Our First Year: Everywhere

When The West Wind Blows

The winds picked up and brought in the beginnings of a storm heading east across the Mediterranean coasts of Europe. Cannes turned gray and cool with a true autumn feel. Cannes, like Los Angeles isn't a city used to the rain. So, the sound of ambulance and police sirens has sadly become more frequent.

If there ever is a good day for a gray, drizzly day, it's a French Sunday. The French take their Sundays seriously. Most shops are closed and at least half the restaurants. People spend Sundays with their families and friends. As I walked along the city streets, hoping a particular cafe would be open, I was shocked at just how empty the streets got just one block back from the water. My cafe was closed. Everyone was home, enjoying their cold day inside.

While I took refuge in a salon du the (tea house) and read, I thought about how much I have started to enjoy the way of life in Cannes. With each day, I get more in to the flow of things. Each day, I can eavesdrop on conversations with more accuracy. Each day, the television shows make more sense. I can figure out which cafes will be open on a Sunday. And I know what people will be up to when everything is closed.

On a holiday or Sunday, there are only a few things to do in Cannes: drink, eat, walk or play petanque (similar to bocci ball). Sure enough, the petanque courts by the water were filled with men of all ages. And those who ventured out, but weren't drinking with their neighbors at a cafe, were doing what French do so much - walking.

In Cannes, you can count on the promenade along the water always being busy. But on weekends, you can count on it being very busy. There are even public chairs for people to stop, sit and view the water.

Mostly, people just walk up and down - talking, visiting, looking out. Families and friends greet other as they pass. The tradition seems out of the 19th century when people went to the seaside for sun and air, not to lay out and swim. The gentry could be found walking the promenade.

The Cannoise keep the tradition. People dress well and go out for their walks, whiling away the afternoon socially. I discovered on New Year's Eve 2008 in Paris that people there do the same thing for New Year's. They walk most of the night up and down the grand boulevards and promenades - greeting, shaking hands, chatting with friends. The Champs Elysees is packed with people strolling, looking at the lights and talking. Paris feels genteel, peaceful and warm on cold New Year's eve.

Why do they walk? I don't know exactly. It seems to be a way people spend time together without sitting around a television. It's social too. You expect to run into people and say hi and you make the rounds. Maybe everyone just has to walk off all the wine and cheese. But I think their walking habits are part of how the French stay skinny enough to wear the fashionable women's dresses and thin men's pullover sweaters that only fit people can make look good.

Walking as a social activity doesn't seem to happen much in America. Maybe it's because we're so spread out or that we don't feel as safe on our streets. Maybe it's because we don't spend as much time with family. It could very likely be that we're lazier. Or worst of all - maybe it's because walking around and socializing is too inefficient. With our limited personal time, we tend to spend our weekends doing things - shopping, making calls, running errands. Walking French style means getting nothing more done than walking.

Whatever it is, there's a civilized, relaxed quality to the feel of a Sunday in Cannes. And that's the magic word that I would use to characterize French culture - civilized.

People talk much about French cuisine. Most cultures have traditional foods they have loved since their humble beginnings. These foods remain favorites through often centuries or even thousands of years. So many traditional foods come from days when food was scarcer, people were poorer, labor was manual and making the most of the food you had was the key to survival.

Fatty foods fill your belly cheaply and give you a lot of energy. Toss in heavy cheese, grease, animal fat - whatever your culture has and a little food goes a lot farther. Why is Indian food so delicious, but so heavy? Same with Mexican, Chinese street food, and everything my great grandmother ever made.

The French however, live off what can really be considered wealthy food. They have numerous varieties of salad on every menu and will serve anything you order with a small side salad when it's not listed on the menu. The have numerous light quiches filled mostly with vegetables and some egg. Freshly cooked lean meats, steamed vegetables, fresh fruit, light, airy breads, seafood whenever available, wine with every meal...the French eat like kings. But not in big portions. Good food, but not so much as to get very full.

No wonder they have such a great life expectancy. I can only figure that being wealthy for longer than most countries with plenty of growing lands and water helped shape their agriculture and therefore dietary habits.

They also take the time to dine. Restaurants fill with one sitting for lunch and one sitting for dinner. Tables don't turn over - and they put absolutely no pressure on you to order more or leave your seat. Once you've ordered, feel free to stay and socialize as long as you want. This is been very hard for my American mind to accept when I'm working at cafes. I feel like I need to keep ordering drinks or food to pay rent for my seat. But I look around and people have a small espresso and then sit and read the newspaper for two hours. No one's in a rush and it would be VERY rude to rush them.

The same goes for shopping. I have yet to experience a hard sell on anything. People inform you, they'll assist you - but they don't press. If you tell them their product isn't quite what you're looking for, or if you need to shop around - they seem perfectly fine with that. There's no awkwardness or shame. They expect you to shop around. I'm not sure if they're exactly the best deal closers and I'm sure no one's on commission...but certainly no one leaves a store disgusted with aggressive salespeople.

It's impossible to evaluate a culture and say one is better than another. There's just what resonates with you more than another. Every culture has its virtue and its vice, it's strengths and weaknesses. When traveling - or even living somewhere - all you can do is try to take a few ideas home with you - maybe internalize something you feel would be beneficial.

Dress a little nicer, walk a little more, stroll along the promenade, eat together, eat healthy and well, spend time as a family, shop locally, recycle, visit with neighbors at cafes, know the people at the bus stop, speak respectfully to elders, play petanque together, call strangers and acquaintances by proper titles - these are the civilities, refinements and lessons I've found in France.

Because when the wind picks up, everything suddenly chills, and you look around for where to take shelter - it's a lot nicer when you know everyone inside and they like you.

Client Information - Day of Tuesday, 12 October
The following is advanced advice of a strike by numerous syndicates as part of a day of national action. Very strong disturbances are expected for the Bus Azur network on Tuesday, 12 October 2010, throughout the day.
An adapted transport plan will be organized for lines 1-2 and 20 operated by a number of personnel without present grievances.
Excuse us for the difficulties of the event.

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Street Of The Old Dream

Grasse doesn't appear like a town with money flowing through it like a river. It has absolutely no glitz whatsoever and its truly amazing parts are hundreds of years old with narrow, windy roads and buildings dating back to the 13th century. The old town gets its fair share of tourists going up and down its steep inclines, but Grasse is very much lived-in. When I arrived, there was a big weekend market in the town square.

For centuries, Grasse has been the home to the perfume industry. Whatever name brand and bottle you choose, chances are good that its contents come from Grasse. There are several large perfumeries which manufacture fragrances for labels worldwide and then a large number of boutique perfumers around town. They all sell their own house fragrances and scented products direct to the public.

Outside the town on the hillsides and valleys are fields where nearly every flower, herb and scented plant are grown. Come at different times of year and you can walk fields of lilacs, roses, lilies, lavender and whatever is blooming at the time.

