“Sit there. Count your fingers. What else. What else is there to do? I know how you feel. I know how you feel. And you’re through. Sit there, and count your little fingers, you’re unhappy little girl blue.” Janis Joplin streams out of the speakers of my Macbook pro. Next to me, my iPad2 is charging. I briefly reach into my purse to grab my iphone because I am hoping there is a text message on it. And there is. The New York Times sends me a news alert on my Ipad about Obama and the Middle East. On Twitter, every other tweet is about the Rapture. The supposed end of days that was to occur yesterday, which was just another day. Just another day. And you know, billions of years tells us that the world turns. Living forms evolve and die off but life as we know it, life as formed so many years ago we can’t possibly comprehend its entire point — it goes on.
Category Archives: Cannes 2011
Cannes Day One
Traveling to foreign countries is always a mind-altering experience. You know? Seriously? Forget lighting up, tuning in and tuning out or turning on or whatever they called it in the Sixties. If you live in America, traveling outside of this country will blow your mind.
Because it all happened in a blurry dream state, I barely remember the past 24 hours. I know that we woke up at 3am in Los Angeles and drove to LAX, parked in a reliable airport parking spot which shuttles you to the airport. I know that they dropped us off at the Delta terminal but that it was the wrong terminal and so we had to roll our baggage half way around the airport (“It’s just about a five to seven walk. I do it on my lunch break every day.”) to Alaska Air, which partners with Delta. I know we waited about 45 minutes to check-in and get on board. This, because of heightened security measures which did not let you check things in automatically.
An instragram shot of Alaska Air's check-in line
I know that we then flew to Seattle, where we had about a four layover. We wandered around that giant airport — which has its own subway system — and I know, at some point, I used their free wi-fi. I know that we got on the plane there, Air France this time, and flew seven hours to Paris. I know that we had our neck pillows and our eye covers and our blankets. I know I tried to sleep that whole time but really just laid there, with my eyes closed.
Emma looking like a prisoner of war
I know that, at some point, they began serving breakfast. Somehow we would get to Paris, wait in two more very long lines before finally getting on a plane to beautiful, peaceful, extraordinary Nice. And we would rent a car and get lost driving around the hills behind Nice. We would drive a long time before realizing we were lost. We would find ourselves on toll roads with no euro, having to use the intercom to speak to the workers to explain in English (which none of them speak) why we had no euros. What morons they must have thought we were. One guy just let us through without paying. An alarm went off. I hope I don’t get charged a fine.
But through all of this, a running dialogue is going on in my head as I explain to my daughter yet again why I am making yet another stupid person mistake: “This is how you learn things,” I said. “You make a mistake and you learn something.” And it’s true. We keep learning things as if we’re headed for some kind of plateau of knowledge – because THEN, maybe then we will have figured it all out. Only to then die. Yes, life. Ah, life.
Painted nails and nearly black hair - ready for Cannes
She looked at me like she felt sorry for me. Poor mom. Someday she’ll realize how cool I am. Right? Right? Kids are funny when they travel. They always want to come until they actually start realizing what a hassle it is. Things are made so comfortable for Americans. We really are like those soft, chubby passengers on that giant cruiser in the sky in Wall-E. Just hook us up and take our money.
But when you travel to other countries you see that it’s so not about you, especially here in France in parts that don’t cater to American tourists. I keep saying “je suis Americaine!” as if it’s some excuse as to why I’m so clueless. They just blink back at me: “And I’m supposed to care because…?” In America we are mostly raised to respect the almighty dollar. That’s really what customer service is all about. You know they can’t really treat you that badly because it will cost them in the end. In France and Italy, the two foreign countries I’ve traveled in most, they don’t give a crap about that. They appreciate your politeness more. It’s hard to get your mind around. In America, it’s backwards: the customer is always right. Here, it’s more like, the nicer you are the better service you will get. Act like an entitled American and be prepared to have people treat you poorly.
It is surreal.
Today is officially the first day here. We will drive from Juan Les Pins, where we ended up staying, to Cannes proper, where I will fight the crowds for a parking spot, then walk into the Palais du Festival. The South of France, the coast near Cannes, has many beautiful villages. Like Italy, there are those the tourists flock to and those the tourists don’t yet know about. All up and down the coast — except Cannes and places that everyone already knows — you can find the prettiest, quietest, sweetest little French towns. And those are really what France is all about, I dare say. I am acting as though I’m an expert when in fact, this is my third visit to France and two out of three of those times I was only in the tourist areas. Now we’re staying in Juan Les Pins, which really doesn’t have many Americans. The reason being, most people who comes to the Cannes Film Fest prefer to stay within walking distance. Now that I’ve rented a car, I know the reason why: it’s god-awfully expensive.
For the amount of money the car cost, plus the hotel, we could have stayed in one of the expensive hotels close to La Croisette. Oh well: live and learn. Make mistakes, lots of them, and then learn more.
Onward and upward. Day One.
Life and Other Catastrophes
Fact: some people are good at life. Others are bad at it. Count me in the latter group. As I talked to my good friend Jeff Wells yesterday on the phone, as he helped me try to work out what to do since I’d so royally screwed up my housing plans for the Cannes Film Fest he said, “you know, travel planning isn’t exactly your …” And he didn’t even need to finish the sentence. No, travel planning, planning at all, isn’t my…
I’d thought I was way ahead of the game this year. I’d gone on VRBO and knew I was hitting it a few months early so that I could find exactly the kind of little place in Cannes I dreamed about. In my sad little fantasy, I would be staying in the Le Suquet area of Cannes, the medieval village, instead of a nice B&B I stayed in last year.
I found just the one. A wood fireplace, a view of the sea, a sweetly designed kitchen. The perfect place. The perfect place only someone with great planning habits could muster. I did it all early enough, that was key, because in a few months there would be nothing affordable, and nice, left. In a few months, you’d be looking at places that cost around $4,000 for ten days.
But not me. I was ahead of the game. Or so I thought. Because I’m me, a tragically stupid person who makes all of the wrong choices (“you know, Sasha,” my friend Emily told me in high school, “You’ll always be a fuck up.”) I neglected to check the map. I assumed that Le Suquet could only apply to the medieval village in Cannes when, in fact, I just figured out it applies to all old towns in France! Though I’d picked a place in an old town, it was, as it turned out, 45 miles outside of Cannes, which meant about a half-hour’s drive in and out of Cannes every day.
But the real deal-breaker, besides the costly gas, was that I was bringing Emma. And the thought of leaving her behind, that far away, all day long, in a foreign country was, well, not a good arrangement. But guess what? I’d already paid for it. Cash gone. When I begged and pleaded with the owner she informed me, out of a courtesy, she would refund half of my money. So, like $500. The other $500 I’d have to watch swirl down the toilet bowl.
So goes the adventures of a dumb person.
Starting Sunday, I will be reporting from Juan-Les-Pins, which is just four miles outside of Cannes. I have rented a car – which immediately makes me think there are parking tickets, fender benders and other minor horrors in my future. It’s a manual shift! I haven’t driven one of those in a very very long time. Like 20 years or something like that. “Don’t worry, we can walk to the curb from here.”
On the upside? Everything IN France is kind of nice.