As a lifelong lover of cinema, and as someone who works in the film industry, being able to pass through Cannes on the way to pick up a friend in Nice held a special meaning. (Though I missed the film festival by a couple of weeks.)
We went around 8 in the evening, when the sun was just starting to set.
On the way, we passed by a water park for children, with its weird Shrek head.
I also found it odd that an apple core was considered something enticing to children.
There was a colorful fellow who spent a good portion of the time the cars were caught up in traffic sitting on the window of the car.
Qatari license plate.
I thought this was a gas station shop, but it turned out to be a giant vending machine.
There was a fire on one of the main streets leading to the famed Crosiette.
A couple enjoying the view.
Without the film festival, Cannes is simply a beach town where the French like to vacation.
A nun and a bum.
The famed Palais des Festivals et des Congrès, with its iconic red-carpeted staircase was on display for tourists, but I was surprised by how Cannes itself has the feel of a town that loves cinema. Case in point: the huge mural of Buster Keaton that you see as you exit the town.