My favorite depiction of Grasse - and I've thought of it constantly both times I've gone - is in the movie "Perfume" which partly takes place in Grasse. Both deeply dark and yet, beautifully done - "Perfume" gives breathtaking depictions of Grasse and what it was like 250 years ago.

Because Grasse sits up against the mountains, it tends to be cooler and get more cloud cover - which of course, helps with its flower growing. So, both times I've been the weather has been overcast and cool which somehow mixes in my head with the dark tone of the movie and leaves me feeling a certain sense of mystery and awe as I wander the town.

I went to Grasse to buy my cologne. Three years ago, I bought a fragrance at the Molinard perfumery that I like and more importantly, Emily likes on me. Since it's not sold commercially in America, there are only a few ways to get it. One apparently, is to order it online like Emily did for my last birthday. But the other - and by far the more fun one - is to walk into Molinard and buy it. So, I did.

Molinard is not the easiest perfumery to reach. For that matter, Grasse isn't the easiest town to walk. Traversing up and down windy, steep roads and staircases, you get your workout in Grasse. In fact, many of the staircases are given proper street names such as Traverse Emile Zola and Traverse Victor Hugo. They just love naming for authors.

I happen to like cologne and have gone through periods where I would never consider myself fully dressed without a fragrance. So, sniffing through the various tester bottles is a lot of fun for me.

Picking a gift for Emily was a lot more challenging. Fragrance is so personal. How do I decide what smell says "Emily"? I got help from a fantastically knowledgeable Molinard lady. I then sprayed and sniffed until my nose was overloaded and I needed some fresh air. Unfortunately, I didn't find what I wanted at Molinard.

So, back up the hill I went to the largest and most commercial of the perfumeries - Fragonard. This major perfume maker - named for the renown Rococo painter who is one of Grasse's favorite sons - has expanded with outlet stores and "museum tours" in a number of locations throughout France, including Paris. Their very large selection yielded options I considered more "Emily" and which I hope she will too.

While I enjoy Grasse for its ancient and yet very Provence feel, I'm intrigued most with a town which - unlike Cannes - doesn't celebrate its success and display it, but keeps it quiet. Grasse remains rooted in its rich traditions and past. It lives humbly, enjoying its flowers and fragrances. And the most interesting and telling thing of all - the thing that sets Grasse apart and explains its nature - is one particular, narrow street with a barely noticeable sign - Street Of The Old Dream.

Street Of The Old Dream

Molinard

Here was born on 5 April 1732 Jean Honore Fragonard, Painter of the King
The City of Grasse, in honor of his son affixed this plaque for his bicentennial. Year 1932.

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On My Own...

I feel like I've fallen back in time. I'm here, alone in Cannes - just like December, 2007. Only this time, there's a ring on my left ring finger.

When I think that we our travels will reach the three month mark this coming week. it feels bizarre. It seems like so much longer. A week and a day ago, we were flying out of Istanbul. A week before that, we were leaving Patmos. Patmos seems so long ago and so far away now. How has it only been three months?

Until last week, I spent every single day for two and a half months with my wife. Many days we were together all day - 24 hours. And we've done so well. We had so much fun. We became used to each other's presence and ways. We've developed the way we travel and the way we work together out in the world. It's fantastic.

So, to be here in Cannes - one of my all-time favorite places - without Emily is very odd. It feels like there's always something missing. It's like the right recipe missing a key ingredient. Somehow, Cannes has lost some of its vibrancy and color without Emily here to share it with me.

Naturally, my life is a near shambles and I can barely function without her far superior organizational skills that I don't know how I ever lived without....

What I find is that all the old ways and tricks I ever had are still there. I consider myself pretty competent at travel. I know Cannes in particular. I'm here in part to speak the language and exercise my skills. I'm not bored. I have things I do all day. I work, walk, talk, explore, remember, figure out things.... it's just like three years ago.

Only instead of having one more week until I fly back to Seattle and my job, I have one more week until my wife and I rendez-vous (which apparently you can't conjugate into the "we" or "nous" form for anyone who may ever need that information. I tried it and it created nothing but serious confusion) in Istanbul. How strange is that?

Even stranger, for the first time in my life, the unimaginable has occurred - I am looking forward to leaving France. I mean, I'm not running out the door unable to function....but I'm really looking forward to being back together in Istanbul.

The positive side of being alone in Cannes has been that I can speak French all I want without worrying about excluding Emily. If she was here, we would talk and people would treat us like American tourists (which would be accurate) and the experience would be in one way more meaningful and in another way totally different to me.

Under these circumstances, I can have seven minute chats with the charcuterie lady who can then teach me that I shouldn't use the old fashioned way to say wife, because it sounds like I'm saying a very similar word for husband and then everyone will think I'm married to a guy. In turn, I wouldn't have been able to tell her that I thought you could use it and did so at the barber's earlier in the day - and then watched her laugh herself silly. None of that would have been possible if Emily had been here.... And what a shame that would have been.

Despite that, I think often how sad it is that it's not likely we'll be able to get to southern France again anytime soon and how much I would like to be able to share this favorite place with Emily.

Autumn has set into Cannes. It's not a pronounced autumn. Much like Southern California - it means very enjoyable daytime temperatures with cool evenings and sweaters going on and off depending on the time of day. I like to walk along and watch the sunset in the cooling air as it shines its beautiful orange-pink glow over the beaches and marinas. How sad it is not to be holding Emily's hand and looking at it all with her.

Meanwhile, back in Los Angeles, Emily has been nothing but busy. Birthday parties, time with nieces and family in general, her work, a few friend visits and a Target run for miscellaneous supplies. Her time in Los Angeles is very full and I venture to say she's getting what she wanted from it.

Another very different aspect to this time period is that we are both in the most first-world place we'll be for many months. While Greece certainly is among the first world countries - it's lower first-world. I had forgotten how easy it is to by mouthwash in the large size until I came to Cannes. They had four brands in the economy size - and I didn't have to go to the one and only store that carries mouthwash like I did in Patmos - the first pharmacy down the block did just fine.

There's something very nice and comforting about being in a first tier, first world country for a bit. The bed's a little nicer - okay, a lot nicer and the shower....oh, the shower.... I want to take my shower from my hotel room with me to Nepal. Speaking of which, you can drink tap water in France. It's perfectly fine to order a carafe of water instead of bottled. We couldn't do that in Patmos because of the limited local water supply and the fact that water is stored in cisterns.

So, Emily and I sit separately but simultaneously at the edge of a quick and swift spiral from first world to second (Turkey) to Third (Nepal, India, Thailand, Bali). We each get to enjoy our little comforts - only apart, and for me alone. I think we won't have a first world break again until Singapore where I will again drink tap water just because I can.

For the next week, I will miss my wife, relish the last bastion of first world in the most cultured of first world spots, talk to everyone who will carry on a French conversation with me, walk around looking at sunsets, catch another Cannes movie or two and try to not refer to my wife as a man. Oh, and I might go back to that barber to clarify things....

