Alt-J in Cannes

Alas, we had one more day in this beautiful place. Our goal was to take the local bus west, to explore the last bits of the Cote d’Azur we hadn’t seen yet. We woke up leisurely, making good use of the terrace and free toast and cereal at the hostel. Ever since Lissy had bought her perfume from the perfumerie in Eze Village, I had been talking about how I wish I too had taken advantage of the opportunity to buy some cologne for myself. I don’t usually wear cologne, but yesterday, after trying on the samples that coated my wrists and lower arms, I remembered the whole day, through Eze Village and Monaco and even later that evening, being able to get brief whiffs of the scent and thinking how pleasant it was. We looked at the bag that Lissy’s perfume came in from the shop and it said that they have another shop in another small mountain village called Grasse, a village on the way to Cannes. So our actual plan was to just take the bus and spend the day in Cannes, an easy place to spend a day, but Lissy wanted me to buy the cologne as well and we agreed that if we found a bus in Cannes that would take us up to the village, we’d make the trip and I’d buy some for myself.
 
After breakfast we got ready and made our way down to the beach, via the space tram, to hop the bus. We found the bus stop, a different one than the day before, but it seemed the next bus to Cannes wasn’t coming for a little while. What was about to leave though was a bus directly to Grasse. It seemed like the universe wanted me to get this cologne too. So we hopped this bus instead, another one euro bus, and rode our way along the coast, passing beautiful coastal places like Antibes, and then the bus took a sharp turn inland, before our approach to Cannes, and directly up and into the mountains, much like our ride to Eze Village. Grasse, as it turns out, is another little village famous for perfumeries and the shop that we went to yesterday maintains a production factory in Grasse, as do other perfume companies. And they have a shop there as well.

The bus eventually pulled into Grasse after about an hour and a half, and we were happy to get out. Grasse is a little further inland than Eze Village was and the village is even higher, the tops of the surrounding mountains just broke into the low lying clouds that spat intermittent rain showers overhead. And Grasse is just as pleasant and picturesque. Being on the side of a mountain means that the village is on one giant slant. It has an old quarter, like every village in Europe, that dodges and plunges in steep stairwells along the village center. We didn’t know where the perfumerie was so we wandered around a little and found a tourist office. They pointed us in the right direction and after a quick walk down the main road, we found the shop.

This shop was a little smaller than the one in Eze, probably because this village is a little less touristy (even though Eze wasn’t too bad either), but all the same perfumes and colognes were there. The woman behind the counter was very helpful and accommodating to our inquiries. We skipped the introduction since we had heard it all before and just went right ahead with sampling all of them. The colognes were split into two groups, a sport based group and a wood based group. After about twenty minutes of sampling, we both came to the unanimous decision that one of the milder sport scents was the one I should get, and I did. I put some on immediately after purchasing and I’ve never smelt better.

The Galimard Parfumerie in Grasse where I bought my cologne

We left the shop, happy of the purchase, and then went to explore the old quarter a little. We stumbled upon another tiny quiche cafe where Lissy and I split a small quiche. It was excellent, of the same quality as the one in Eze, and had come right out of the oven, toasty warm. But it had been sprinkling a little and getting later on in the afternoon so after finishing the quiche and buying two citrus flavored schweppes, because they are awesome, we walked back to the bus stop and hopped the one that would take us directly down the mountain side, sloping toward the sea, to Cannes.

The small cafe in Grasse's old quarter where we found some quiche

The quiche! An excellent blend of egg and cheese

On the way down we passed the factory where the perfumes from our shop were produced. They offer tours of the little factory but we wanted to spend some time in Cannes before it got too late. Eventually, after another sleepy hour of driving, we pulled into the bus stop by the train station at Cannes, and headed for the beach. The sun had suddenly popped through the clouds and the sky started to clear up in the early evening. This was our last chance to picnic on the beach. So to be honest, we didn’t really see any of Cannes. We headed to the first grocery store we saw, bought some snacks and a couple bottles of wine, and headed to the beach. Along the way we actually passed the big movie theater where the official Cannes international film festival is held. This film festival is renowned for discovering and debuting the year’s best films and the event attracts top name actors and directors. Film festivals are fun anywhere but I can only imagine the excitement in Cannes when the film festival occurs here. But we blew right past it and found the beach.

