Can Can

God knows I've done my share of Cancans

The day started like any other with the sun creeping up and my various alarms ringing in my face. I had all three of them set minutes apart hoping that if one fails at least I had two other chances to wake up.

Turns out I didn't really need that. My body clock was still off so my sleep was lighter than it usually is; which is to say I was mostly meditating.

The morning started out gray, but I was in bed and comfy. I had to get up and get ready for breakfast since I paid the extra euros for it.

I was going to make the most of it. 

I went down to breakfast and had a chat with a British guy who didn't give me his name. I didn't have any cards with me, so I told him I'd slide some under his door later.

My breakfast consisted of a delicious meusili with almonds and dried bananas, cafe au lait, orange juice and a compote, which is apple sauce. I also snagged a baguette and a couple of cheese packets to pack away for a lunch later. If I could get away with it.

I was able to get away with it, so I wrapped the baguette filled with cheese in a napkin and snuk back upstairs to get ready.

I had a belly full of carbs and coffee and no particular place to be so I took my time getting ready.

I packed up my Prada bag and my PGA bag with a change of clothes. I put my roll up travel hat on my head and dredged the 200 yards to the bus stop.

The number 2 bus picked me up. By this time I had the hang of handing the driver a 2 euro note, get the ticket and put it in the slot. I chose a seat at the rear of the bus next to a window to enjoy the scenery down to the Palais.

The bus made it's way into town. About one third of the way through the ride, a creepy guy got on the bus. You guessed it. He sat down next to me. 

I can't imagine how he took me for a tourist. Was it my hat? Was it because I was nice and not bitching about everything in French? Was it because I was looking at the passing scenery? Whatever the case, not only did he peg me for a tourist, he started up a conversation.

"Are you English? Are you married?" Both of which I answered in the positive, neither of which were true. Despite this fact, he proceeded to propose marriage to me and continued to convince me to divorce my imaginary husband and marry him. I found out he was a Christian man from Iran living in France as a chef but working under a man who uses him mercilessly and barely pays him anything. At this point I was confused by his courting tactic. Why would you tell a girl you wanted to marry that you were dirt poor? Am I missing something? Whatever the case, his stop arrived, he told me I was a wonderful person, said "God Bless You" and got off the bus. 

Not something that happens every day.

Anyway, I arrive at the Coisette and decide to walk down the coast a bit.

The festival/market takes place along a strip of hotels that face the water. It's about a mile or so walk in each direction. Parties are held at night. Sometimes along the strip, sometimes at a chateau up in the hills. Over the years the Cannes festival has become a haven of bad movies, bad acting and all around self-aggrandizing douchebaggery. This year was no different.

Beach Stage

They did seem to have more boats this year.

Self-Aggrandizing Douchebaggery

Boats

Someone left a screening schedule on a bench and I browsed through it. Nothing really caught my eye. I texted Gentleman Calvin and after a few minutes of being lost and walking in the wrong direction, I met up with him at the Pontiero. He got me into the 'villiage' as a guest, and I walked through to the Film France pavilion.

What does any of that mean?  When you buy a badge to the full market, you are also given access to all the vendors that are showing their wares. This includes the distribution companies selling the films, other companies showing off things like cameras and audio equipment and the Film Commissions. The job of the film commissions is to court various film and tv producers and educate them on the locations and incentives for bringing projects to that particular area. It's all quite boring if you don't know or care about such things.

Actually I can't say that. According to the Gentlemen Calvin, this particular woman visits the Festival every year. No one knows who she is or what she does, but she goes around every day to the various film commissions and gets coffee, sandwiches, or whatever it is that the commission likes to offer their guests. When there is a party she can weasel her way into, she gets on her cell phone and alerts her cronies. The Old Lady Brigade then descends upon the party en mass. From what GC says, this has been going on for at least 13 years. I tried to follow her, but since my detecting skills are much better in fiction than in fact, the old bag got away.

Outside of the World Village Renaud displayed my new car. Thanks Renaud.

Object of my desire.

