Rental car safely returned, we embarked on the train to Nice in high spirits. Little did we know what lay in store for us...

Somehow we ended up seated behind a family of five on their way to a seaside holiday. Across the aisle from them sat another small child travelling with his mother. Add to the mix a three hour delay stopped in the middle of nowhere and you have the recipe for a cruel form of punishment.

Initially the kids seemed kind of cute and Dale and I smiled indulgently as the little boy across the aisle (Sammy) stood on his seat dancing and singing as he listened to his headphones, and the 4 year old girl with the bowl cut in front (Lyn) stood staring over her seat at me. But not long after the train screeched to a halt mid-way between Avignon and Nice, things became fractious. The 18 month old in front could no longer be shushed. Then an unpleasant smell began wafting towards us... Mama went to deal with that little surprise while Lyn engaged Sammy in noisy conversation. When Papa went to find out the reason for the delay, leaving eldest daughter in charge, Lyn and Sammy made a break for it down the aisle. Scolding by elder sister resulted in Lyn shrieking, mama returned to chaos, and papa nowhere to be seen. To settle them down, some genius put a chipmunks video on an iPad. As the chipmunks sang merrily on, Dale and I began to exchange worried glances.

As the delay stretched on we received half hourly updates in French. Dale and I tried to gauge the reaction of our fellow passengers to see whether it was good news or bad... The groans made it clear that we would not be going anywhere fast. Sammy and Lyn had by now wriggled away from the chipmunks and were jostling for position at a nearby window. Well that was only going to end in tears! When papa returned to grizzly children, a weary mama retired to the back of the carriage for a kip. Mercifully papa put an end to the chipmunks, opting for a more constructive mode of entertainment - colouring books. Things were briefly peaceful...and then the baby (Ayla) began throwing coloured pencils. Papa began a tirade of French disciplining as he tidied up the pencils and colouring books, baby began squealing, and Lyn went in search of mama. Long suffering elder sister (to whom I could relate) chased after Lyn. Meanwhile Sammy was playing an annoyingly loud learn-the-alphabet game.

Even after the train began moving again (we are still not sure why it stopped) there was still an hour and a half more journey to endure of crying baby, hyperactive Lyn and Sammy's noisy multi-media. Dale and I stepped of the train in Nice feeling more than a little exhausted and asking ourselves why on earth anyone would want to be a parent!

After we made our way through the crush of people waiting at Nice train station it was only a short walk to our budget hotel. When we arrived it was 5:30pm...and the hotel was closed. The sign on the locked door listed a phone number to ring on arrival, however, neither of us had an operational cellphone! After letting of a few expletives, I left Dale minding the suitcases to try and find a shop or cafe where I could use the telephone. The nearest shop that was open was an appliance store. I walked in and greeted the three men leaning on the counter chatting - the store was empty of customers - and asked whether any of them spoke English. The youngest man just stared, the middle-aged man said "a little", and the old man frowned. Sensing that my best bet was the middle-aged man, I briefly explained my situation and asked if I could please use the telephone. At this point the old man growled something at me in French and mimed pushing the doorbell. I (through mime) and the middle-aged man (in French) tried to explain that there was nobody at the hotel to answer the door. The old-man stubbornly continued with his theory that if I rang the doorbell I would be let in the hotel. After some more fruitless mime demonstrating my need for a telephone, I could see that these French men were not about to spring to the aid of a damsel in distress. Dejected, I returned to Dale at about the same time as another hotel guest appeared in the foyer. We began knocking frantically and he let us in. Our room key had helpfully been left with a note for us on the reception desk. By this stage it was after 6pm and any thought of sightseeing was long forgotten. All that we managed was a walk along the seafront and a forgettable but expensive meal at one of the numerous touristy restaurants in the old part of Nice.

As we expected, Nice attracts huge volumes of tourists prepared to compete for space on the cramped rocky beaches by day, and vie for seats at the city's restaurants and watering holes by night. Wealth is obvious here. Bronzed young couples glide by in ferraris and lamborghinis, while elderly men with glittering watches walk hand in hand with big breasted 20-something's. Ageless women (with mask-like faces from all their plastic surgery) totter along in uncomfortable looking shoes, clutching designer handbags, followed by teenage daughters (caked in make up and clothed in the latest fashions) who are loudly chatting on their iPhones. There are superyachts lined up in the marina and supermodels (or at least women who look like supermodels) lined up on the beach. Dale and I felt like country-bumpkins as we self-consciously walked by smartly dressed Europeans on their way for drinks and dinner. Admittedly, we didn't give Nice much of a chance, but from what we did experience of it, this is not somewhere we ever want to come back to!