A sign post with movie posters in Cannes

The movie theater in Cannes where the international film festival is held each year

Is that Samuel L Jackson in Cannes? He looks kind of funny today

The sun was hanging on to the horizon in the late evening, we probably had two hours of daylight left, and we found a small pier that jut out from the sandy beach. Some French teens were sitting together at the end and a few scattered folks were fishing off the side. We took a seat on the edge a little further down the pier, drank the wine, ate some chips, and watched the sun slowly set over the horizon, listening to Alt-J (remember them?). We just sat there on the pier, enjoying our last moments in Cannes, as it got dark and late. We decided we should probably start making our way back to the train station, we had already missed the last bus. When we arrived at the station we bought our tickets back to Nice, realizing that we were 20 minutes away from the last train back. We were pretty close to getting stranded for the night in Cannes. But fortuitously we hopped the last train, taking a seat in the upper compartment of the double decker local trains that ferry people, more expensively, between the cities along the coast (people who are unaware of the one euro bus or just out too late, like us). But we eventually did make it back and crashed for our the last time in Nice.

Lissy had a flight in the afternoon, so after we woke up and checked out of the hostel (I checked back into the big dorm room for one more night), we decided to go for a sandwich and then head back down to the pebbly beach for one last time. The sun was shining bright for the first real time during our Nice adventure and we were happy for the last couple of hours spent on the beach. But eventually Lissy had to get going and we went to the airport where I dropped her off. She flew back to Berlin and I headed back into town. I didn’t have much to do and I was a bit bummed to be on my own again. I went back to the hostel and sat on the terrace, socializing a little and checking emails and all that. All in all an uneventful evening. But I was excited though because I had just booked three nights in Barcelona and my plan was to wake up early and spend the whole day on the train, well three trains to be exact. So after a good night’s sleep and a final, very sorrowful farewell to the wonderful place that is Nice and to the hostel and its excellent owners, I set out to the train station.

A parting shot of the beach in Nice, a gorgeous day

I was a little nervous because before I checked out, I had heard that most trains that day had all been cancelled due to some strike that was going on at train stations all across France. As I was checking out, the hostel owner (I wish I could remember his name) gave me a look and said, “the French are always looking for an excuse to strike,” shaking his head a little. I laughed but I was really hoping my train wasn’t cancelled too. Luckily it wasn’t. All the local trains had been nicked but the long distance ones were still on, said the status board. Relieved, I sat and waited for the train, reading from my e-reader a book called, “Shadow of the Wind,” by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. It’s an excellent novel, set in Barcelona after World War II, about a boy and the mystery that shrouds an author who wrote a book the boy finds. That’s not an interesting description but it is a very good book and I thought it was appropriately set in the city that I intended on visiting to next. 

I hopped my first train after it pulled into the station. This was an express train to Montpellier, another coastal city in France. I was amazed at the beauty of the French countryside as the train skirted the coast and, at times, dipped into French farmland. Rolling hills and French farms sprawled across the green, lush landscape, disappearing to the north over the horizon. And each farm we past had its own white stallion, just a lone, solitary horse, a beautiful animal in a picturesque landscape. I dreamily stared out the window as we pulled into Montpellier and I transferred trains. I took another train to the border and then another train through the equally beautiful Spanish countryside as the sun was setting. We pulled into Barcelona, I hopped the metro, and found my hostel set deep in the heart of the Gracia neighborhood. It was Champions League tonight and I was able to make it to a local bar to watch the second half of the game as Dortmund rolled over Madrid to the cheering patrons of this establishment deep in Barcelona. I thought that was funny. But two Estrella beers later and a tiring day on the train, I went back to the hostel and slept soundly.