Monday, Monday. Monday in Cannes. First on the agenda was a quick trip to the internet café and its horrific French keyboard. Who the hell thinks pressing shift ; for a full stop is a good idea? And whose idea was it to swap the Q and the A (among many others)? Stupid keyboard.

Anyway, after an email and Flickr check (the picture of my food got you all going, didn’t it?) it was time to head to the press conference about Hubert’s forthcoming tour along the Danube. He’s taking a barge converted to a stage along the river from Linz down to the Black Sea, taking on board local musicians as he goes. Together they will give concerts from the stage barge to the audiences on land. Next year the Linz Europe Tour 2007-2009 goes west from Linz, all the way up to Rotterdam, then in 2009 - when Linz will be the European Capital of Culture - there will be a big festival in the city, bringing together Hubert and all the musicians from the previous two years once more.

After the press conference, Suzy and I wandered out of the dimly-lit room back into the bright street. Our tummies were rumbling, so we bought a panini for me and a crepe for Suzy from a street vendor. We parked ourselves on a bench facing the harbour, with the old town nestled up on the hill to our right. While we were sat there watching the world go by an old gentleman made a bee-line for our bench as though he hadn’t seen that it was already occupied. I had my back to him, but Suzy saw as he suddenly noticed us on the bench, stopped his approach and stepped quickly behind a handy nearby tree. He stood there for a few moments before heading off in the opposite direction to another bench. Sly.

Having fed our faces we set off up the hill to the old town, Le Suquet. As befits an old town area, there were winding cobbled alleyways, poky little shops, people hanging their washing out of the windows and amazing trompe l’oeils painted on the ends of buildings. Finally at the top of the hill we were rewarded with a wonderful view across the harbour and the whole town. Another trompe l’oeil of a dashing man emerging from a wall greeted us in the distance.

By now we were somewhat knackered and so found a bus to take us back to our end of town. It was a bit crowded on board, but I was soon noticed by an old gentleman, who ushered me into a vacated seat. He engaged Suzy in conversation in French as she swung like a monkey from the handrail. He asked where we were staying, what stop we were going to, what the hell I was doing with such a big camera slung around me and said many other things in French which I didn’t understand.

We were heading for Place du Marché, but suddenly Monsieur Vieil Homme decided we needed to get off. “Allez, allez!” he told us, this was where we should alight. The other stop was too far to walk. “ALLEZ!” But? But? We found ourselves back on the pavement, with a short walk to our hotel - which I still think would have been shorter had we gone on to our intended stop. But who were we to argue with the old man who was about 2 seconds away from physically throwing us off the bus?

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That wily wench Mindy of Beautiful Mess tagged me for this meme. I dunno, I sit here minding my own business and suddenly people are making me do stuff.

A - Available or married? Available.
B - Best Friend? Suzy. Oldest friend, Lauren. Can’t do without either of them.
C - Cake or Pie? Cake please. All kinds of cake. Though shouldn’t the question be “Cake or Death?”
D - Drink of choice? Rum and coke for getting bladdered relaxing. I go through gallons of Robinson’s Summer Fruits and am currently quenching a craving for ginger beer.
E - Essential Item? My iMac.
F - Favourite Colour? Having never known what to answer for this, I have lately realised that I tend to go for purple. Or red.
G - Gummi Bears or Worms? Worms. They’re easier to be disgusting with and gummi bears have that weird flouriness on the outside.
H - Hometown? F.O.G, Kent.
I - Indulgence? Hmm, not sure; maybe I’m so indulgent all the time that it just seems the norm to me now.
J - January or February? January - lots of birthdays to celebrate and it is always has the same number of days each year, reducing the risk of confusion for me.
K - Kids & names? Not yet. Though it does niggle that I’ve given one of my pieces of technology a name that I had in mind for possible future offspring.
L - Life is incomplete without? Music. And the internet.
M - Marriage Date? I think one of the fake weddings I had when I was little was in May.
N - Number of Siblings? Two brothers. I think I married both of them on separate occasions when I was little.
O - Oranges or apples? Apples, preferably quartered because I have nightmares about my teeth just snapping out of my head.
P - Phobias/Fears? The usual: big, hairy, long-legged spiders, death and being buried alive. That last one explains why I want to be cremated: I can’t be 100% sure what happens to your senses when you die, so I figure it’s better to be burned alive than buried alive.
Q - Favourite Quotation? I write down the things people say that tickle me - see the menu bar above. But I’m not sure you can beat Lauren’s “You’re a fucking idiot. What are you, stupid?” for getting right to the heart of the matter.
R - Reason to Smile? Plenty - the fact that it’s lunchtime is just one of them.
S - Season? All of them. Having been to Ecuador, where the sun sets at about 7pm every day of the year, I’m very grateful to be living somewhere with four seasons and short days and long days. I like the change.
T - Tag three people! You, you … and you at the back with your finger up your nose.
U - Unknown fact about me: My handwriting used to be dreadful, but started to sort itself out when I was about 10. I still remember my teacher showing me another kid’s exercise book when I was 7, saying I should write more like Scott.
V - Vegetable you hate? I was going to say melon, but that’s not a vegetable. So I don’t know.
W - Worst habit? Has to be the head-scratching. Other than that, I’m perfect.
Hey, where did X go?
Y - Your favourite food? All sorts. I like noodles, so it’s good that I’m going to Wagamama with the girls on Sunday.
Z - Zodiac? Scorpio. Sexy.

