Home again, home again, jiggity jig

On the last leg of the journey in reverse: Cannes>Sleeper>Paris at
Dawn>Eurostar>Work.
The man in the seat next to me pongs. He seems to be a mathematician,
and not to have washed his arm pits for several days.
Cannes is a Dantean series of circles within circles. Those without the
magic accreditation mill past the barriers, locals, bemused tourists,
cinephiles and starfeckers. They see only one barrier between
themselves and the red carpet, when in fact there are several, physical
and practical. Yesterday evening the area around the Palais was rammed
with onlookers for the Indiana Jones premiere, many of them wearing
promotional fedoras in a rather odd shade of orangey-dun(g). The hard
core were in evening dress, holding up hand written signs "Invitation SVP"
In theory my pass (a pretty gold) was access all areas:
The Palais itself - this is the natural home of the press, where they
watch the movies (rarely in the main house, more often secondary
screening rooms). All through the day competition films premiere here;
the dress code is black tie for the evening, casual during the day.
The Marche: the Exhibition centre beneath where thousands of films are
being bought and sold in a dim humid bunker light.
The Grand Jetee: where the yachts are moored. These are not the haunt
of stars. They are mobile meeting rooms for financiers, and during the
day host business brunches and lunches and cocktails for small earnest
groups, making deals within spitting distance of the pedestrians.
The International Village: the national film commissions, camping on the
beach and offering advice, wifi and free coffee through the day.
The Hotels: more meeting spaces and some screenings.
What the pass won't guarantee: 1.) a ticket to any film (all subject to
queues, allocation and a final judgment on the suitability of your
dress.) 2.) Access to parties and clubs (invitation only), 3.) Access
to stars. (They live and move in a bubble within a bubble, at
out-of-town villas and hotels, or yachts moored almost out of site,
quite invisible, even to delegates, until they pop up on the red carpet,
large as life but three times skinnier.