Piles of sand

Today was my first day of school. Last night I carefully laid out just the right outfit, set aside my school supplies and packed my bag with the days essentials.

OK, not quite. But it was kind of fun to get up and go to school again after all these years.

I signed on for a French Intensive class at the College International de Cannes. The price is exorbitant (300 euros for one week of class) and the location not exactly ideal (a good 45-minute walk from the apartment) but I justified the cost by thinking of it as an investment in my language studies, and recognizing that I needed to do SOMETHING productive with myself while here in Cannes. I can't spend the next 10 days napping, sitting on the balcony and jogging along the beach, can I? Well, I guess I could...

The class was a bit of a nightmare, to be honest. Most of the other students were under the age of 22, and probably were not paying for the course themselves, and really didn't seem to care much about learning or speaking French. The professor had little control over all of their giggling and antics, and I felt like the snooty nerdy student: annoyed. All I could think was, I am spending a crapload of money on this course, and I want to get the most out of it! After class I was grateful that the professor agreed I should be in a higher level (who would have thought?!) and she arranged for me to go to a different class tomorrow. Phew!

It's another gorgeous and sunny day here in Cannes - the weather has been sublime for the past few days - so I took the long way home along La Croisette, taking in the views and the warmth of the November sun. I happened upon a sand castle artist, creating amazing designs out of a pile of sand right there on the beach. Very impressive.

I walked in that same sand just two days ago after a long run along the promenade. I loved to feel the warm sand between my toes, and I let my feet sink into the sea's icy waters. Sitting on the pier, I watched kids playing in their underwear, tried to look away from the men wearing speedos and the old ladies sunbathing topless, and observed weekend life on the beach, wondering why so many people were dressed in black. Yes, black! The fashion trend along the beaches of Cannes is something like this: slacks and blazers, jeans, sweater dresses with leggings, high-heeled suede boots, black wool coats, over-sized shades, large purses... it's as though Paris or Milan or Manhattan just stepped off a yacht, fell onto the beach, and forgot to change clothes.

Well, I didn't forget to change and get comfy. I am back home now, happily lounging in pajamas, watching the light on the buildings outside as they slowly become awash in pink and orange hues. The sun is beginning to fade, and the days are short here, as is the case everywhere in the world this time of year, but it doesn't really matter. The prematurely dark evenings don't seem to carry the same depressing weight as they might, say, in New York. The days are bright and warm, the evenings fresh and cool, and life moves along at a snail's pace. Cannes in November is good for one's soul.

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