Midnight in Antibes.

10 Aug

And then you find yourself walking in the shoes of one of your youth heroes, finding it impossible that it’s been really two decades gone by since you read lines like this:

In the early morning the distant image of Cannes, the pink and cream of old fortifications, the purple Alp that bounded Italy, were cast across the water and lay quavering in the ripples and rings sent up by sea-plants through the clear shallows. Before eight a man came down to the beach in a blue bathrobe and with much preliminary application to his person of the chilly water, and much grunting and loud breathing, floundered a minute in the sea. When he had gone, beach and bay were quiet for an hour. Merchantmen crawled westward on the horizon; bus boys shouted in the hotel court; the dew dried upon the pines. In another hour the horns of motors began to blow down from the winding road along the low range of the Maures, which separates the littoral from true Provençal France.

But in Antibes, time has stopped, the waves are still breaking like they used to almost a century ago, the paths to Hotel Eden Roc are still not that easy to access, without a car, that is. As the evening sun gently fades, imagine yourself being blown right back in the early 20’s, as Dick and Nicole Diver wander along the shore of Côte d’Azur’s most exquisit place to be…

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But before you get lost too deep reminiscing about Tender is the Night, you find yourself rushing to the train station around midnight, making sure you get the last to train to Cannes, knowing it will get costy otherwise.

Well, it got costy otherwise. Even arriving the minutes before midnight, the train is gone – in the end, French trains aren’t German trains. But then as the clock strikes twelve, a taxi stops at the gate and the most glamorous female taxi driver you’ve ever seen takes her glasses off and looks at you with a knowing smile: „À Cannes?“


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