Some sunny daze
Apr. 1st, 2011 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
peterbirksDateline: Friday lunchtime:
Yesterday I got the train to Cannes. Twice in the past I have sworn never again to get the bus to Cannes, and twice I’ve said to myself “hell, it can’t be that bad”. Indeed, the last time on the way back from Cannes on the 200 bus I found myself sat next to a particularly obnoxious adolescent who proceeded to give me a chest cold that only antibiotics stopped from turning into pneumonia. Yes, the bus to Cannes is that bad. The €12.20 return trip by train is infinitely less stressful.
Curiously, the “semi-fast” TER train to Cannes was one of its old stock, while the double-decker “stopping at all stations” train on the way back was the newer kind.
This coastal journey oddly divorces many residences from the beach. Here, for example, is a photo taken as I went past Boit. A fantastic, two-mile long beach, almost completely deserted, and only accessible from the houses on the other side of the tracks via (very occasional) pedestrian subways.
.
There was an entertaining diversion when I arrived at Cannes. I wanted to go to the loo, and I spotted a WC by the port. A man and his wife were waiting outside. So I sat down on a bench to watch. After a couple of minutes a bloke came out. The door closed automatically and it then went through that self-washing process that these expensive toilets have. This was when it became comical. After about a minute, I wondered why the bloke had not gone in. He seemed to be staring at something. Was he waiting for the door to open.
This turned into an exercise of classic indecision, with the guy following all of the traits. Luckily I wasn't absolutely bursting, so, rather than head over there and ask "Are you going to make up your mind?" I decided to watcvh events unfold. This must have been a good five minutes. Here was a man who quite clearly could not come to a decision. Finally, he cracked, and off they strode, presumably in search of another toilet. I wandered over and saw that a small sign read "Attendez SVP pour lavage". Ignoring this, I put in my 50 cents worth, and the door promptly opened. I half-hoped that the bloke glanced back from the other side of the square just in time to see me pop into the loo, but I didn't look round to check.
For the first time I was in Cannes to catch the market. Here's a picture.
A bit of same-old-same-old, to be honest. But definitely a better place to shop than Tesco's. Then again, at a fiver for a small poussin, I would hope so.
The object of my journey was not Cannes, but Ile Ste Marguerite, which I intended to circumnavigate, keeping as close to the coastline as possible. This island also houses an old fort and prison, which I visited and photographed when I was here in November 2009.
The boat out was actually a bit chilly, despite the sunshine. But once I began my walk I soon warmed up.
Some photographs and commentary below.
View of the Cannes Exhibition Centre from the sea.
This is the boat taking people to Ile St Honoré, the smaller island to the south of Ile Ste Marguerite, and home to 25 Cisercian monks.
A number of savvier people from Cannes pay the €11.20 fare to the Island, find an isolated cove, and sunbathe here for the day, rather than suffer the crowded hell that is the Cannes municipal beach, or pay €30 or more to spend a day on a sculpted beach owned by one of the posher seafront hotels.
On the west side of the island is a lake. Clearly this attracts a few birdspotters, as this was just one of six different signs indicating the various birds that could be spotted from the viewing platform.
This is one of four "Blockhausen" put up by the Germans in World War II. The sign beside this one informed me that they were never used for defence because by this time the Germans had run out of ammo.
About a third of the way through this walk there is a picnic area. I stopped to eat my cheese sandwich and to drink my water. At this point the cat appeared. I'm sure this cat was here the last time I was on the island, so clearly this picnic area offers healthy prospects for El Chatumundo.
"Whatcha got there, then?"
"OK, I can wait." (I remembered to adjust the colour balance for this picture to what it should have been in the first place!)
Just another picture from the south side of the island. Coves such as this are abundant.
A shot of Ile St Honoré.
As you reach the eastern tip of the island the fauna changes dramatically. I wonder if they had a fire here or somethihng about 20 years ago.
Now back on the north side of the island. The mainland in the distance is, I think, Juan Les Pins.