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French Frenemies

We love and hate one another. The French admire, fear and loathe us. They honor and love us too. And while we can appreciate their art and culture, we don't understand their politics at all. The French make some interesting choices and have gone up and down on the prickle-o-meter for the past 65 years.

What's up with that?

Well, let's start with the fact that when you go from presiding over an empire spanning all of Europe and colonies around the globe to facing utter defeat on your own territory in less than 100 years, it's not easy. And who pretty much saves you from annihilation? The country who you helped rebel against England - only now it's a major power.

Then you do it again in a worse way 25 years later. Then your colonies leave you and demand alimony. It's like divorce and bankruptcy on a national and cultural level.

So, that was hard.

And then they HAD to be prickly from their perspective. DeGaulle felt that the French were so beaten down that they needed to start to feel proud and independent again. That meant a wonderful mixture of phrases any parent has heard - "I can do it myself!" "I'm not listening!" "You're not the boss of me!" and "You have no idea what you're talking about - you're so stupid!"

The French went through some cultural regression.

But their relationship with America became awkward. It's like an older sibling turning to the younger one who has grown up and gotten his shit together. The French want to be the older, gracious, amiable sibling. They have years of knowledge, culture, experience - we should all be buddies, but they should be the one showing us how it works.

In the end, it's all still family. They love us and they're our friend - it's just very difficult to have a successful younger sibling who sometimes saves your ass - and then later tells you what to do.

Just like after a divorce, the French have had to retool. There was a lot of who am I now? Where do I go with my life? And if I'm not a great power, what am I? Not to mention - I had all these colonies and they all want something and I look like a complete schmuck (because the French love Yiddish) for leaving them high and dry and in the state of civil war when I went bankrupt.

So there was all of that.

Then there's the stuff they have some valid complaints or at least concerns about. America has created a phenomenon - not by design, but very much in fact - that causes numerous cultures to struggle. Our technology comes with values imbedded in it.

As America - whose economy rests on ideas and innovation - develops revolutionary technologies, such as the Internet, they promulgate certain values. Namely, we export efficiency and individualism. The Internet, cell phones, PDAs, satellite, electronic books, iPods, 3G wireless networks. - they were all designed with the ideas of personal empowerment - which Americans adore. We see absolutely nothing wrong with this - and for us, there isn't. In fact, all of these things were created with the benefit of mankind in mind and we rightfully celebrate the accomplishments of our advancements.

At the same time, there's something terribly insidious about them to many other cultures. Not everyone wants individual empowerment. Even more, not everyone values efficiency. As we well know, our technologies and innovations aren't buying Americans more free time and more balances lives - they are empowering us to do more and make more money. We hope that all of this will somehow "pay off" in the form of better lives for us and our children. But even Americans are debating where all our wonders are steering the ship.

For other countries, it stops mattering what they want. If America is working hard and using technology to its great advantage, then that's where the bar gets set. If you want to do business, you need computers and networks and PDAs. Business has standards. Lifestyles change. In order to keep up and maintain your place in the world, you have to get on board.

The French do not like to get on board.

More importantly, consumer culture, fast food, chatting on the phone instead of in person, electronic entertainment, low prices from giant retail chains - these are inconsistent with their culture.

Yet, to their shock and horror, they're also strangely attractive. Text messaging is kinda' handy. And having the kids play video games on a long car, train or plane trip is...convenient.

There's only one thing to do - freak out and hate your friend a little.

Actually, there are a couple of things to do. The other involves building defenses (because the Maginot line worked out so well....). France has a ministry of culture - whose mission is to protect French-ness. I'm not sure what exactly they do - except involve themselves in French education standards and set some standards for entertainment.

For example, American television programming and movies shown on French television are dubbed into French. Really good dubbing, mind you. Like I watch mouths to see if I can find the flaws. So, I've seen a bunch of American movies in French now - and it's very interesting for me and useful for language learning.

Of course, the idea isn't for my education - it's to keep French dominant even as American entertainment prevails. It's kind of brilliant. People get to watch what they want - and who really complains that something isn't in subtitles?

The other big rub in the family is politics - particularly geopolitics. The French have this knack at being friendly with the people we're trying to thwart or boycott. For example, helped build a nuclear reactor in Iraq in the 1980s? France. It was destroyed by the Israelis before it became operational, by the way.

France is pretty friendly in the Arab world in general. During the Cold War, France made several overtures to the Soviets in an attempt toward detente - before we were ready for our own detente. Every now and then, they really piss us off.

Last night I met a nice Persian guy who runs a tea salon here in Cannes, whose family left Iran right after the revolution and who went to all international schools growing up - so he has perfect American English. If you dropped him into Los Angeles, he'd take like a fish to water. He's been in France since he was a child. He summed up French political diffidence so well.

The French can no longer fight wars wherever they want. They could barely defend themselves if they had to. They can either be in the pocket of the American-British alliance, or try to assert themselves as an independent power by trying to form their own networks. They keep their options open.

Of course, he said, they haven't accepted yet that they really belong with America and England. He feels that in the end - that's where they always go when times get tough - they just don't want to admit that they have no real choice.

And we're back to the schizophrenic issues of sibling rivalry and a bad divorce.

What the French have down - which I think we completely undervalue - is lifestyle. They walk their neighborhoods. They resist chain stores. They shop at local small businesses. They go to separate butcher, produce, cheese and pastry shops. They support boutiques, independent bookstores and independent pharmacies. Cannes has at least three outdoor markets that I've seen - and I don't get up to the Cannet up the hill at all.

These markets are busy every morning selling fresh produce, meats and fish. People buy their food daily at their markets and local shops. They chat with the neighbors. They know the vendors.

They go to local bars and cafes and sit and talk with the owners, servers and their neighbors. You hear people say things to one another like - Hello, Monsieur! How are you today? Where's your wife? When you're done, would you like to trade newspapers? Your dog is adorable (dogs are welcome at cafes).

If a child cries - because kids too are welcome at some cafes - people say things like, "Oh, we have a singer!" and they pitch in and try to get the upset child to play with a dog or look at something they have in their purse or wallet for just such an occasion.

People also have lunch. Real, sit down, get served a hot meal, lunch. Every day. Cafes and brasseries fill up at 1pm with people sitting calmly, not having business meetings or checking their PDAs, but having lunch and dining.

Restaurants all have a plat du jour which comes with a beverage and usually dessert. The plat du jour is usually very good - and cooked in advance so it's quick to serve. Things like roasted lamb, a seafood casserole, roasted chicken in some amazing confiture or sauce. People sit and eat lunch the way Americans used to have family dinners that mom spent hours making.

Then they go back to work - and unlike the Greeks, they do things. Just not for more than 35 hours per week....

So, while our friends may be a little difficult and sometimes unkind - I believe they have something to share with us as well. We can learn a few things from the French just as they could learn a few things from us.

Hopefully, everyone can settle down and understand each other so that someday we can once again be more friends than frenemies.

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Who Was That Masked Man?

