Caption: As I rode the bus from Marseille in the direction of Cannes, I had regrets. I kept thinking: I didn't spend enough time in Marseille, I didn't see all that I could and I didn't truly experience that small coastal village.
However, after the bus dropped me off, I walked around the corner, straight into the gorgeous Cannes harbor. I almost started crying. It was SO beautiful. Truly the definition of style and class - the epitome of “posh”. I couldn't stop smiling. As I walked along the coast I had a pep in my step and, oddly, a genuine sadness. Even though I just arrived, I knew one day soon I would have to leave.
Moreover, when I arrived at my Airbnb (private estate this time), I feel the blessings wash over me. It was amazing! Well decorated, including all the perks and being a studio, I felt right at home (however, it was a tad smaller than my studio in SF. I didn't even think that was possible).
I snuck into a sought after restaurant for dinner that night, mind you - without a reservation, quite the feat. I had the most amazing sea bass I've ever had (don't tell my dad, he always get jealous when I say something is the best ever… especially when it's not the version he cooked for me), accompanying the bass was perfectly smooth, extra buttery mashed potatoes. At the end of this meal the waitress asked if I wanted them to bring the dessert cart by. (Yes, it's like a movie where they wheel a cart full of desserts by and you get to choose your favorite!) I was so excited, but with each passing second the food coma was kicking in. 15 minutes later, when my waitress asked “has the cart come by?”, I said “no”, thank god, “I'm so full, can I get my check?”. I think they might have neglected me on purpose. There was quite the line of people waiting and I, of course, didn't have a reservation in the first place.
Once retiring in my Airbnb, I popped on my fav show on Netflix: Grace & Frankie (I highly recommend it, it's like the new age Golden Girls). As hour by hour passed, I didn't get tired. Each episode flashed by and I was still awake. At 6:30am I decided: okay, if I stay up 3 more hours, I'll just sleep on the beach all day. At 7:30am (10:30pm California time), I start to feel my eyes close. Okay, I'll take a quick nap and then go straight to the beach. Should I set an alarm? Nah, I'm on vacation - an alarm would be blasphemy, I thought, sleepily, to myself.
I wake up from my nap, stretch out and feel how dry my mouth is. Dang, I only sleep with my mouth open when I'm reallyyyyy tired, I realized. I hastily grab my phone and look at the time; 2pm! Oh my gosh, I've slept through my whole day! As someone who prides herself as an early riser, I am beyond bummed. I slept through half of one of my limited number of days in the French Riviera.
Quickly, I get up and grab my beach gear. I beeline for the shoreline and find myself in a front row ocean sunbed by 2:37pm. I order breakfast, I can see that the server thinks it's weird I'm ordering breakfast when it's past lunch time.
Laying in my comfy beach bed, I reflect. Thinking about my day, my trip, my life, my mom, etc. Right when my emotions start to bubble up, out of nowhere a bird swoops down and steals the baguette off of my breakfast platter. 'Twas the biggest seagal of my life. Hearing its wings flap sounded like a pterodactyl was coming for me. Honestly, I'm glad it only took off with my bread! I tell myself, God's looking out for you, you don't need those extra calories. Amen.
The afternoon blends with the evening. It got a bit cold and most people left the beach. I decide to follow suit… not before a picture of course. I flag over one of the servers and ask for his photography skills. Bless his soul, he was so patient with me. He changed camera angles while I changed positions, what a doll.
After I have the winning pic, I finally leave the beach. I realize I'm ravenous, it's 6pm and all I've had today is a latte, oj and croissant (I would have had that baguette if that pterodactyl didn't take off with it). I want something truly French, with a view of the gorgeous sunset and of course a killer glass of rogue wine. So I walk, and walk, and laugh at funny people dancing on the beach and walk some more. I hoof it until I find the perfect place: sunset view (check), great wine (check), true French foie gras (check), and not too expensive (bonus!). I sit and savor my food. My restaurant is right next to the Prada and Gucci store, so to all the people passing by, I probably look posh AF - I soak it in.
After my entree, I decide I should grab some dinner and try to get to bed at a decent hour. Time to get my body on French time. I want to go back to the place I had my delish dinner the night before, I saw a few dishes I would love to try. I arrive, see the server I had the night before and ask to be seated. She was in disbelief when I assured her, no I hadn't made a reservation, again… she turned me away, saying they had a sister restaurant 3 blocks away. I was miffed. I thought she and I were friends, she hooked it up for me last night! I walked those 3 blocks and out of spite went to the restaurant across the street.