Just a very pretty little shallow bay.
I haven't shown many pictures of the interior of the island because, to be blunt, pictures don't recreate the feeling induced by so much "natural" growth. It's just a haven of tranquility, alothough I fear that at the height of the tourist season it might not be too tranquil.
A tough job, but someone's gotta do it.
A map of the island. I arrived at the red dot on the top left, and then headed west (to the left as we are looking at it). The part on the left that looks as if it might be a separate island is in fact connected by two land bridges. The bit of water thus isolated is the lake.
I took a brisk walk along the seafront when I got back to Cannes, taking a few more pictures.
Ever wondered how they move those boats to and from the maintenance centre? Well, now you know. This piece of machinery actually had a sign on it "max 100 tonnes". What I'd like to know is what they make those belts of that are holding up the boat. Only four of them. Blimey!
Me in front of my yacht. Oh, ok. Me in front of not-my-yacht.
Sunglasses are obligatory when in Cannes for toddlers and even for babies.
The Cannes promenade. It felt busier than it looks. But I prefer Ile Ste Marguerite!
One thing struck me, and this applies to much of the South of France, but to Cannes in particular. That is that the image of ubiquitous wealth is (obviously, when you think about it) a myth. By that I mean that most of the people you see who live here are working in the service industry, promulgating the myth that this is the land of the rich and famous. But nearly all of the money comes from Joe Bloggs tourists, not from the rich and famous. And, in addition to this, most of those who you think are the rich and famous, are probably just staying in the villa for a week as corporate guests, before they head back to London for standard jobs as held by the likes of you and me. Those people on the boats at the time of the Cannes Festival? Probably in PR, or marketing. Those people in the villas for a week? Guests of Indigo Productions, or WTF Magazine.
And yet there must be some real money, because there are some shops that could only exist if there were really wealthy people around. I suspect that they are esconced in villas some way from the centre of town.
Because Cannes is, to be blunt, getting to be a bit down-at-heel. There was just too much development in the 1960s and 1970s, and these apartment blocks are beginning to show their age. “Palm Beach” is almost a post-ironic joke. Indeed, on the train back I was struck by how much nicer Boit looked. Not a few detached houses (in a place where they aren’t ashamed to call a place a “maison” instead of a “villa”). Although there are scars of apartment-block development (including the incredible lengths to which the architects go to ensure a maximum number of flats can clame a “sea view”, there are also parts that appear to have survived unscathed.
Although if you have money to burn it seems obvious that Antibes beats Cannes hands down.
That walk around the island rather knackered me – too much even to write up a blog! I had an early night, slept for 8 hours and then for another four on top of that, and woke up to see that I had really caught the sun. Oh well, three-hour walks in even the April midday sun are bound to have an effect on someone as light-skinned as me. I hope that the traffic-light forehead calms down a bit by Monday!
This morning (Friday), I decided to take a short stroll around Cours Saleya. In all of the times that I have been here I have never made it to the morning market here – mainly because I have been told that it is a tourist rip-off.
Actually, that isn’t true. Sure, it’s a bit more expensive than the market near the main station, but not to an excessive degree. And it has some lovely stuff on display.
some seriously large sweet peppers there! (compare with aubergines to the left of them!)One stall was selling loose sun-dried red peppers for €3 a 100g. Wasn't sure if I would need to preserve them in olive oil, so didn't buy.
In the south of France it is just coming to the end of the asparagus season, about six to eight weeks ahead of the Vale of Evesham.
Some almond paste confections, but at a fiver per 100g, not cheap!
Better value werer the candied fruits. However, I manfully resisted these in favour of the healthier dried fruits on sale the other side. A huge collection, and it was possible to mix and match.
Some of the gorgeous flowers on display.
The tourist train heads through a mainly pedestrianized area, at some risk to unwary pedestrians!
The Promenade d'Etats Unis meets the start of Promenade des Anglais. It felt busier than it looks.