I’ve posted the aerial photos I took as we were flying over France to Cannes. Getting a window seat is a dandy thing. I just wish that people would have the courtesy to label things so that I know what they are when I’m flying thousands of feet above them. Otherwise, you’re stuck with the somewhat dumb-sounding labels of “France” and “Mountain” when you come to load your photos up to Flickr.

It was pretty late in the day when we got to our hotel in Cannes, having taken the train from Nice at rush hour, in the dark and thus deprived of the coastal views that we had chosen over travelling by bus along the motorway. We got a taxi from Cannes station to the Cannes Beach hotel, checked in and took lift “Fantastique” to our room. I’m not sure what the other lifts were called. Just “Trés bien” and “Adéquat” perhaps?

The long windowless corridors leading to all the hundreds of rooms were a bit prison-like, but once we were in our room, it was perfectly nice. The room was actually a small self-catering apartment, with a balcony overlooking the internal courtyard. In my first emails to the hotel, I had requested a twin room - one room, two beds. There were a couple of bunk beds off the main room and a double bed in a separate bedroom. However, only the double bed was made up, so Suzy and I just shared that for the three nights. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in France, be lesbians.

For some reason I didn’t sleep particularly well while I was there, but perhaps it was best to have been awake and on guard while Suzy was doing her very best to invade what can only be described as my side of the bed. The third night she even took it upon herself to give me a knee up the bum, just so I wouldn’t forget she was there.

The first morning, I was woken by a text at 6.50am. The rogue I’d come to see wanted to know where I was. Bearing in mind that in my head it was 5.50am, I think it’s unsurprising that I was still in my room in my PJs. We met for breakfast in the dining room a couple of hours later, where I also later met the rest of his troupe for the first time. A damn fine bunch of people.

Suzy and I retired to our hotel room to doze and be lethargic until another text summoned me to the lobby, from where the three of us wandered to the beach before heading into the town centre. There we had a decidedly continental-length lunch at Le Petit Paris. Suzy and I had Croque Monsieur (a kind of cheese and ham toastie) and His Highness had Andouillette (tripe sausage). Because he’s just that crazy.

That evening Suzy and I tried to get into the Midem opening night party with the other guys, but despite brandishing invitations and being with several other people who did have accreditation, the security guys wouldn’t let us in. They were like the dinner ladies of Cannes - not actually all that important in the scheme of things and yet somehow all-powerful. But never mind, Suzy and I were pretty knackered anyway, so we found a restaurant and filled our bellies with food - and I, of course, sent a picture to Flickr of what was on my plate. I like to share.

The first photos from Cannes are up on Flickr now. Four of them are marked “Friends & Family only”, so if you want to see the whole lot, drop me a line so that I can mark you as a friend. But if you ask and I don’t add you, please don’t be offended. It’s just that I don’t like you.

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The day before I went to Cannes, I had my haircut. My usual David Arquette-lookalike wasn’t available, so I had a younger stylist. She was a nice girl, but had an unusual turn of phrase: every answer I gave to her questions was greeted with the same initial response.

“I’m going to Cannes at the weekend”
“Oh my God!”
“A friend of mine is a musician…”
“Oh my God!”
“… He’s giving a concert down there”
“Oh my God!”
“I make websites”
“Oh my God!”
“I live at home with my parents”
“Oh my God!”

and so on… it was a nice appointment, though the part where she stopped cutting my hair for a few moments and stood back and poked at it with a comb while looking thoroughly perplexed was somewhat disturbing. Fortunately it all came right in the end though!