Long before Cannes was filled with exclusive residences and visiting celebrities - in fact, before it was even really much of a town - it had a very famous resident living living in a very exclusive location. Right off the coast and visible from the shore is the Ile St. Marguerite, which is of the the Iles St. Lerins. Once upon a time this was the Alcatraz of France - only for important people the king put away personally.

The royal prison had this strange mixture of being both high security - out on an island with few prisoners and plenty of guards - and yet, high privilege - because these were nobility and notables who deserved manservants and to be treated well...on an island in the south of France....

And while there's a long list of historically famous prisoners who stayed, the one that perhaps is best remembered is the one whose identity know one knows - The Man In The Iron Mask.

No, it's not just a movie and Alexander Dumas did not make it up. It was real, it happened. Someone actually had an iron mask stuck on his head and his identity concealed for more than thirty years. Last time I was here in Cannes, I took the boat out to the Ile St. Marguerite, walked around the island, went to the prison and saw the cell where he stayed.

I've always been a little fascinated by this story - and indeed, so have numerous French historians and writers, which is why there are numerous books and two movies made about it. The Leonardo DiCaprio, John Malkovich and Gerard Depardieu movie is the most recent and probably well known for my generation, but the old 1970's Richard Chamberlain version followed the story much better and made an attempt to capture life at Versailles at the time of the story.

The Alexander Dumas novel has it that the Man in the Iron Mask was the twin brother of King Louis XIV - one of the greatest kings France ever had and by far its most genius. The idea is that Louis' mother had twins. At birth, they took one away and hid him so that there would be no confusion or struggle over which would be the heir to the throne and there would be a spare safely tucked away in case of emergency.

Everyone was perfectly happy - except Anne of Austria, Louis and Philippe's mother - until one day after Louis became ruling King (he actually became king at very young age with a regent) and somehow found out that he has a twin brother. Not wanting even a remote threat of being displaced by a twin, he had his brother locked up on the Ile St. Marguerite with an iron mask placed over his head so no one could ever see that he looked exactly like the king.

A few things lend some credence to this story. First, actual letters from archives show that the palace instructed the prison to construct two sets of doors over a cell to keep the man from being heard by anyone. Also, only the prison warden should go to see the man once a day - but not to believe anything he said, to kill him if he ever said his name and to give him whatever he wanted. A little odd...

The letter from the palace minister to the prison warden also said that the prisoner shouldn't actually require much, he was just a valet... Very high security for a valet...

Several more interesting things occurred too. Apparently, the Man in the Iron Mask was really a very nice and gentle prisoner, so the warden asked if - since he had been a valet - could he fill in for one of the manservants who often fell ill. Fouquet, the king's former minister of finance was locked up in the Ile St. Marguerite at that time, and for the remainder of his life for embezzlement (the king figured it out when Fouquet threw a housewarming soiree at his new chateau which rivaled many of the royal residences). His manservant hated being in prison and often "fell ill" which allowed him to get out of Fouquet's cell.

The palace allowed the Man in the Iron Mask to serve Fouquet, but never to be in the presence of any other prisoner - so, if Fouquet were to go to a dining hall or outside, the MITIM could not follow.

So, why only Fouquet? Experts believe it was because while Fouquet might well have been able to figure out who the MITIM was, Fouquet was condemned to life in prison and would never be able to spread the word to anyone. Whereas other prisoners - like Fouquet's neighbor who was locked up for asking the king's sister-in-law to marry him without first asking the king's permission - would be released after they learned their lessons and would resume their places in high society.

Another strange fact - the MITIM was kept under the care of the warden even when the warden was promoted to being in charge of the Bastille. So, the MITIM died in the Bastille more than 30 years after he was original incarcerated. He was also buried under a different name than was used on the letter which instructed his lock-up.

Who was this man that was kept under such tight secrecy? People at the time and ever since have guessed. At the Ile St. Marguerite, they have a list of people's guesses. Most of the guesses were people who didn't spend their lives in prison and whose deaths were well known and had witnesses - several weren't even alive at the time.

I don't know where they came up with this list or who moderated it because it reads like it was written by a group of fifth graders who forgot to do their homework. "Okay, kids - who was the Man in the Iron Mask?" "Uh, George Washington...." "Voltaire" "Was it Richard Nixon?" "Gerard Depardieu?" "Someone played by Gerard Depardieu!" - highly likely.

Voltaire - who is actually on the list of guesses and is one of the easiest to disprove for oh, so many reasons - wrote that the MITIM was an illegitimate older brother of Louis XIV, not actually a twin. Definitely one of the more plausible guesses. Another theory has it that since Louis XIII was suspected to be homosexual or at least bisexual and didn't show a lot of interest in his wife, that perhaps they had arranged for a surrogate sperm donor from the family line. When later, he tried to extort the crown for money - thereby threatening the king's legitimacy - Louis XIV had him locked away. Again, plausible. These are both within the same basic idea as Dumas' story.

Dumas has the Musketeers rescue the twin from the prison, reveal to the twin - who never knew why he was locked up - his true identity and then teach him to act like Louis XIV. Then, one fated night at a ball, through a clever plot, they switch Louis XIV out for the twin. The only one who catches on is the king's mother - Anne of Austria. But she knows Louis is a real bastard and she's so happy to see her other boy - so she goes along with it and the switch takes hold. Louis XIV then gets put in the iron mask and justice is served.

The thing that lent some credence to Dumas' story is that there was a point in his early 20's when Louis XIV sort of softened and became a nicer, better ruler. He actually went on to be France's - and the world's - longest reigning kings who shaped his country into a more powerful, modern secular state. Go twin!

The story of the MITIM is one of the first great celebrity conspiracy theories in history. He was the JFK or Elvis of the 17th century and captured scholars' imaginations well beyond. In the end, no one except a few dead royals from 300 years ago actually know.

And all this to say that he lived just down the street from me.

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Triple Entente

"You know, the story is that the people, they tried building a tower up and up and up to try to reach the God. I don't know why they think they can do that, but they went up and up and then Mr. God, he got angry with them for trying to do this. So, he changed all their language and send them all over the world. And then no one can understand each other. And that's the problem. This one thinks this and that one thinks that and no one understands each other. The black one in Africa sees it this way and the white one here sees it that way and the one in Thailand, he sees another thing. And no one understands. That's the problem..."

This is what Costas, the man who owns the hotel where we stayed in Samos told me in the course of a very long discussion. He was born on Samos, then moved to the Belgian Congo to work with his uncle at the age of twelve.

Costas' family was disillusioned after World War II and after an invitation from the Belgians because of his uncle's work on the Suez Canal, they were willing to give something new a shot. He stayed in the Congo until age 34 when the Belgians were kicked out of the Congo. He returned to Greece and had to learn to be Greek all over again. He's seen some interesting things. He's very curious about how the world develops and he's boiled all the world's real problems down to this single point he shared with me.

He has a very good point.

