A day trip to Cannes from Nice, France enjoying another beautful coastal ride on the train (20min).
Bert and I toddled along the boardwalk under unseasonably warm skies and more glorious sunshine. Beach clubs were mostly quiet but still sunbathers were out to soak up the rays. The Cannes Film Festival has made this city a sought after resort destination. The festivals influence is evident throughout with the seaside promanade graced with 'hand in cement' star signatures. We passed by Sharon Stone, Richard Gere, Kevin Costner and others star sidewalk sightings I now fail to recall.
The other 'sighting' Bert was anxious and happy to find....a few topless sunbathers frolicking on the beach!. And find them he did.
The first two he spotted were admittedly well proportined young women in cute bikini bottoms worth his effort to strain his neck to see. The next two topless sunbathers he spotted left a different look on his face. One was an older gentleman, wearing the budgie smuggler speedo and greased up from head to toe, his partner turned out to be a rather rotund wrinkly very mature woman, freckled and freakishly pale, sprawled like a lumpy pancake over the rocky shoreline. This managed to cease Bert's topless sunbather search in a flash and leave a sour taste in his mouth.
But again, for me, I found this hillariously funny and somehow apropos.
Speaking of sour tastes. Bert and I managed to find the worst exuse for a crepe at a beachside food stand in Cannes. Throughout our journey in France we had tried and loved all the 'typlified' staples that we North Americans think of when you think of french food. We had beef bourguignon, french onion soup, and escargot that were mouthwateringly good. Somehow, we had missed having a crepe up til now and we looked at rectifying this before we headed for Italy the next day. The beachside stand offered crepes with your choice of stuffings. Sausage and cheese crepe was our choice and we waited for the delicacy to cook. Hot and sopping in it's folded form and napkin wrapped we each took a bite. A few chunks of stale blazay white processed cheese and sliced hotdog that tasted like cheap baloney in a greasy crepe are what greeted our mouths. Blahh. We now refer to it as the crappy crepe from Cannes.
It's here we learned 'sausage' in french means 'hot dog'. Good to know.
Bert and the crappy crepe beachside at Cannes.
