I don’t recall a song – at least not any popular one – entitled “I Love Cannes.” However, there is such a song about Paris. Yes, Paris is nice (not Nice), but Cannes is the shit. Come to think of it, I’d gladly swap 10 Parises for one Cannes. It was nothing like I expected. Yes, the marina is cluttered with massive yachts, but that’s it. If one is expecting a city of spoiled generic snobs, well, to be sure, you can find it in Cannes, but that is but an itsy bitsy part of the life of Cannes. It’s relaxed … a laid-back enclave, peopled with Ordinary Jean and Jeanette. Cannesonians spoke to me … on the street, in the market, wherever … even though they don’t know me from Adam (or Jack and Jill). Very cool people, warm vibes and sand and sunshine aplenty.
Every day I bought the richest, most mouth-watering flan from the Patiserie. Pure decadence. The woman running it let out a gargantuan smile every time she saw me coming in for my daily fix. She knew she had one hooked flan addict. At one point, I asked Isabelle, “How come y’all are not fat?” I couldn’t imagine anyone with the mildest of sweet tooth not want to pig out on that flan … all day – everyday. I thought I’d bring some back just to show to the rest of the world how serious this flan was, but truth be told, there would be nothing left by the end of the plane trip back home to Stockholm.
How I wish I had more time – a lot more time – to photograph that city, but doing the Midem thing was what I was there for and that took up nearly all of the daytime and evening hours. Nevertheless, I managed to get a few shots.