Intrinsically, I have a fascination and desire to find how we all fit together. One of the immense joys I get from travel and even more from when I lived in other places is that when you're somewhere long enough to not be seeing the sights and walking the tourist trail, you can start to get a sense of the place and the people and their worldview. The worldview - it's the best part.

So far as I've gone - every worldview makes sense to me. Through a set of conditions, timing and resources, a country or a society comes to develop their window on the world, life and the universe. The only thing I don't like is when people think they see the whole thing - because clearly, everyone has a window. They see the piece - or if they're lucky enough to move around and spend some time here and there - a few pieces of all the things there are to see.

Each and every time, once I spend a little time, I can at least begin to get a peek through their window. And until you get in there and start peeking and understanding, people just seem different.

So, Costas is right. But it's not the words that create the barrier - it's our inability to get into each other's worlds. One could literally spend a lifetime and never be able to understand even the beginning of each culture.

But the endeavor - the task of coming to share not just a conversation, or a moment, but an idea - that's where the gold is. At least for me. In those moments when I can see the difference between two countries' or cultures' ideas - in those moments when I can see how two different groups are coming at something and not connecting because of the conceptual gap - I am elated. Because that understanding - even if small - is where we begin to reclaim the post Tower of Babylon world. It's that understanding that allows someone to begin bridging gaps and come together. And it is absolutely our best hope for survival and peace in this world.

This is also one of the reasons I love coming to France and speaking French. One thing is certain - having a language in common certainly helps a lot toward understanding other people's minds. I can discuss more, get more of what people think and I can better share too. Practicing French is a license to converse. And if someone is nice enough to go along for the ride with me - like two ladies at the cafe where I was working did yesterday - I can learn a lot more than my French.

Getting people's stories, their political opinions, their outlooks of life and culture - of places and people - I come to realize that our giant flaw is our fascination with the differences. Differences are colorful, interesting, even entertaining. Everywhere we go, it's the first thing we talk about. Even if it's going to New York - those of us from LA begin comparing and contrasting and enjoying the positive differences and critiquing the negative ones.

But the amazing stuff happens in what at first seems boring. People want security, nice homes, good lives for their children. They want to leave legacies - or at least feel they did something good in their lives. Everyone wants to believe in something. Everyone wants to be understood, accepted and loved. Even the unhelpful and somewhat rude bus driver on the No. 8 bus who didn't want to help explain to me where to catch the bus going in the opposite direction.

France is sort of easy because - despite the comments Americans love to toss around - they are more or less like us. In the spectrum of worldviews, history, values and outlooks - they are really very close to us. Sure, they have better cheese and worse deodorant, but they're a modified us.

As I talked with the very amiable twenty-something year old waiter at the cafe yesterday morning, I learned about how he met his British girlfriend and speaks all English with her, and goes to London every other week - but they can't figure out how to get jobs for both of them in one place... Turn that into LA and New York and he could be any one of hundreds if not thousands of twenty-somethings in LA.

It's when you get into the third world, the distant, the culturally dissimilar that things get really interesting. And that's ahead in Regions 2 and 3 of our trip.

But while I'm here, conjugating my verbs and conjuring up old vocabulary, I think often how amazing it is to be able to converse. How wonderful life is when we can share an idea and come to an understanding.

Yesterday, I had my first REAL conversations since I've been here - abstract, worldly, interesting, educational, real conversation. There's nothing like talking about things that really interest me to make me abandon thinking about stringing words together and to start busting out real French. I felt like a wall tumbled down and suddenly, I was talking. And these women at the cafe - they were talking with me, like I was French.

I learned what they think of America (positive), our national parks (very positive), San Francisco (positive) and Sausalito (most positive), Italy, the Euro, their worries about the EU weighing down France, why they love where they live, where they've traveled, where they want to travel, how the future of Europe must change to avoid economic disaster and that three great cuisines of the world in order are Chinese, French and Italian (which was presented as a universal truth that everyone knows).

For an hour at that cafe, the world felt a little smaller and far more interesting.

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Cafe Couture And My Life In Cannes

We started our journey looking for where we could work. High-speed Internet was and still is our water and air. Emily and I need it to work - and we need to work to live and travel. So, there's no two ways about it. One of our first tasks is to sniff out all the cafes and restaurants that have wireless Internet wherever we are. It's become a habit.

"That looks like a cool place - let's ask if they have WiFi." or "That guy's working on a laptop, they must have Internet, maybe we can work there..." On Patmos we could have given you the WiFi tour of the island complete with our recommendations about which cafe had the best speed, the best prices and the best food.

Cannes with France's trademark cafe culture, has given me a new and very nice problem - deciding where not to work. As I walk around town and see the cafes and brasseries lining the streets everywhere, the real question has become where, in my only two weeks here, do I want to go? Do I want to sit in this location or that one? Which one would be more fun? And which would be cooler to be seen? Who has what I want to eat and drink (pretty much all of them)? Who has the best deal on their daily lunch special (they all have a "formule dejeuner")? Which will be more comfortable? Do I want to be by the water, or in the beautiful streets a row back?

I know, these are the kinds of problems no one wants to hear anyone whine about. But let me say, it has taken up considerably more space in my brain that I would have expected. Part of the reason is because for these two weeks, I don't want to be just a tourist. I am living here for two weeks. I'm speaking French, I have a studio apartment, and I work. I have a wife no one knows about on another continent. I'm like practically every Frenchman here.

So, the cafes I work in are a big part of my experience. Unfortunately, my top two picks don't have WiFi. The very cool and modern French tea houses tend not to be Internet friendly even though people hang out there for hours. In my two favorites which I enjoyed last visit to Cannes, they seemed surprised that I would want WiFi (pronounced wee fee - which was very hard for me to buck up and say seriously). So now, I've scheduled those for the days when I write off-line because I really can't let them go.

My new - albeit very temporary - life as a wannabe Frenchman in Cannes has started off well. For the most part, people have been very kind with my French and helped me out. If they speak English back to me, I just continue responding in French and they usually revert. It's typically when I do the most basic transactions that people offer up some English. They hear I'm a foreigner and assume I probably know only a simple phrase or two.

But daily transactions are the easy part. I can do those without much thought. It's when I start to take on more that I find myself grading my conversations afterward and thinking things like, "Did I use the past participle correctly?" or "Damn, I should have said it that way!" or very commonly, "I need to start saying thank you and Madame and Monsieur more at the end of things - they all do! I probably sound very uncultured."

I've found that my target demographic for conversation is middle aged to older women. For some reason, they are more patient and seem to find my little stumbles cute. I sometimes take a moment to think of a particular word or mess up my conjugation with the wrong participle. I even used a word today that I think I might have made up - although I swear we used it in class.... That said, middle aged women who run shops have been very kind to me and talk to me like I'm not a foreigner. They don't act as if they're working through my accent. Of course, it helps that they feel very safe and non-judgmental, so I relax and speak better.

