Cannes & Whynot

After a lovely stay in Nice, I pattered up into a bouncing bus to Cannes (for anyone who is prone to carsickness, I recommend taking the train). Two hours of dreamy, starched-white small chateaux of Cagnes-sur-Mer, and hollywood-worthy, gated mansions of Anthibes later, I hopped off at the pinnacle of the european film world.

The Palais des festivals

A few favorites

After staring a bit at women on four inch heels shuffling out of the train station with pradas and toy dogs, I was greeted by the grinning Clément, my second couchsurfing host of the riviera.
Clément actually lived in Le Cannet, up in the hills behind downtown. He tore off up the winding road like a natural Formula One driver. I held my own after having had spent a year in the backwoods of Missouri. He warned me on arrival that I was to meet 'Whynot', a pooch a bit 'foufou' but very sweet. ....But very foufou. I at once got the idea as the good-sized pup began to show his enthusiasm for visiters like a kangaroo on a pogostick.

Outside the café bohème,
where I finally found some
life shatteringly tasty french food.

Staying with Clément was such a treat. I can't start rambling about the advantages as I don't want to set up  expectations for future couchsurfers, but you can trust me, he's an absolute pearl.

I will just say, he makes the hot chocolate of your dreams.

And we played an incredibly sweet funny video game, something I thought was an oxymoron.

He also has great rap recommendations.

Alright I'll stop there.




The following mid-morning I lumbered off. The sea intoxicating yet again.
With only one afternoon to spend to see the sites, I took the fast track with a tourist choo choo train.

We scooted down La Croisette and around the sealine to see the Palm Beach Casino, the harbors, and to catch a glipse of the Lérins Islands. The bigger one, St Marguerite, harbored the original 'man in the iron mask' (I don't know about you but for me a picture of a young leonardo dicaprio comes to mind).

The Castle

The train then huffed up the hill to the Castle and Notre Dame Church (must haves of every French city).

Rue d'Antibes,
a taste of the best shopping in France

Similar to Milan, LA, Paris, London, and every spectacular city full of gorgeous people, shopping is necessity. Which I almost avoided.


After seeing everyone and their dog in a burberry (you think I'm joking but I kid not...), I had a fancy to go find my own, and where better than the designer shop named after the trendy rain jacket? My jeans and khaki backpack slid between the Burberry glass doors, received by amused expressions behind marble counters. I hesitated. It was too late to go back. A few minutes later I then had to assure myself that in another life I could easily afford a 1200 euro raincoat, but this civilian had to shimmy on out. After treating myself to a recovery tea and some bonding time with my kindle, I found a charming boutique with spiffy sales and a good-natured convincing clerk. Much more up my alley.

I spent a bit of time then traversing the coast before setting off for dinner. Unfortunately there wasn't a lot of sun, but the breeze was cool, crisp and revitalizing.

After dinner, we assumed it was high time to act like the film stars we naturally were born to be.
A fleeting moment of stardom is good for the soul.






















Seeing the Riviera was realizing a dream, but without the cherishable kindness and depth of two extraordinary couchsurfers, it could have merely given me a bird's eye view. Instead I laughed, pondered, learned about the love of zombies and my animal totem (separately), and felt thoroughly at home.

La Croisette

Nice, St Paul, Scott & Zelda

During my high school years, I pondered hesitatingly on returning to England. During my years at university, I wistfully thought about venturing to France. But why was I drawn? In fact only one city had piqued my interest, and with spring rolling in, the time had come to breathe in the tranquil sea on the French Riviera.

Hemingway and his pal Fitzgerald

The undoubtedly divine city of the expatriates, Hemingway and Fitzgerald, Nice was also visited by other literary geniuses: Yeats, Virginia Woolf, and Charles Dickens. I however, was concentrating on Fitzgerald, and more specifically on my kindle, 'Tender is the Night', which I finished while sitting on the one and only Promenade des Anglais.

A solitary bench on the promenade?

During my walkabouts through Nice I could think only of where Scott F. had wandered,
where he had drank a cup of coffee while reading a newspaper,
where he had fought with and loved Zelda,
and most of all,
where did he sit and write?


A few of my guesses.

Down on the pebbly beach?

An inspirational view from the Chateau?

A few minutes after taking a bus to the center, my toes were wet from soaked through boots muddling about in puddles in Vieux (Old) Nice. I soon retired hopes of taking shimmering photos and instead thought of changing socks. 

Soaked Place Garibaldi

I had the opportunity to couchsurf with the lovely Lydie in her glowing fragrant abode. Once inside, I felt I had stepped into a corner of an enchanted India. A scent of oils and hints of mythical stories swathed the air sifting around my nostrils. The veiled burnt orange and hot pink curtains cradled the assorted cultural paintings giving the space a hint of soft authority.

After creating a satisfyingly tasty meal, the night was spent chatting of philosophies of different dimensions. Staying with Lydie was one of my most insightful and touching couchsurfing experiences to date.









On waking to sunny skies I scurried off to find the bus to St Paul de Vance. The bus flew through Antibes and up into the rolling hills, reminding me of Spain's sprinkled houses and warm mediterranean view.

The fortified castle was chockfull of the most beautiful art the Riveria could offer. The gallery which struck my tastes most included works by Roman Garussuta, Nadia Cascini, and Etienne.

If you're not in the mood to click on the links, here is a sample of each (and perhaps you will now want to click to see more):

Garussuta

Cascini

'Baiser dans la main',  (Kiss in hand) Etienne

Bright swirly paintings
and bronze statues missing body parts were to each side of the narrow passageways, and I gaped at pricetags as well as talent.

The gate of La Colombe d'Or

I accomplished my self-given tasks of finding the charming and well-known restaurant Columbe d'Or (in which Picasso and others traded paintings for meals) and after, the provincial fountain, one of the oldest still running.

I wonder if Scott and Zelda ate here..?

On returning down to sea I settled on the pebbly beach with some biscuits. I then chanced upon an old franc from the 1940s and considered my luck.

To satisfy your curiousity..(it certainly satisfied mine)

And night set in. The Negresco, one of the most aristocratic hotels in europe, tastefully lit up the promenade, surely inviting anyone to come in for some well-bred jazz.




Did the Fitzgeralds stay here?

 

The following morning I traipsed up through Old Nice once again (this time accompanied by a friendly météo) and up the many rocky steps to look over the remaining tall walls of the old castle (for fabulous view, scroll up for the first picture).

Not much has been around of the old castle for a few hundred years,
but the visit is certainly worth the hike.
Especially when the trees are blooming.

To conclude on a slightly triumphant note,
walking back from the chateau
to arrange myself for the next part of my journey,
I did finally happen upon the Fitzgeralds.