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Wednesday, 17th September 2008

Theo Fennell on the Côte d’Azur

The words of Sandy Wilson’s song from his incomparably camp musical, The Boyfriend, don’t do justice to the archness of the place. Throw down the lexicon of louche and you can bet a sou to a euro that the page it opens on will have the South of France, the Riviera, the Côte d’Azur, or any of the other wonderfully evocative soubriquets of the place, written somewhere on it.

From the boulevardiers of the Promenade des Anglais to the flâneurs of Cannes the place reeks of naughtiness and indolence. It is, though, not quite decadent. The French cannot do rock’n’roll, even with a small pair of r’s, and shouts of ‘Eez Parditime’ at the Voile Rouge don’t ring true. The mood on the Côte d’Azur is deeply vain and solipsistic and doesn’t allow for dirtiness.

But this naughtiness is what gives it such perennial charm and gaiety. It is just a very pleasant place to be. I have been there penniless with only youth, some feeble French chat-up lines and three chords on the guitar at my side; and latterly middle-aged, but with rich and generous friends; and both extremes have been equally agreeable. However, it would be a savage place to be broke with just the three chords and not in the first flush of youth, for it is a place that worships daily at the altars of Venus and Mammon, if I may mix myths. And down there they do.

The splendour of the yachts and the beauty of the bathing lovelies are celebrated shamelessly. There is no place less envious in the world. Once any idea of the real world has been suspended it is the best al fresco theatre in the world. Where once the English milords sauntered, mad old nannies forbade their wards from bathing for an hour after eating (what was that about?) and sterling held sway, the boaters and spats have disappeared and the rouble and dollar have muscled in. But that is part of the whole Riviera game. Its venality and willingness to serve the current captain of the financial castle have kept it alive, but the money is taken with such panache that it is worth having your pockets picked. What is so extraordinary about the place is that despite the endless influx of foreigners over so long and the assimilation of their words, habits and fashions, the local culture and patois has remained resolutely and unequivocally French.

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