The lady at the post-office who helped me get the right envelope and talked with me as if I was a regular customer despite the fact that I was the only one lurking around trying to figure out where they kept packaging materials, is one of my heros. I also want to acknowledge the local laundry lady who was not only nice and conversational, but who made my shirts look and smell nicer than anyone ever has. Although you'll probably never read these words, Thank You, Laundry Lady!

I think my favorite conversation yesterday was when I stopped at one of the popular cahrcuteries in town to buy a piece of faullete for dinner. I asked the very nice target demographic woman which faullete was her favorite. She liked the salmon and goat cheese. I chose a different one because, I told her, it looked so beautiful - I had to try it.

From there, our conversation went something like this:

"Where are you from, Sir?"

"The United States."

"Ah, you like this faullete because you don't have nice food like this. You have food, but no cuisine!"

"Well, I think the French are much more artistic with their food. France has a culture which values art and treats its food among those arts."

"True! And you and the Canadians and even the French Canadians - you have all this food, but no cuisine! You have no background, no tradition and you haven't created anything as a culture. Italians, they have cuisine and the French. You have all these kinds of food, but nothing you created!"

"It's true, we have food from all over the world, especially in our major cities - but not a unified cuisine like France."

"And you don't consider digestion! French cuisine considers how food will be digested and chooses combinations your body can handle comfortably. America has no concept of digestion in their food. Your food is also so expensive!"

"Well, I don't know that it's more expensive than here. The costs here are rather high here."

"True, the Euro is stronger than the dollar and it makes things more expensive."

"But it seems like it must be more expensive for French people too."

"Yes, well, it was very different when we had Francs - things were affordable. But now, I suppose it's more costly for us too."

This was the second day that an innocuous compliment has turned into an indictment of American culinary practices. However, when I left, I got the feeling that she would be very glad if I came back to buy more of her very excellent and digestible food.

All of this attempting to be French and buying things from people with strong culinary philosophies made me realize that if I'm going to be Cannois for two weeks, I need to start doing more of what they do. I see people everyday walking down the street with their fresh loaf or baguette and a small bag from the grocery - probably filled with butter and cheese to go on said bread.

So, I too went to the local Carrefour where I discovered that cheese - fancy cheese whose names I've never heard before and which would all cost tons at Whole Foods and Trader Joe's - costs even less than wine, which in turn costs less than water. Cheese is the cheapest commodity yet.

So, with a quick stop at the city's most famous boulanger for the right bread, I found myself becoming a local. I ran my errands up and down the same street, going to the best store for each kind of thing, and talking with the shop owners as I went - after which I walked away with my loaf and cheese and slice of faullete.

But being French isn't just about shopping, eating, sitting at cafes and discussing what's wrong with American cuisine - that's only 80 percent of it. The last parts involve art and walking. I only had time for walking. So, as I walked around Cannes - along the water after the rain, admiring the sunset, I was rudely reminded that there was a convention in town and it had just let out.

These were not Cannois wannabe, cheese buying, chatting with laundry ladies and epicierie women foreigners like me. These were producers, actors and film distributors here this week for the MIPCOM convention where television producers sell their products to DVD producers and distributors.

As they flooded out of the Palais du Festivals et Congres, the city began flooding with phrases like, "Well, when I was in New York...." and "I got us a couple of meetings with him...." and "In those days, we couldn't do that..." Suddenly, things were becoming very un-French and remarkably like Los Angeles.

That's when somewhere in that flood, Diane Keaton - noticeable because she always wears a variation of the same suit - walked right by me.

And I could tell Diane had never considered how important digestion is in her cuisine.

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Nieces And Nice

When you're in France and the day comes for your nieces' birthday party, there's only one thing to do - go to Nice. After a quick ride on the TGV(!!!), I celebrated Bailey and Hayden's birthdays as best I could in Nice. Sure, it's probably not as phenomenal as whatever their mother, Molly has done for their birthday extravaganza, because Nice can't plan a party like Molly. But Nice comes with its own sense of fantastic - so, I went.

Lesson of the day - never underestimate the power of your nieces or Nice. The phenomenal cuteness of our nieces are enough to pull Emily across the world to be there for their birthday. And Nice - which I thought would be just a bigger Cannes doing much the same fantastic French Mediterranean thing - has other things going on.

For example it feels considerably more French. In fact, it feels very Bel Age French - like a Mediterranean Paris. Full of beautiful old buildings of amazing architecture and color which are exquisitely maintained. Nice is firmly rooted in tradition and culture.

This very French feel surprised me because Nice has only been a part of France for 150 years. In 1860 it struck a deal with Napoleon III to merge its independent principality under the House of Savoy. For hundreds of years prior, it resisted French annexation and so, I figured it would feel distinct. Maybe even a little Italian since it's so close to the border.

Nice feels French and gorgeous. The squares, the grand architecture, the fountains and of course the sparkling Mediterranean. In one small spot, it even has the multi-colored water beach with the same dazzling shade I love as in Rhodes. And it was all I could do not to jump in - clothes and all.

Nice is known for its thriving cultural scene with theater, dance, music, ballet and opera and most of all art. Nice is filled with art museums which in 2008 it decided to make free of charge. All museums, all the time. Given that it was a frequent haunt of many, if not most of France's most renown 19th century painters and authors including Cezanne, Matisse and Renoir, this should surprise no one. The Nicoise do not just consider themselves guardians of salad, but also of a tradition of French modern art.

One look around and I can see clearly why so many artists would find inspiration here in a town which takes the art of its architecture and public space as seriously as its dazzling surroundings.

Something about French opera houses does it for me. The Paris Opera House, or the Palais Garnier amazes me when I see it. The opera here in Nice is no different. It was built around the same time as its cousin in Paris, and I wonder if the same architects weren't involved. The Palais Garnier, like the annexation of Nice was orchestrated by Napoleon III - which any good Francophile should consider the scourge of French "royalty" as he was more of a dictator who used his uncle's name to legitimize his dismantling the Second Republic and impairing democracy for 22 years.

Most reports are that he wasn't a very smart man as evidenced by the fact that he was captured by the Prussian army while sitting on the side of a battlefield (where he went to get away from his wife and his political problems in Paris) - sick and in very poor health - during the Franco-Prussian War. Louis Napoleon Bonaparte died in a Prussian prison while the generals who formed the Third Republic made no attempt to get him out. Bravo, Karma.

But for all that - many of his civic projects like the Palais Garnier, the Egyptian Obelisk in la Place de la Concorde (added in part to help people forget that's where the guillotine operated during the Revolution) and the new additions to the Louvre were excellent choices for Paris.

He did a nice job with Nice too (no pun intended).

Nice has one thing I have found unique in France - appreciation for others. Nice seems to remember and honor those who have come to its aid and helped it. The Quay Etas-Unix sits in honor of the American entry into World War I and the Promenade d'Anglais denotes both the English tourists and expats who played a large part of the city's 19th century development as well as the wartime Anglo alliances. Bravo, Nice for humility and gratitude.

