Summary

Walter Phelps Dodge As the Crow Flies: From Corsica to Charing Cross

Cannes is par excellence an English resort, and woe betide the bourgeois Frenchman or spectacled German who innocently happens upon one of its mammoth hotels; and many are the shivers that shake his Jäger-clothed frame at the numerous open windows and delightful draughts of fresh air that are so home-like to an Englishman or a civilized American.
Like Bournemouth, Cannes is rich in pines and poor in shops and cabs. But here every one brings their own [18] turn-out, and few teams are to be seen without both footman and coachman in some well-known London livery.
Source: Gutenberg

Walter Phelps Dodge As the Crow Flies: From Corsica to Charing Cross

Most of the hotels have good libraries, and one can lounge away days in the palm-shaded garden, watching the sunshine dance and sparkle upon the rich blue sea. There is a restful feeling about Cannes, an aristocratic repose and seclusion not shared by any of the other resorts on the coast, except, perhaps, in a modified degree, by San Remo; and physicians say the air here is not so stimulating as at Nice and Mentone. Of course, it is not so stimulating as at Monte Carlo, either, but that is for a different reason!
Source: Gutenberg

Walter Phelps Dodge As the Crow Flies: From Corsica to Charing Cross

There are shops, indeed, and a principal street, but they are so mixed up with the pines and so divided, one from the other, that they do not give an impression of town life at all, and one easily imagines oneself to be in the depths of the country. The pines are the fetishes of Bournemouth. You breathe in their healing balsam, you bathe in pine juice and sleep on pine pillows. You walk in pine groves, and sit on furniture made exclusively of pine and, when you die, you are laid under the shade of the pines. I don’t doubt the fact that pines are healthy in moderation, but they are monotonous.
Source: Gutenberg

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