Cannes

Cannes is about 45 minutes away from Nice on the train, and though there are similarities in these Riviera cities, there is a different feel to them. Cannes feels a lot paler, a lot of the buildings are a creamy colour compared to the bright yellows and reds and terracottas of Nice. The Croisette is Cannes’ answer to the Promenade des Anglais and is lined with designer boutiques. They were closed when we walked past and so all of the jewellery was removed from the stands, but they’d left the price tags out, so there was a lot of very expensive air on display – it felt like a scene from the Emperor’s New Clothes. The beaches are sandy and you can see out to the islands just off the shore of Cannes, which is where the Man in the Iron Mask was imprisoned. I think we’ll revisit and go to the islands when it’s a bit warmer. For now we settled for a now traditional picnic by the port:

Cannes is of course most famous for its Film Festival, and though it isn’t until May, you can spot clues to its existence all year long such as my identical hand twin à la Friends:

Or this good looking guy:

There was also a flea market by the beach. You know me and that I love anything that is old and ratty, I was in my element. 3 of us found rings amongst the various market stalls for 5 euros each – I doubt they’re 24k gold but they are pretty and a memento of our day out. We climbed to the top of the tower in the old town and were rewarded with a view over the whole of Cannes:

I can’t believe I have been living here for four months; the time is flying by so quickly that I feel I have to make the most of every moment as it won’t be long until I’m back in England. I’m having a strange nostalgia this week for green fields and punting on the River Cam (totally rose-tinted glasses as it would be FREEZING to do that right now). I will be getting my English fix in a couple of months when I have two of my best friends and my best sister coming to stay. I can’t wait! I love chances to be hospitable and it will be fun to share my current life with important people to me.

I feel like my French has improved so much since I moved out here, but that’s not the only thing apparently. Two people this week have told me I sounded American (it must be rubbing off on me) and another old lady told me that I move my hands too much when I talk to be English, I’m more like an Italian. So there you go. Ciao! (gesticulates wildly)