The legendary Alziari shop. Purveyor of the finest olive oil.
I continued my walk north, taking a few more random pictures of Nice. I realized that I have hardly ever photographed Nice during the day time, so what follows are some brief observations of the streets not far from my apartment.
View north across Place Massena to Ave Jean des Medecins. Two trams conveniently fill the tracks. The street heading left where Ave JD Medecins begins is Rue Verdun -- definitely the classiest and priciest street for shopping in Nice.
The start of Rue Verdun. Never take a woman with a taste for classy clothing along this street. You will be bankrupt before you reach the other end. Speaking of which, just as the area near the Matisse Museum has a park devoted to the jazz greats, so this part of Nice has a lesser-known area devoted to the more famous expounders of the BritPop movement. Viz...
Just before coming back to the flat, I popped into Galerie Lafayette and Zara. After looking in the shop windows of Duncan and then the shops on Rue de Verdun, the prices here seemed positively giveaway. But there was hardly anything here that I couldn’t buy in London for slightly less. It did make me want to update my wardrobe, though!
One brand that seems popular here that I haven’t seen in London is “Teddy Smith”. I mention this only because I’m a big fan of the Paul Smith range, and I didn’t see any Paul Smith stuff over here. Teddy Smith is far lower-priced and, apart from a slight similarity of the signature, is very different in all other ways. Rather odd.
Haven’t decided what to do this evening. April 1 has arrived and the season has obviously officially started. It’s more crowded than it was at the beginning of the week (but then again, the weather has brightened up incredibly as the week has gone on. It’s now “London summer” heat at about 19 to 20 degrees. Very pleasant, and not too windy.
So, this week I’ve managed six new things in six days. The Joseph Garnier street market (Sunday, after which, the rain), the 400 bus to St Paul de Vence (Monday, light clouds), the long trek to Villefranche sur mer (Tuesday, sunny), the tram to Pont Michel and walk up to Cimiez (Wednesday, overcast), the walk around Ile Ste Marguerite (Thursday, sunny), and a trip to the Cours Saleya market (Friday, sunny).
However, on the walk back from the market, I didn’t feel “oh, now I’ve seen virtually everything to see around here – I’ll visit Avignon in the autumn”. Or, rather, I did think about that, but only as a holiday. Every time I come here, and increasingly so, this place feels like home. I don’t want to be here as a holidaymaker, I want to be here as someone in no rush to get things done, with no deadline for when I have to go back to London. It’s just a place that I love.
There’s an old story about the intrinsic disadvantage suffered by UK poker players when they go to Las Vegas – that being the short period they are staying there. Deadlines are bad things for poker players – Mr Channing once observed that the last hour before the Vic used to close at 4am was the most profitable hour of the day. Why? Because Neil was playing his normal game, while many of his opponents were rushing to get their money back before the casino closed and they had to realize their losses. UK players in Vegas, even those who did not fall victim to this “deadline fallacy” when they were playing in London, would often succumb to the same trap when in LV.
Indeed, when I went to Las Vegas I did everything to avoid this trap. I kept a separate dollar bankroll which I did not change back to sterling when I returned to the UK. I never went for less than 10 days – sometimes for 17 days.
Well, that’s how I want to feel about being in Nice – that my trips here are not “breaks from London” that come to an end all too soon.
Of course, living in a place means that all of the problems and hassles that you face “at home” have to be transferred across. You can’t put off for ever doing the washing and ironing. But I’ve thought about that, and as I strolled around the Cours Saleya this morning, it seemed like a fair trade.
Maybe in a few years.
___________________
Yesterday I got the train to Cannes. Twice in the past I have sworn never again to get the bus to Cannes, and twice I’ve said to myself “hell, it can’t be that bad”. Indeed, the last time on the way back from Cannes on the 200 bus I found myself sat next to a particularly obnoxious adolescent who proceeded to give me a chest cold that only antibiotics stopped from turning into pneumonia. Yes, the bus to Cannes is that bad. The €12.20 return trip by train is infinitely less stressful.