Another lesson from Nice - American ice cream, gelato, cheese and all dairy products are inferior because we kill all microbes in our milk and cream. French law allows dairies to leave a small amount of microbes deemed safe which - according to a very knowledgeable and enthusiastic young gelato maker - are responsible for the great taste of their dairy products. All I said to spark the conversation was that I hadn't seen flavors like his before.... I just wanted a scoop of candied chestnut!

The most impressive aspect of Nice is that it's a city made to be photographed. It offers great angles, colors and practically poses for the camera. Cannes's broad, shiny, sweeping waterside is overwhelming and very difficult to capture. Nice has the layout to let the camera document its magic.

This brings us back to nieces - who both undoubtedly have their camera faces down to an art. I don't think I've met a child as ready for a camera at all times as Bailey. Many of you will remember Bailey from her show-stopping role as flower girl and non-stop dancer at our wedding. I have no doubt that this year's party - which I am sad to have missed - was as full of adorable, heart-melting photos of Bailey and Hayden (aka Sweet Girl) in adorable princess dresses for their princess party.

Happy Birthdays, Bailey and Hayden!

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The Complexion Of France

I don't know if it's the progression of time, being in Cannes in a different season or staying in a different neighborhood than before, but the people look different. Namely, there are far more minorities than I recall. On a busy Saturday morning at the outdoor market, it was amazing to me how many women in burkas and head coverings there were. There were also plenty of Africans and African-French and Asians.

That these people are part of France doesn't surprise me. I saw many minorities in Paris. But not in Cannes.

And while multiculturalism and a racially mixed society is something I not only expect, but think is the way America should be - it intrigues me endlessly in France and the rest of Europe.

Unlike the United States, which - with the exception of the very poorly treated native population - is a nation of immigrants. Our culture is actually designed to absorb people and turn them into Americans. And when the immigrant groups have changed, our culture has shifted too. Lee Kwan Yew of Singapore has said that America's greatest strength is its ability to absorb foreign talent. So true.

The basic rule is that if you sound like us - if your English is fluent and American sounding - you're in. Sure, that hasn't always been true for everyone always - but it's been more true in America than anywhere else and it's what our cultural values teach and dictate.

Europe, on the other hand, is composed of countries which - like most of the world - are homogenous cultures. For hundreds and hundreds of years, being French is being white. It wasn't designed to be exclusionary - that's just who was here. Same goes for Germans, British, Dutch, Italians and everyone else.

Europeans were so homogenous that they were able to keep careful track of and at times separate Jews - a caucasian group within their own societies. So, to take the big leap to considering women in burkas French is quite a leap forward.

Of course, just because they're here doesn't make them accepted or integrated. Are they regarded as French? I can't say with any authority. But I notice that you don't see so many of them in mixed racial groups.

I have, however seen a number of black and Asian people in mixed company and speaking fluent French.

France - along with England, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany and Italy - is living in the aftermath of Empire. All of these minority groups were under French rule.

No one invited the French to pull up some boats in Vietnam and claim Indochina for France. No one in West Africa wanted to be organized into dysfunctional nation-states when their tribal existences were working out much better. And hanging onto Algeria was so elongated and involved that it brought Charles DeGaulle's career to an end, and left France saddled with aftermath and terrorism issues for another generation.

So, now the tables have turned. If you're going to tell them they belong to France, how can you tell them they can't be French when they want to show up in the colonial "homeland"? Through the very concepts of the Imperialist system of yesterday, today's Europe is no longer strictly European.

Most of us probably have the reaction that the mean colonizing white people have to learn to recognize racial and cultural equality much like the American model. I did at first - because, again - the Europeans opened the door by sticking flags on other people's land and calling these poor people "subjects".

At the same time, if I decide to move to Nigeria - I'll never in my entire life be considered Nigerian. If I had chosen to remain in Thailand, Taiwan or even multi-cultural Singapore, I would still never become any of those people - even if I somehow gained citizenship. They would never accept me as one of their own because they too are homogenous cultures. Thailand is defined by Thai people. And English speaking Singapore is Chinese, Malay and Indian - but it sure as hell isn't white and while they'd treat me nicely, I'd always be Whitey in the end.

So, to walk down the street and see African and Middle Eastern immigrants in France poses endless questions.

These aren't just esoteric - let the sociologists and anthropologists discuss it in an ivory tower - questions. French politics are consumed with the heavy cost burden of absorbing a large immigrant population, many of whom claim France's very generous social welfare benefits.

This has become so much so that a woman I met - a very educated, published author married to a university professor in Paris - told me that after a lifetime of being liberal and supporting the Socialist party, she actually fears that France's welfare state will collapse under the weight of immigrants abusing the system.

Cynical me thought, "yeah, that system is only for the French to abuse, thank you very much...."

Of course, immigration isn't the only source of racial mixing. There are African-French just like we have African-Americans. France retains numerous Carribean islands - including Guadaloupe and Martinique. Those people are French citizens and their islands are not colonies anymore, but full-fledged Departements (the French equivalent to states) of France with all the rights and responsibilities that go along with it. They can all pick up and move to Paris or Cannes or anywhere else in France at any time. Some of them do.

So, France lives with mixed citizens, immigrants and the issues of a country moving from homogenous to heterogenous. As an American - whose country invented that transition - I find myself fascinated. Does that one speak French like a native? How old is the oldest mixed group of people? Do Asians mix better with the whities than the black ones do? Just how is it all working?

I can say I've seen a fair number of interracial couples and the cutest French-born Algerian kid and his mom run the nearby laundry I went to yesterday. They spoke native French and couldn't have been nicer - and seemingly more accepted by the neighborhood patrons.

On my flight into Nice, I had one of the most awkward experiences of this trip. I was sitting in a window seat and two people sat down next to me - a woman and her teenage daughter. I eventually asked them if they were French - because on a flight from Rome to Nice I had no idea what language to use. They were Iraqi. They spoke some English, some French and they had been living in Nice for two years. France - Iraq's former colonial power - gave them a ten year residency card on humanitarian grounds.

When they asked me where I was from - for the first time in my life - when I said America, I felt badly. I could see on their faces that this was not their favorite answer. These people who have taken refuge in France are among the luckiest of their people. I could also tell from the way they described living in France that it wasn't their ideal either. They are caught between a homeland in disaster and a foreign country that will never be home, and which doesn't guarantee them the ability to stay in the future.

I sat and thought for awhile. Do I pretend that I didn't see it on their faces and keep talking to them? Do I decide enough chit-chat and become busy for the remainder of the flight? Or do I say something?

I've never spoken against my country before - I hate it when Americans go abroad and jump on the anti-American bandwagon to be cool with the Europeans. We have our faults and issues - but I think you keep your problems at home and instead, help promote cultural understanding.

I spent most of the flight thinking about it. Finally, I decided that I wouldn't feel right if I didn't tell them how sorry I was for what our country has done to their country. I said that many Americans feel very badly for what has happened. We try to help other countries. But in Iraq's case, we made things worse for people.

