, there were times when the sound of shutters only deepened my loneliness. I see families behind the open shutters, knowing that they have each other and I miss my children —people to greet them, to argue with, to share the day with, I miss my tribe. And I, on the other hand, return to my empty space after opening my shutters. It’s a quiet reminder that I don’t have anyone here, not in the way that they do.
But even on those days of isolation, the sounds of Nice won’t leave me alone. They persist, like a comforting presence that won’t let go, even when I feel as if I’ve faded into the background.
The sounds of the street
Once the shutters are open, I can hear the world outside. The street comes alive. Across from me, the man in the small grocery store begins his daily routine, calling out “Bonjour!” to anyone passing by. His voice is loud, confident, and warm, offering a greeting to everyone—whether he knows them or not. These small exchanges, the chats about the weather, the ferry that often blocks the view of the sea, create a sense of normalcy, of connection. I find comfort in the routine. In 10 minutes, I’ll walk by, and he’ll greet me with the same friendly words: "Bonjour, ma belle." “Ça va?” I’ll reply 'Bonjour, Oui' et vous?, and he’ll assure me that he’s better now that he’s seen me. I like that and smiles but my limited French does not know how to respond so the distance remain.
These are the sounds of a community, a pulse that makes me feel anchored. When I hear them, I feel safe, like I belong to something larger than myself.
But, on other days, the same sounds bring me a sense of sadness. On those days, when the streets are full of people interacting, I’m reminded that I don’t have my people here. I’m reminded that I don’t have anyone who depends on me, and there’s no one waiting for me to return home. It’s on those days that the silence feels heavier, as if the sounds around me are mocking my solitude and I keep seeking for my tribe.
The Bell Tower: faith and hope in the midday hours
At noon, the church bell rings. Its deep, resonant tone is a reminder of something bigger—faith, hope, and belief. The bell chimes in a steady rhythm, a reminder that life continues on, whether I feel connected to it or not, it does not care.
In that moment, I realize that even though I may feel adrift, the world doesn’t stop. The church bells remind me to have faith, to keep going, and to believe in something beyond the here and now. It’s a sound that carries with it the promise of continuity.
Cafes and conversations: Life’s Little Joys
As the day progresses, the cafes of Nice come alive with the sounds of chatter and laughter. “Garçon!” as customers call the waiter. The clinking of cups and plates, the music playing softly in the background, and the hum of casual conversations.
It’s a soundscape of life unfolding in small moments, and I find myself drawn to it. In the cafes, I can be a part of something without saying a word. The sounds of people enjoying their day are a reminder that life is happening around me right now. Something that is easy to forget when you’re in a place where you don’t have your usual support network, but the buzz of the cafes brings me back to the present. It reminds me that this is still my life, and I’m still here to experience it and I can choose, I have choices to be here or not.
The sea
Oh, and let’s not forget the sea and its ever-present companions, the waves. They constantly remind me that there is something vast and mysterious out there—something we may never fully understand. Life is a masterpiece: Dangerous, proud, and beautiful. When sleep eludes me, the waves sing me a lullaby, and in my dreams, I dance with the depths of their beauty. In those moments, loneliness fades, and I simply linger in the stillness.
A city for seeking and finding
For many, Nice may seem like a place for relaxation, a haven for retirees looking for their golden years in the sun. But for me, Nice is a place of seeking and finding. It’s where I can reinvent myself, or perhaps, find the parts of me that I had lost along the way.
As I walk the streets of Nice, each step takes me back in time, to different moments in my life, reminding me of the places where I’ve been happy, or at least content, and with the people I was with.
On Rue Saint-Raphaël, there is a tall, old, proud tree that always makes me think of my childhood—of the wild days spent running freely in the woods near our home. The memory of that untamed freedom feels alive whenever I pass it.
Rue de France, with its imposing buildings, takes me back to when I left our small local village at age 16 to move to the city. The buildings felt like giants at the time, looking down on me, intimidating yet full of possibility and excitement.
Boulevard Stanlingrad stretches on endlessly, leading toward the sea, and it reminds me of the streets I walked in China—long, narrow, and always ending at something grander and more powerful than me.
Every street in Nice pulses with its own unique sounds, smells, and energy, each one sparking a different memory that pulls me in a thousand thrilling directions..
As I walk down Cours Saleya, past the flower vendors, I think of my dear grandmother and her beautiful flower garden. I remember how she adored roses and how much I loved her, the warmth of those memories filling me with a bittersweet nostalgia and a tear in my eye.
Yes, I spend a lot of time walking the streets of Nice, and each one carries with it a memory, a feeling, a moment in time. Every step I take is a journey back to pieces of my past, weaving together the fragments of who I was and who I’ve become.
Seeking
For five months, I wandered through this city, seeking something I couldn’t quite name. But one day, as I walked up a familiar street, I found her or she was me. The person I had been looking for all along. And in that moment, I realized that the sounds of Nice weren’t just calling me; they were guiding me to myself.
The unwavering call of Nice
The sounds of Nice will not let me go. They keep calling, keep reminding me that I’m part of something, even when I feel isolated. The shutters, the street, the vegetable man, the lady in the cafe, the bell tower—they’re all a part of this grand symphony that plays day and night. And through all the noise and silence, I hear a message: don’t give up, keep going.
Nice is a place that calls to you, stubborn and persistent, never letting you forget that you’re alive.
Mette Theilmann Founder of HerEdge Cote d’Azur Club
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