I have to tell you about the last day of my Ecuador adventure before I leave for Cannes tomorrow, otherwise I can’t go. This is a rule I just made up, which I’d be quite happy to break, but seriously, isn’t it about time I wrapped up the adventure that took place 7 months ago? This is what happened on the 13th and 14th June last year, two days which kind of merged into one thanks to a long night-time transatlantic flight.

After a bit of a lie-in at our hotel - the first for nearly a fortnight -, we had our breakfast in the tiled dining area and then packed up our final bits and pieces and checked out, leaving our bags at reception. Following our tour guide Sofia’s recommendation, we headed to the Museo Nacional Banco Central Del Ecuador. As we entered the cool building, we met Stewart and Celestine from our group heading out, evidently having not had the lie-in that we had allowed ourselves.

The museum was full of interesting prehistoric and ancient artefacts, including a gold room full of intricate decorations and I wandered around from exhibit to exhibit. A young boy was being given a guided tour by a museum worker, who led him around the displays in the correct order at least, but recited all her spiel about 3 inches from the boy, with intense eye-contact the whole time.

I caught the attention of a group of Ecuadorian schoolchildren, who couldn’t make me out at all. They tried to ask Suzy about me, but Suzy didn’t have sufficient Spanish vocabulary to answer them. I think she just kept telling them that I was an adult and that it was all ok, really, it’s ok. The kids pushed forward one of their group as someone who could speak English, but judging by the boy’s silence and the look on his face, I think his classmates had somewhat overestimated his linguistic capabilities. Eventually the school group were gathered in the foyer to leave the museum and several of them found a gap in the screens separating us to call “hello!” and then “bye!” to me as I continued to make my way around the displays.

Suzy and I went upstairs to the exhibit of Catholic art, but it was a bit tedious. We atheists can only take so many crucifixions and Holy Virgins in one day, so we left before we ran too much of a risk of being struck down by a thunderbolt on our way out.

Back at the hotel, we ordered some lunch from the restaurant and chatted a little to an American couple who had been in the country just a couple of days. They were off on a Galapagos cruise too, so we were able to sit there all tanned and smug imparting our enthusiasm and knowledge. Oh, there’s nothing like a couple of Been-There-Done-Thats.

Sofia came to collect us and Celestine and Stewart, taking the four of us to the airport on an otherwise empty enormous coach. At the airport we all thanked her and pressed various denominations of bills into her hand before going through security to wait for our flight.

The flight from Quito to Madrid included an “everybody off” at Guayaquil at about 8pm. I was starving by this time and hoped that the layover wouldn’t take for ever. We weren’t hanging about too long before we were reboarded and the evening meal was handed out, which I remember tackling with gusto - lasagne in with the right hand, bite from the bread roll in my left hand… After the food, there wasn’t much to do and the rest of the flight was pretty long, boring and uncomfortable. However I guess I must have got some sleep - though it didn’t feel like it - as I missed two films that were shown onboard.

At Madrid, I finally had mobile reception again after twelve days without and found a missed call from John, possibly moments before. I sent him a text and he rang back for a chat, letting me know that they had cheered for Ecuador during their match against Poland - and that it was Fathers’ Day on Sunday!

At long last we were boarded for our flight from Madrid to Heathrow. We sat with a young guy who had been teaching English in Ecuador for the past 9 months - and who was certain he’d seen us in Quito the night before.

The last note in my travel notebook reads: “The captain has just informed us that Spain beat the Ukraine 4-0!”.

Olé!

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That’s good. I can go to Cannes now.

This time next week I’ll be in Cannes. I’ll be out there for three nights and am going for various reasons, but I think that the most important is that the beaches will be empty. Suzy’s coming with me and bringing along her useful ability to speak French. This increases the likelihood of me coming home alive, as about the only French I can remember is this: Bonjour, je m’appelle Sarah. Je t’aime. Voulez vous couchez avec moi çe soir? Merci. Not that I remember this being taught in a lesson at school, admittedly.

We leave on Saturday morning, arriving in Nice in the late afternoon. Then we’ll get the train to Cannes, find our hotel and eat some snails and garlic. Because that’s how they roll down there. One of the reasons for this somewhat last-minute trip doesn’t actually take place until 10.30pm on the Monday, so Suzy and I shall have the Sunday to explore Cannes, take photos (watch Flickr for live updates from my crappy cameraphone), hop across to some islands just off the coast and also see if we can get ourselves a couple of sugar daddies with big yachts.

P.S. Any lurkers who haven’t yet delurked below are still obliged by law very welcome to do so.