Cannes Diary

Cannes in the fall. Pristine beaches with the emerald green sea rolling up gently. Cobbled streets that snake up a small hill; Lined with eateries serving great continental and Provencal fare. Tired from being on my feet all day, I made my way up, looking for sustenance. And I chewed a great meal of mussels, which I washed down with a glass of chardonnay, as I sat on the pavement tables and watched the world (well, a part of the world that was present on location that evening, anyway) walk by. Small groups sat and enjoyed the evening as the wine flowed and the glasses clinked. Was a good end to a day spent networking with media professionals and network honchos from all over the world.

But that was Tuesday evening, two days after I had been there. So lets backtrack a bit.

Sunday afternoon. I reached Cannes after a nine hour flight from Mumbai to Paris, a drive from Charles de Gaulle airport to Orly and then another flight to nice and yet another drive to Cannes.

My taxi driver let me off outside the wrong hotel. Well, déjà vu. Something almost exactly like this had happened earlier, the last time I was here. Feeling brave, I took the foolish decision of walking with my bag in tow to the correct one. I was told it was in the vicinity. I should have known. The walk up the hill to the resort Villa Francia was picturesque. But the weight of the bag on my shoulder sort of robbed me of the quiet enjoyment of the walk.

It was mid afternoon, but the traffic was sparse. On the last stretch that wound uphill to the resort, there wasn’t a soul around.

But when I got to the place, it was nice. Really nice. The place I had was a small apartment with it’s own hob, dishwasher etc. So if I liked I could stay in it and cook my own meals and generally have a good like-home vacation. But that’s not why I was there and I agree with a great philosopher that when I’m traveling, I don’t particularly want to feet at home.

The view of the Mediterranean was awesome. There were sailboats and luxury yachts out at sea and the water was a sparkling green.

Tore myself away and decided to go into town. I had business at the Palais des Festivals, where the film fests are held. Directly as the work was done, I walked the streets facing it. The shopping district where Pierre Cardin to Bvlgari to Lois Vuitton boutiques dot the neighbourhood. As do several cafes and eateries serving all kinds of food. From good exotic Chinese to Provencale, to Italian and even Lebanese. Tip: the Lebanese is seriously avoidable.

Evening was spent with a can of beer (lots of time left for wine..) and a sandwich, letting the dusk settle on the Mediterranean and watching the lights on the boats. And being transported back to another place; my terrace, where I’ve often sat with my wife and son, watching the sunset over the sea and similar lights (though from very different kinds of boats!)

In the spin of meetings the next day, the highlight was the lunch at the beach restaurant. The tagliatelle with parma ham was much too bland for my palate which is used to stronger tastes.

The evening was interesting in its own way. It was the opening cocktail for the event I was in town for. And the theme was Brazilian. The venue was the usual : Martinez hotel. The wine was nice. The canapés too. But the Brazilian performances were spectacular. Yes. I mean that literally. There were men who drummed and danced and women who swayed to the Samba, wearing, well, little. And the crowd cheered as the entertainment went into the early hours.

The last evening there was spent at a party aboard a cruise ship. The lounge was packed, but I chose to step outside on to the front deck where I stood and watched the lights in the shopping district sparkle across the water.

I promised myself that I should come here sometime to just chill out and not for work. With N & N.