Curiously, the “semi-fast” TER train to Cannes was one of its old stock, while the double-decker “stopping at all stations” train on the way back was the newer kind.
This coastal journey oddly divorces many residences from the beach. Here, for example, is a photo taken as I went past Boit. A fantastic, two-mile long beach, almost completely deserted, and only accessible from the houses on the other side of the tracks via (very occasional) pedestrian subways.
.
There was an entertaining diversion when I arrived at Cannes. I wanted to go to the loo, and I spotted a WC by the port. A man and his wife were waiting outside. So I sat down on a bench to watch. After a couple of minutes a bloke came out. The door closed automatically and it then went through that self-washing process that these expensive toilets have. This was when it became comical. After about a minute, I wondered why the bloke had not gone in. He seemed to be staring at something. Was he waiting for the door to open.
This turned into an exercise of classic indecision, with the guy following all of the traits. Luckily I wasn't absolutely bursting, so, rather than head over there and ask "Are you going to make up your mind?" I decided to watcvh events unfold. This must have been a good five minutes. Here was a man who quite clearly could not come to a decision. Finally, he cracked, and off they strode, presumably in search of another toilet. I wandered over and saw that a small sign read "Attendez SVP pour lavage". Ignoring this, I put in my 50 cents worth, and the door promptly opened. I half-hoped that the bloke glanced back from the other side of the square just in time to see me pop into the loo, but I didn't look round to check.
For the first time I was in Cannes to catch the market. Here's a picture.
A bit of same-old-same-old, to be honest. But definitely a better place to shop than Tesco's. Then again, at a fiver for a small poussin, I would hope so.
The object of my journey was not Cannes, but Ile Ste Marguerite, which I intended to circumnavigate, keeping as close to the coastline as possible. This island also houses an old fort and prison, which I visited and photographed when I was here in November 2009.
The boat out was actually a bit chilly, despite the sunshine. But once I began my walk I soon warmed up.
Some photographs and commentary below.
View of the Cannes Exhibition Centre from the sea.
This is the boat taking people to Ile St Honoré, the smaller island to the south of Ile Ste Marguerite, and home to 25 Cisercian monks.
A number of savvier people from Cannes pay the €11.20 fare to the Island, find an isolated cove, and sunbathe here for the day, rather than suffer the crowded hell that is the Cannes municipal beach, or pay €30 or more to spend a day on a sculpted beach owned by one of the posher seafront hotels.
On the west side of the island is a lake. Clearly this attracts a few birdspotters, as this was just one of six different signs indicating the various birds that could be spotted from the viewing platform.
This is one of four "Blockhausen" put up by the Germans in World War II. The sign beside this one informed me that they were never used for defence because by this time the Germans had run out of ammo.
About a third of the way through this walk there is a picnic area. I stopped to eat my cheese sandwich and to drink my water. At this point the cat appeared. I'm sure this cat was here the last time I was on the island, so clearly this picnic area offers healthy prospects for El Chatumundo.
"Whatcha got there, then?"
"OK, I can wait." (I remembered to adjust the colour balance for this picture to what it should have been in the first place!)
Just another picture from the south side of the island. Coves such as this are abundant.
A shot of Ile St Honoré.
As you reach the eastern tip of the island the fauna changes dramatically. I wonder if they had a fire here or somethihng about 20 years ago.
Now back on the north side of the island. The mainland in the distance is, I think, Juan Les Pins.
Just a very pretty little shallow bay.
I haven't shown many pictures of the interior of the island because, to be blunt, pictures don't recreate the feeling induced by so much "natural" growth. It's just a haven of tranquility, alothough I fear that at the height of the tourist season it might not be too tranquil.
A tough job, but someone's gotta do it.
A map of the island. I arrived at the red dot on the top left, and then headed west (to the left as we are looking at it). The part on the left that looks as if it might be a separate island is in fact connected by two land bridges. The bit of water thus isolated is the lake.
