Yesterday, as we thought were were about to leave Barcelona, the captain addressed the ship. He explained that while they had requested refueling at seven in the morning, for reasons beyond their control, it was only commencing now and our departure would be delayed. He assured us that they would try to make up as much time as possible, but that our arrival in France would be delayed.
As it turned out, it was delayed by almost five hours. It was a little after eleven in the morning when we pulled into the Golfe de la Napoule, the Bay of Cannes. The weather was surprisingly quite cold for the Riviera. Even though John normally dislikes chilly weather, he sat out on our balcony and looked at the world.
Cannes is our only “tender port,” that is, a port where passengers have to be shuttled from the boat to the shore in small boats. Tendering was no big deal last summer when we were in Scotland because all eight passengers fit on one Zodiak. Here the tenders were much larger.
Even though these boats can easily hold a couple hundred people, it takes a long time to disembark over 4000 people. We boarded our tender just after two o’clock.
Because of the delay, Norwegian cancelled all its excursions. I had had a lot of difficulty finding something to do in Cannes. I had initially arranged one walking tour, but the guide cancelled it before we even left home. So, a couple days ago, playing with the Viator app, I found a new listing called Le French Bus. It promised a tour of Cannes in a vintage French minibus. It was not expensive, but since I was doing it at the last minute, the earlier tours in the day had already been filled and I just took the remaining slot at two o’clock. As it turned out, that was the luckiest thing I did.
I received a cheery text from the guide telling us that he was delaying the tour until 2:30 and he would meet us at the port. And as soon as we walked off the pier I saw a white van and a guy with a straw hat and a white and white striped French sailor shirt standing there.
We waited a couple minutes and another couple from Ottawa joined us. As we left the port, Daniel, our guide, told us about the bus. In the late 1960s, the Volkswagen bus became one of the most popular vehicles in the world. Hippies everywhere had one. So Renault figured that they could make one, too. Except…it was a complete flop. Nobody wanted a Renault bus. They wanted a VW bus. Renault discontinued production after making only a few hundred. So, naturally, they are now collector’s items.
We started our trip through town. Much of Cannes looks like every little French city with only the occasional palm tree to remind you that you are in the La Côte d’Azur.
What distinguished Cannes from every other town on the coast is the film festival. It will start on May 14 this year, and preparations are already underway. The famous red carpet is already out.
Elsewhere in Cannes, things are pretty normal. There are games of boule in just about every square.
We went by the marina. There are two small islands in the harbor here. One of them is famous because it was on the Île Sainte-Marguerite in a small prison where the “man in the iron mask” finally died.
Daniel explained that Cannes was just a tiny fishing village until the mid-nineteenth century when a wealthy Englishman stopped here en route to Italy. He was searching for a warm dry place for his daughter who suffered from some respiratory problem. She liked the town so much that they stayed here. Word got out, a rail line was built … and well, the modern Riviera was born.
There are only a few remnants of that older Cannes. One is the Church of Our Lady of Hope on a bluff overlooking the town.
The shell of the building is quite old with a Romanesque stone vaulted ceiling. The interior of the church was obviously redone in the nineteenth century, and it looks as hideous as if it were in Lawrence, Massachusetts.
There is a little garden outside the church, just by the bell tower. It was here that I snapped my favorite picture of the trip so far.
From the bluff on which the church is situated, there is a stunning view of the area. On a clear day, Daniel told us, the snow-capped Alps are visible. This was not one of those days. But we could see the theater-casino complex where the film festival is held
and this odd mural on the side of a house.
I never did get an explanation for that one.
By this time, it was no longer gloomy and threatening to rain. It was raining fairly hard. Daniel whipped us by the red carpet so we could get our pictures. John stayed in the van, but I braved the rain drops.
As the tour came to an end, we had some time for pictures. I took one of John and Daniel
And Daniel took one of the whole group.
The line was atrociously long to get back on the boat, so the four of us went, at Daniel’s suggestion, to the rooftop bar of the nearby Hilton where we could monitor the line while we had a drink. We caught the last tender back to the ship.
Traveling Johns 