Picture
Caption: As I walk in the outside seating area I can tell I made a mistake. This place is fancy, like fancy fancy. The women are in stilettos, cocktail dresses and are dusted in diamonds. I try to turn around but people are filing in behind me. I hope they don't have a table because I'm way underdressed and don't want to spend all my money by eating a meal out of spite. I see the greater. He knows everyone, each guest is receiving welcome hugs paired with a kiss on each cheek. I listen to the conversations. All of these people are in politics. I'm so out of my element. Shit. I'm in the front of the line. He embraces me in a hug and while giving me a peck on each cheek. He asked if I'm with the people behind me, who he clearly knows, smiling and waving at them. “No, table for one? No reservation”, I said shyly. His smile drops, nose goes into the air and, a thick French accent comes out of nowhere, “No. We have no room for you.” Thank God! I turn around, go to the sister restaurant, get seated right away and count my blessings.
This restaurant must be the older sister, because the menu is way more gourmet, and pricey. Like, you can only order wine by the bottle. When the super friendly waitress asks what I would like to drink I sheepishly say “I'm not drinking tonight”, she saw right through me. “If you just want a glass of wine I can hook you up”. Hearing the good news and her say “hook you up”, in her potent French accent, brought a big smile to my face.
I pull out my phone and click on the google translate app and figure out what meal on this French only menu sounds the best. I decide on the squid ink risotto. (I was trying to save the Italian food for Italy but it just sounded too good, yolo).
Seriously guys, this risotto was so good, I know it already has ruined all other risottos for me - and I haven't even made it to the risotto Mecca yet.
The couple sitting next to me asked what the black dish I'm eating is. I know they couldn't understand English that well by their puzzled looks when I started describing it. So I settled for the short recap, “squid ink risotto, it's amazing, you have to get it!”. Their confusion turn into a look of disgust, I guess they don't like squid, I told myself.
I finish dinner, yet again, not indulging in the beautiful dessert cart. I am totally stuffed. The waitress brings the bill and slips me their business card, insisting if I want to come again I should make a reservation, “so you can get a good seat. An inside seat”, she assures me. Jokes on her, I love the outside seats. That's where all the people watching is!
When I get home I notice why that couple looked disgusted when I told them about my dish at dinner, the squid ink had dyed my teeth black! That took a good 15 min Crest Whitening treatment to wear off.
I climb into bed and turn on my fav show yet again. Getting prepped to fall asleep at a decent hour, I take some melatonin and NyQuil (I'm not just taking sleep aids for the heck of it, I did have a tickle in my throat). I also pounded an Emergen-C because ain't no common cold is going to ruin this trip.
I wake up at 1:30am, ugh come on body, just sleep. I check my phone and see that my dad had liked my blogged. Worried about his opinion, I called him. (Not all people appreciate being written about, and I wanted to make sure he was okay with how my writing represented him). He finally answers after my 3rd call (yes, I'm one of those people that keep calling until you pick up). He says, nice blog, but it's only one pic… I explain to him how the interface works, that he has to swipe to see more and he grumbles “how am I supposed to know that? No one told me that”. Technology is like a foreign language to him, and it warms my heart. I tell him about all the amazing food I've had and he “can't believe I'm off being a foodie without him.” He urges me to get some more sleep and off to bed I go.
This time I wake up at 11am, better than yesterday. There is a knocking on my door, Airbnb check out time has snuck up on me. I gather all my belongings and head to the beach in a flash. I'm at the same resort, with the same server and the same breakfast tray. I'm such a creature of habit, I think to myself.
Today I also order rosé and have the same waiter, make more pics. Honestly, I'm teaching him photography, I'm doing him a favor. I show him how to focus on a certain object (my rosé), with me in the background. He took the perfect shot after 3 pics. Well done, Pierre!
I set my rosé down, lay face down and untie the back of my bathing suit, trying to get the most optimal tan lines (or lack thereof). Right when I get comfortable, my rosé, sitting on the table next to me, spills all over my back (with help from a huge gust of wind). I hop up, my top is not tied and many of the people at the establishment got a free show. Now I'm sticky from the rosé, not to mention mortified from flashing everyone in a half mile radius. I lay back down and pretend to be invisible.
Time passes. The sun kisses my skin (forever I will think those are kisses from my mom). And I lay there, in utter peace.
I write this as I am passing from beach town to beach town on the coastal train on my way to Nice. Whoops, almost missed my stop!
