A small walk into the fresh and quiet night. The darkness softened by the airport lights. No more than a couple of people outside, pulling cabin bags. Suddenly, the bright hallway. The sounds getting louder. People in transit. Waiting. In that space and time discontinuity that we call airports. The flight was scheduled to 7.00 am. Still time for a coffee. Next, flying without feeling the wind, as those wings are not ours. Some rule book reading. Some rest.
Landing at Nice, shortly after 10 am. Another place, another time. The tram in line 2, to Grand Arénas. Another short walk, to Nice-St. Augustin train station. Waiting, again. People in transit. Same destination, different destinations. The next train heading towards Cannes. Learning a new geography, made of train stops. Cagnes-sur-Mer. Villeneuve-Loubet. Antibes. Juan-les-Pins. Prochain arrêt: Cannes.
The early arrival meaning there is time to explore those streets that would soon become familiar. Rue 24 d’Aout, Rue de Antibes, Rue des Belges. Boulevard de la Croisette. Construction works going on, hidden behind hoardings with movie star faces, staring at me, in black and white.
A right turn to Palais des Festivals, where last-minute details are still being sorted out. Check-in already open, but for exhibitors only. Next to the Palais, the Old Port full of yachts, exhibiting flags from Malta, Madeira, the UK, among others. Flags from the world. Wooden bridges leading to quite different worlds.
A pizza for lunch, at bistrot Casanova. Quick notes scribbled down on the notepad. Letting the French surface, among the conversations on the neighbouring tables, and the TV quiz, French-style, with no luck mitigation. Questions por un champion, maybe. Then, the check-ins: at the venue, with the pass, the bracelet, the welcoming gifts; at the hotel, leaving the backpack behind.
The afternoon was dedicated to sightseeing. The sun was shining. An upward walk to the Suquet, with a view over the sea, the Old Port, and Cannes. Then, back down again, slowly walking in the opposite direction, along the Boulevard, by the beach and the sea. The Hotel Carlton façade, the Crosisette jewel, with origins dating back to 1913. Lots of people for a mid-week afternoon, I thought. From all ages. Taking a stroll, nibbling ice creams, sitting with a view, chatting over a drink, playing on the beach, playing chess (couldn’t resist to watch the game for a while). An atmosphere of holidays.
Loose notes. Tomorrow will be Day 1.
(à suivre)
No comments:
Post a Comment