There are a couple of routines in Cannes that everybody follows. Although these may differ slightly (pool party or Palais, beach or boat, BBQ at some villa or partying on the Croisette), they all end up at the same place: the inevitable Martinez Bar.
6 AM, just one last drink for the road, the sun already rising. Just one last chat and one remaining business card to hand over before you are thrown out by the bouncers… I don’t think there’s a single person in town who hasn’t done exactly so this week.
Plain tired and with feet sore from dancing, you start the route home. Following another routine, this one probably the most relieving: taking off your shoes.
It’s such a funny sight: all the ladies with their clutch and last drink in one hand, and high heels dangling on the other while trotting to their hotels.
A caravan of really really black feet, jumping quickly in a well, or running through the sprinklers to cool off a hot night.
I will definitely miss the Cannes Routine. That, and having rosé for breakfast.
Today’s shoes are Buffalo