Cannes

Fru-fru and Shu-shu being taken for their walk outside of the opulent Hotel Carlton.

June 13, 2009

We woke up after we were already into the Port of Cannes today, and luckily Dean was feeling better. The view from the balcony was amazing. I could tell I was going to love the French Riviera.

We went ashore and set off on the main strip, Boulevard de la Croisette. We stopped at the Notre Dame de Bon Voyage, I think the only church I’ve seen with a full crystal chandelier right in front of the altar. Walking a bit further, I salivated as we passed Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Gucci, Salvatore Ferragamo, and the list goes on. We reached the Hotel Carlton, which rates a ten out of ten on the fancy-schmancy scale. Built in 1911 by Henri Ruhl, its twin black cupolas are rumored to be modeled after the breasts of La Belle Otero, a half-gypsy courtesan. Seriously, I did not make that up. Read it in a book and everything.

To the front of the hotel is the beach, lined with gold-and-white beach umbrellas and padded lounge chairs. The staff raked all the sand on the beach lest their guests be offended by an unsightly footprint.

We also saw where the Cannes Film Festival takes place. The Allee de Stars, much like our Hollywood Walk of Fame, is where movie actors put their hands and signatures into the sidewalk. Timothy Dalton, Sharon Stone, Julie Andrews, and Mickey were some of the names and hand prints we saw. With this motion picture mecca and all the opulence around, I was positive I was going to see Johnny Depp or George Clooney on holiday so I kept my eyes peeled.

There was a fantastic street fair in the Marche Aux Fleurs across the street, so we made our way over there. I sipped on a Coca Light (that’s French for Diet Coke) while we browsed antiques plates, jewelry, leather-bound books, and paintings.

Then we had the brilliant idea to march up to a lookout point by the Musee de la Castre up the steep and winding Rue Mont Chevalier. I had to bring Dean back to reality several times as he was re-living his bootcamp glory days to remind him that not all of us were Marines and we might prefer to saunter up the hill. At the top, there was some sort of wine tasting event going on. We don’t speak fluent French, but no one kicked us out, so we joined in and enjoyed ourselves immensely chomping on a crepe with Nutella taking in a terrific view of the coast line.

Before we went back to the ship, we took a short ride in a little motorboat and zipped along the coast. Riding the waves on bright blue Mediterranean in the South of France was blissful.