Au revoir Cannes. Bonjour Paris.

My time in Cannes came to an end. The four days were hectic, enjoyable, inspirational and career-defining in more ways than one.

Brian Langerfield, CD of Wunderman Toronto, happened to also be travelling to Paris for the weekend, so we decided to travel together.

And then we couldn't get out.

We heard that there may be issues with the trains due to a strike. After hauling our luggage to the SNCF train station we discovered the rumour was true. All trains had been cancelled until Tuesday, so we returned to the Hotel Gray d'Albion.

We jumped online to buy EasyJet tickets from Nice to Paris. The site appeared to be inundated with activity and was chugging, so I called my wife in Australia and had her purchase our tickets online and email me the confirmation. Done.

Since our flight was scheduled to depart in 8 hours, we took in some of Cannes' sights. After some final beers on the beach, we collected our bags from the hotel and took a cab to Nice airport.

Then all hell broke loose.

While we had been relaxing on the beach, the air traffic controllers also decided to go on strike. All flights had been cancelled until Tuesday. Hundreds of travellers were stranded and screaming for a refund. Then they realised the bigger issue. With all the inbound flights bringing travellers into Nice and Cannes earlier in the day, hotels were at capacity and many people would be without a place to sleep for four days.

While Brian waited in the queue of hundreds to find out how we claim our refund, I raced down to the arrivals terminal to book a hire car. Avis and Europcar were both closed having booked out all their vehicles already. I joined the queue for Hertz just before the masses arrived to do the same thing.

In the queue, I overheard the gentleman in front of me on his mobile phone saying he had to get back to London and the only way was to take the Chunnel train, but first he had to get to Paris. I offered he hitch with us to share the hire cost and the driving. This was a very lucky thing because it turned out Brian couldn't drive a manual, so I would have had to drive the entire trip myself if not for our new British travelling companion, Richard.

We got one of the very last cars from Hertz and hit the road at 8.30pm.

After ten-and-a-half-hours, a questionable meal at a truck stop, and a one hour nap on the side of the A8, we finally pulled into Paris at sunrise. I took the lion's share of the driving, with Richard's 3-hour stint at the wheel hauling us over the line.

Bedraggled, bewildered and bedevilled, we returned our rent-a-car, and said farewell to Richard who headed for his London-bound train. Then Brian and I parted ways to find our respective hotels and sleep off the dusk-til-dawn drive.

In Paris,
Matt Batten
Creative Director
Wunderman, Sydney