Those who know how to "do the Cannes-Cannes" always come ahead of time. Job
and schedule permitting, of course. For both work and pleasure, those three
days before the (film) hurricane hits are essential. You need them to mark
your territory, so to speak.
The villa I'm staying in is a mile and a half north of "Festival-land", a
rectangle bordered by the Croisette and the sea (south), the old harbor and
the Majestic Hotel (west), the Martinez Hotel (east), the "Voie rapide"
highway (north). Beyond that "Fast lane" (literally), there is a whole
city, with normal people having normal jobs and normal lives.
Festival-goers never set foot there. Located in a quiet enclave on a leafy
hill (smashing view of the entire area), the villa is six minutes away (by
scooter) from the Palais des Festivals (also known as "The Egyptian Tomb"
or "The Bunker"); for all intents and purposes, it might be another planet.
The house is unchanged, which is not to say untouched. Indeed it is
sparklingly clean. On the living room table, two sheets of paper: a message
from the landlady saying, "You left this last year", and "this", a business
card of mine with a phone number scribbled on the back. No idea whose it
is, but my hat off to the landlady. That's one side of see the films?
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