By this time, GC was quite starving. He invited me to lunch. We went to a place not too far from the Pontiero, but a lot less 'Cannes' than other places. It was wonderful. I learned a new word - GAMAS, which I should have known since it is French and means shrimp. Rather embarrassing, but VERY delicious. I forgot to take a photo before I ate it, so I took one after.

Mmmmmm

Walking back from lunch, I was introduced to a game called Boules. It's rather like... well actually, I have no idea, but it seems to be a favorite with old men in the South of France.

Old man game... no idea

GC had to get back to work, but before we parted, he gave me an invitation to a party that night being hosted by the Guyana Film Commission. I readily accepted. 

Of course I could have taken the bus back to my hotel, but I was in Cannes for a reason and I was going to make the most of it.

A lot of what goes on at the Cannes Festival is hanging around hotels and hoping to run into someone with who, you can network. Okay, I'll do that. I took the mile long walk down the coast to the Carlton Hotel. It's a left over from the days of the Grand Hotels. Nothing special today, but back in the day... it was indeed the place to be. I crept up on the Carlton and considered hanging out on the patio. I looked up at the sun and decided against it. I was able to find a nice table inside. I sat down and ordered a cafe au lait.

Now I know I have mentioned in the past that Cannes was expensive. Let me re-iterate ad nausem, Cannes is expensive. Behold, I give you a cup of coffee. 10 Euros. Once more. 10 Euros, that's about 14 bucks on this side of the world. For a CUP OF COFFEE. Here's the rub. I was chatting with the nice lady at my table and the waiter came over, demanded payment since he was going off the clock then proceeded to take 1/2 of my 14 dollar coffee away. Seven bucks of my coffee whisked away like nothing.

14 bucks for this gem.

The nice lady saw my distress and bought me a glass of wine. How kind! She was very nice and the wine came with nuts, olives and potato chips (crisps to my UK pals).

Nice lady and wine.

 Several hours and a lot of gossiping and laughing at creepy predator looking 'producers', the lady excused herself to go take care of her mom. Evidently when not in the festival/market season, Cannes is a haven for the elderly. Who knew? I finished my wine in relative solitary comfort. I went into the restroom to change clothes for the party later that evening. 

I wore a Versace one shoulder sleeveless dress with a scarf wrapped around my protruding gut. I put on nice earrings and choker necklace. I only realized later tat this was a mistake since from certain angles my neck fat overlapped the choker. Lesson learned.

I felt rather 'rebel chic' in my rain boots and finery trudging back down the cost to the village. It made me smile to think I was snubbing my nose at the whole Cannes mystique. 

I changed my shoes outside of the village and went in to the party.

Squabbling for the goods

I have to say, it was quite the to-do. No, I didn't see the old lady.  The Guyana Film Commission put on a really nice spread. I learned that in France, lining up is not really a 'thing'. Being American, that meant that I didn't get to try much of what was on offer. I just couldn't bring myself to push my way through to try stuff. Oh well. It was fun anyway. The various VIP's got up to speak in French. Interestingly, I was able to understand them. I mentioned this to GC and he said that it made sense because they were speaking with an Island accent. Evidently, this French is more closely related to the French I hear in my region. Okay, maybe not interesting to anyone else, but I thought so. 

Around midnight, I headed back to the bus area to await the Night Bus. I like the idea of a night bus. It's a bus for all the party goers that need a ride home. They don't come as often, but it's a safe ride. I hadn't gotten my fair share of grub at the party. I'm pretty sure the corpulent fellow with the 13 pieces of chicken on his plate took care of that for me, but I still had my cheese and baguette! I snacked on that as I waited for the bus.

The bus came, and because it was dark, I got off at the wrong stop and had to walk about another mile in the same direction to get to my hotel. 

I didn't mind this experience. I walked over some type of reservoir that was teeming with very loud and excitable wildlife. I let my imagination get the best of me, and I'm certain I heard a Loup Garou. Not that I would know what they sound like, but you know...

Loup Garou - French werewolf. 

I got back to the hotel unscathed, punched in the night time code and took the elevator back up to my room. After a nice shower, I fell into bed with the French infomercial channel to lull me to sleep. I still want those plastic work out shorts.

Wouldn't mind these

This brings to close my day in Cannes.