Really, not a lot happened in Cannes. The guys worked, the girls played. The hotel was awesome. The view from the hotel was even better. I’ll let the pictures do the talking.
|A picture really is worth 1000 words….|
The only “story” I have from that week is from one night when we were hanging out in the lobby near the bar. We had all ordered something to drink from the bar, and there were enough of us to take over a table or two; however, we weren’t taking up any extra space that prevented other people from being seated to have a drink – it wasn’t that crowded. As the night wore on, someone showed up with a bottle of wine, then another, then another… and well… you get the idea. For those of us who didn’t want a cocktail, we were having wine. When the bartenders realized this, they started ignoring the ones of us who still wanted to order cocktails. This *might* have been OK except for the fact that we were all week-long guests at the hotel; it’s not like we just walked in off the street and asked for glasses to drink our own wine out of. Plus – and here’s where it gets fun – we started noticing a regular ebb and flow of working girls in and out of the hotel lobby, who were being waited on as soon as they sat down. Once Brown-Eyed Husband saw what was going on, he wasn’t having it. (I love it) He threw several fits to whomever would listen, including the working gals and their johns, that it was an OUTRAGE that people staying a WEEK at the hotel weren’t being served while PROSTITUTES were given the royal treatment. It was tons of fun to watch.
Even though we all enjoyed watching the scene unfold, I guess we really just wanted to let everyone within earshot know that we knew what was going on. I’m sure it wasn’t news to anyone on staff that they were running a brothel out of the lobby, but since it’s illegal and all, someone at the front desk called a manager to come
quieten calm Hubs down.
In the end, the trollops were told to take their business elsewhere (for that night at least), and we were invited to stay as long as we wanted to. Show over. Mission accomplished.
After the work week was over, we rented a car and drove to St. Tropez. The terrain on the way there was oddly familiar. It was like many places in America rolled into one.
|This reminded me of our drives trough New Mexico and Colorado|
|This reminded me of San Diego|
|This reminded me of driving through my home state, Arkansas|
Here’s where it starts to deviate from any “normal” I’ve ever seen:
Truly, the stuff dreams are made of…