I took a brisk walk along the seafront when I got back to Cannes, taking a few more pictures.
Ever wondered how they move those boats to and from the maintenance centre? Well, now you know. This piece of machinery actually had a sign on it "max 100 tonnes". What I'd like to know is what they make those belts of that are holding up the boat. Only four of them. Blimey!
Me in front of my yacht. Oh, ok. Me in front of not-my-yacht.
Sunglasses are obligatory when in Cannes for toddlers and even for babies.
The Cannes promenade. It felt busier than it looks. But I prefer Ile Ste Marguerite!
One thing struck me, and this applies to much of the South of France, but to Cannes in particular. That is that the image of ubiquitous wealth is (obviously, when you think about it) a myth. By that I mean that most of the people you see who live here are working in the service industry, promulgating the myth that this is the land of the rich and famous. But nearly all of the money comes from Joe Bloggs tourists, not from the rich and famous. And, in addition to this, most of those who you think are the rich and famous, are probably just staying in the villa for a week as corporate guests, before they head back to London for standard jobs as held by the likes of you and me. Those people on the boats at the time of the Cannes Festival? Probably in PR, or marketing. Those people in the villas for a week? Guests of Indigo Productions, or WTF Magazine.
And yet there must be some real money, because there are some shops that could only exist if there were really wealthy people around. I suspect that they are esconced in villas some way from the centre of town.
Because Cannes is, to be blunt, getting to be a bit down-at-heel. There was just too much development in the 1960s and 1970s, and these apartment blocks are beginning to show their age. “Palm Beach” is almost a post-ironic joke. Indeed, on the train back I was struck by how much nicer Boit looked. Not a few detached houses (in a place where they aren’t ashamed to call a place a “maison” instead of a “villa”). Although there are scars of apartment-block development (including the incredible lengths to which the architects go to ensure a maximum number of flats can clame a “sea view”, there are also parts that appear to have survived unscathed.
Although if you have money to burn it seems obvious that Antibes beats Cannes hands down.
That walk around the island rather knackered me – too much even to write up a blog! I had an early night, slept for 8 hours and then for another four on top of that, and woke up to see that I had really caught the sun. Oh well, three-hour walks in even the April midday sun are bound to have an effect on someone as light-skinned as me. I hope that the traffic-light forehead calms down a bit by Monday!
This morning (Friday), I decided to take a short stroll around Cours Saleya. In all of the times that I have been here I have never made it to the morning market here – mainly because I have been told that it is a tourist rip-off.
Actually, that isn’t true. Sure, it’s a bit more expensive than the market near the main station, but not to an excessive degree. And it has some lovely stuff on display.
some seriously large sweet peppers there! (compare with aubergines to the left of them!)One stall was selling loose sun-dried red peppers for €3 a 100g. Wasn't sure if I would need to preserve them in olive oil, so didn't buy.
In the south of France it is just coming to the end of the asparagus season, about six to eight weeks ahead of the Vale of Evesham.
Some almond paste confections, but at a fiver per 100g, not cheap!
Better value werer the candied fruits. However, I manfully resisted these in favour of the healthier dried fruits on sale the other side. A huge collection, and it was possible to mix and match.
Some of the gorgeous flowers on display.
The tourist train heads through a mainly pedestrianized area, at some risk to unwary pedestrians!
The Promenade d'Etats Unis meets the start of Promenade des Anglais. It felt busier than it looks.
The legendary Alziari shop. Purveyor of the finest olive oil.
I continued my walk north, taking a few more random pictures of Nice. I realized that I have hardly ever photographed Nice during the day time, so what follows are some brief observations of the streets not far from my apartment.
View north across Place Massena to Ave Jean des Medecins. Two trams conveniently fill the tracks. The street heading left where Ave JD Medecins begins is Rue Verdun -- definitely the classiest and priciest street for shopping in Nice.
