I am a sedentary tourist. My idea of world travel is to go a considerable distance from home and then not see anything that everyone says I should see. In Cannes, I am happy to work on my writing for three mornings in a row at the same table at the same café two blocks from the apartment. The Brasserie Carnot is a combination bar-coffeeshop-café with a two-story ceiling, marble floor, cherry bar, no piped-in music, no to-go cups, no web site, few cellphone conversations, and no one else working on a lap-top computer except me. In fact, few people even read the paper over their coffee or beer. They mostly sit and watch the scooters, cars and trucks race through la Place du 18 Juin, or visit with friends.

My inertia drives Darlene bats, which means I will eventually venture further than two blocks from the apartment and see some sights. That’s why we bring walkie talkies, so she can roam widely while I sit, reading or writing, and we can still check in with each other. “Chopper One to Chopper Two,” I will hear on my Motorola. “Come in, Chopper One…”

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