Taking the Eurostar down from London to Nice was one way of travelling. A train journey that took ten hours, whereas I could have flown there within two, it was the romanticist’s way, the scenic route even. From rainy overcast England, through the grapevines of Provence, to the sunshine and beautiful coast-line of the South – my environment had taken a different turn. No more big overcrowded city draped with cold weather, rather 8 months of sun and small city living. But I loved London – it was the (aesthetically) ugly city that somehow had more beauty and life than any other place I’ve ever experienced. It’s true though, I need to get out more – England is the only European country I’ve ever been to. Now I’m in France. The biggest difference among many, is not, the food, the people, or the weather – though markedly different – but no doubt the language. So I guess it’s no surprise that I’ll be teaching English.
English where? In Cannes. Yeah that is the place where Europe’s biggest film festival is held annually, sorry Venice and Berlin, Cannes has more hype and fame than both your film festivals put together! The film festival has transferred the town since it began in 1946. It’s arguably the greatest promotion a little beach town can have. There are a dozens of little other coastal towns along the coast, but the fact Cannes has had Hollywood stars descend on its shores for over 63 years, it has grown upward – with major hotels built, and super-yatchs living in the harbour. As far as small towns go in France it may be the most expensive, only Paris seems to be a pricier place to live, and that is because it’s a capital metropolitan. Nonetheless, the region Cannes sits in is impressive, the province called Provence Cote D’Azur. Yet I don’t think Cannes is the nicest area – sure it has Louis Vuitton type shops and hotels, Nice (the big city of the area) has more culture (with the Modern Art Museum for example), and Antibes has more football pitches, the best surf and the largest port. By any means, when you are living in a near Paradise – you can’t complain, only if the real paradise is a stone-throw away . . . that would be Corsica Island off the South Eastern coast.
Before moving to Cannes I was living in Nice at a hostel. A hostel that couldn’t be less French, it was made up of American, Canadian, Australian, Kiwi, and English young travellers. It was not the ideal location for someone looking to settle and work in a French environment, as the psyche was party, and the language was English! As a reckless traveller though, with one Euro beers within an encouraging climate – you couldn’t go wrong! Unless you were me, a concerned homeless young adult – who had no idea where he was going to live. But like all things in a life of mixed positivity and anxiety, all that start’s well ends well, and I got through it – well thanks to my employer finding somewhere for me to live. I guess I had the grace of the universe on my side!
Talking in existential terms, I spoke to a lovely Northern Irish (protestant) lasse, in a random park in Nice, about my thoughts on just your usual everyday topics . . . you know: where we go after we die, morality of humans, what God is and the role it plays in our life, and how society is evolving etc etc yadda yadda. Pretty relaxed simplistic conversation . . . not really, but I think I was just happy to speak a long dialogue of English – and unfortunately for this 21 year old lady – it all came out at once! Despite me being a total cynical nihilist, in contrast to her total devotion to Jesus and the lord, by any means we clicked and totally respected one another’s opinion. I even admired her faith, because for me, life would be better if I too could believe in a idealized reality: I too would be totally at ease and having something to really live for, as opposed to my thoughts of a world of total inconsistency and irrelevancy.
Once again I’m off on a philosophical tangent – how French of me – maybe I will fit in after all – just imagine in 6 months time – me at a coffee shop eating a croissant and sipping my espresso – talking perfect French – wouldn’t that be an ‘existence’!
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