The woman gave a heartfelt "thank you" and smiled. It clearly meant a lot to her. I didn't want her to think Americans are heartless and self-righteous. I wanted her to know people are sympathetic and that we have good intentions. Nothing I could say would give her back her home or end her need for exile. However, I had the opportunity to promote cultural understanding and represent my country - and I think I did the right thing.

Empire and the mistakes of Empire aren't easy for anyone. France is not alone.

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Where Wine Is Cheaper Than Water

It started with the incredible color of blue green in the water along Nice and Cannes. I saw them from the airplane window. You would think after almost two month of time in Greece, I wouldn't be easily moved by the color of the sea. But there it was - rich and clear - no shimmers, no plant growth patterns underneath - smooth and rich as a swipe of paint. A paint only the south of France can produce.

Then as my airport bus came into town through the back end of town, it was like Cannes unrolled before me. First, the pretty houses and neighborhoods. Then the shopping areas of the Cannet - the "new" part of town up on the hill where most of the locals live. Finally, we crossed into the Croisette or the old town and something inside me lit up like a flame.

The narrow side streets, the big main boulevard, the pastel French buildings, the Mediterranean showing off in the sun - and the vibe I have found to be particular to Cannes. Cannes itself has an awareness and attitude that it is fantastic. Everyone in Cannes knows it too. There are no rough streets, no ugly area, no unsavory element, and until I showed up on that bus - not a bad pair of shoes in town.

I had last been here between Christmas and New Year's and assumed that this time of year, people might be a little more casual and beach-y. Apparently, the unspoken Cannes dress code is in effect year round. No men's sandals unless they're leather and of good brand.

In a sense, it's amazing how much I love Cannes. For a guy who thinks Patmos - which couldn't be more casual and relaxed - is one of the best spots on Earth, Cannes is a big jump. Cannes meshes the Mediterranean beauty of Greece with the French zeal for art and style. It is unashamedly materialistic at least as far as clothing and property prices. The Sex and the City people would have a hard time keeping it fresh in Cannes. People here have it down.

You never know how you'll find something a second time. Places change. We change. It's been almost three years since I was last in Cannes and it turns out that everything still lines up for us. In fact, it helps that I'm now familiar with the town so I can enjoy the highlights a little more.

This weekend I'll probably visit Renoir's house and museum and maybe the Chateau Grimaldi - a 14th century chateau which houses a contemporary art collection - up on the hill. They were closed last time because of the holidays. And I'm thinking of taking the train into either Nice or Grasse tomorrow. How does one choose?

Cannes is great because for all its tourism, there's no question it's a real, lived-in city. Unlike Patmos where you know that October breaks the spell and everything turns back into a pumpkin for the winter, people are here being fabulous year-round. Something about it makes me want a piece of it. I want to unlock the secret of how they do it - how they live this way. How do they ALL know how to dress this way? Is there a handbook? How does one keep Cannes at less than 80,000 people? Why doesn't it attract more people and sprawl out like Los Angeles did? What is their secret?

Cannes has the cosmopolitan attitude of New York and Hong Kong while remaining a relatively small French town on the Mediterranean. For someone who likes both city and the peace and quiet of a beautiful ocean town - Cannes is the Holy Grail.

This time I'm staying in a different part of Cannes - not the old town like last time. I was concerned that being in the Bocca, further west along the beach would make enjoying Cannes a little more difficult. It's a long walk from the hotel to le Croisette. Thankfully, the good people of Cannes in their infinite wisdom took care of me. Buses run up and down my street every ten to fifteen minutes, take about seven minutes to the Croisette and you can get an unlimited ride pass for only €10 a week. They also run a night bus that goes very late. So, I have a beachside location and quick access to the center of town. The bus stops right in front of my hotel too. Brilliant.

The neighborhood is also cool. Very laid back with more locals. Very cool cafes and businesses line the streets and there are real grocery stores and a daily outdoor fresh produce market. Real people buying real produce as part of their daily routine - so French.

My hotel is actually a big upgrade from my last stay. Given I got a better deal than before, I wasn't expecting much. Apparently, I was paying for location and history of the building before, because I have a studio apartment setup with kitchenette, large bathroom, entry way, a fantastic bed and balcony with a huge view. I woke up to the sun lighting up Cannes.

So, having received every positive omen for my stay, I went into the heart of town to work and get lunch at a cafe. I couldn't find a cafe that didn't have wireless Internet - they were all mine to choose from. And the public squares and waterfront also have free public WiFi.

So, I sat myself down at a cafe overlooking the water that I had liked last visit. They had a lunch special with coffee, entree and dessert for €10 so I inquired what the entree of the day was. I was unfamiliar with the dish, but got clearly that it was some kind of seafood specialty. It turned out to be a mound of fresh seafood in seasonings similar to that of paella. This was the daily lunch special. This is what people have for lunch - at a very reasonable price I might add. Fantastic.

I think it's also worth noting that people begin drinking before noon and that a carafe of local table wine - about two glasses - costs €3. Wine is cheaper than bottled water.

After working, eating and watching the town, I decided to walk the town in the evening. I enjoyed the beauty of the harbor, the busy streets at sunset and phenomenal shops whose windows tutor you in how to dress like a Cannois. I noticed that the shoe store that last visit had a $2,000 pair of men's shoes had nothing more expensive than $600. Sign of the times? Perhaps even Cannes has felt spending cutbacks.

Of course, the best part of being here so far has been speaking French. As predicted, I have had my moments of embarrassment. I get excited, speak too quickly and then mess myself up. So, I have decided to learn from the man who owned our hotel in Samos. He spoke very slowly and quite well. He bought himself time to think by speaking deliberately. This is my new strategy.

In my first day, I got positive feedback from a taxi driver, the hotel staff and the woman at the bus station. My waitress lunch waitress spoke casually with me all afternoon. But apparently, by dinner, I was losing it because my dinner waitress looked at me like I was nuts when I tried to ask her what kinds of wines were available. Either you don't inquire about what the house wine is or I asked very poorly. Or both. I had been up since 3:15 am Turkey time....

What I've found is that people usually want to help the guy who tries to speak their language - and I do really use the language, not jut a few phrases from a book. One of the men at the hotel desk saw me get flustered when I wasn't sure if I had phrased something right and said, "yes, yes, I understand you fine - keep going." And the woman who was helping me told me that she understands perfectly what it's like to try to think of what you want to say because that's how she feels when she uses English with guests. It was like have my own coaches.

More importantly, my best supporter and coach landed safely in Los Angeles and is currently sleeping soundly at her parents' house. I haven't yet heard the details of Emily's trip except that the Munich airport overcharges for WiFi and there's only one place in the airport where she could plug in her laptop. Beyond that, I gather that the efficient people of Lufthansa flew her home with German precision.

Anyway, I have unpacked my jeans and my one pair of nice black shoes I've been carrying around. Time to put them to use so that I at least don't violate the Cannes Code today...

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