The start of Rue Verdun. Never take a woman with a taste for classy clothing along this street. You will be bankrupt before you reach the other end. Speaking of which, just as the area near the Matisse Museum has a park devoted to the jazz greats, so this part of Nice has a lesser-known area devoted to the more famous expounders of the BritPop movement. Viz...
Just before coming back to the flat, I popped into Galerie Lafayette and Zara. After looking in the shop windows of Duncan and then the shops on Rue de Verdun, the prices here seemed positively giveaway. But there was hardly anything here that I couldn’t buy in London for slightly less. It did make me want to update my wardrobe, though!
One brand that seems popular here that I haven’t seen in London is “Teddy Smith”. I mention this only because I’m a big fan of the Paul Smith range, and I didn’t see any Paul Smith stuff over here. Teddy Smith is far lower-priced and, apart from a slight similarity of the signature, is very different in all other ways. Rather odd.
Haven’t decided what to do this evening. April 1 has arrived and the season has obviously officially started. It’s more crowded than it was at the beginning of the week (but then again, the weather has brightened up incredibly as the week has gone on. It’s now “London summer” heat at about 19 to 20 degrees. Very pleasant, and not too windy.
So, this week I’ve managed six new things in six days. The Joseph Garnier street market (Sunday, after which, the rain), the 400 bus to St Paul de Vence (Monday, light clouds), the long trek to Villefranche sur mer (Tuesday, sunny), the tram to Pont Michel and walk up to Cimiez (Wednesday, overcast), the walk around Ile Ste Marguerite (Thursday, sunny), and a trip to the Cours Saleya market (Friday, sunny).
However, on the walk back from the market, I didn’t feel “oh, now I’ve seen virtually everything to see around here – I’ll visit Avignon in the autumn”. Or, rather, I did think about that, but only as a holiday. Every time I come here, and increasingly so, this place feels like home. I don’t want to be here as a holidaymaker, I want to be here as someone in no rush to get things done, with no deadline for when I have to go back to London. It’s just a place that I love.
There’s an old story about the intrinsic disadvantage suffered by UK poker players when they go to Las Vegas – that being the short period they are staying there. Deadlines are bad things for poker players – Mr Channing once observed that the last hour before the Vic used to close at 4am was the most profitable hour of the day. Why? Because Neil was playing his normal game, while many of his opponents were rushing to get their money back before the casino closed and they had to realize their losses. UK players in Vegas, even those who did not fall victim to this “deadline fallacy” when they were playing in London, would often succumb to the same trap when in LV.
Indeed, when I went to Las Vegas I did everything to avoid this trap. I kept a separate dollar bankroll which I did not change back to sterling when I returned to the UK. I never went for less than 10 days – sometimes for 17 days.
Well, that’s how I want to feel about being in Nice – that my trips here are not “breaks from London” that come to an end all too soon.
Of course, living in a place means that all of the problems and hassles that you face “at home” have to be transferred across. You can’t put off for ever doing the washing and ironing. But I’ve thought about that, and as I strolled around the Cours Saleya this morning, it seemed like a fair trade.
Maybe in a few years.
___________________
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Emigrating
Date: 2011-04-01 08:02 pm (UTC)You've never struck me as someone full of wanderlust. You can obtain pleasure from the smaller, detailed aspects of where you are. Even so, I think you should try the place for a couple of months when you can see the place at work, rest and play.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-01 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 07:06 am (UTC)PJ
no subject
Date: 2011-04-01 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 07:06 am (UTC)PJ
Moving house - why?
Date: 2011-04-02 08:10 am (UTC)On completion day we went to the house, rather than to the estate agent, to collect the keys. The previous owners (mid 70s), who were just leaving as we arrived, told me that downsizing is a very stressful process. Selling or giving away a good proportion of what you own is not nice.
Re: Moving house - why?
Date: 2011-04-03 07:08 am (UTC)PJ
no subject
Date: 2011-04-03 10:52 am (UTC)