Sundance. Toronto. Cannes. Ah, the “film festival.” Part fashion train wreck, part industry frat party. And movie people of the strangest stripes.

You came for the films?

Liar. You came for the parties, the people-watching, the gossip, the celebrities. (No need to leave home for that.) Which brings us to our point: festival, schmestival.

The real draw at Cannes is, well, Cannes. And guess what? It’s there year-round. So whether you’re on your way to the closing festivities or just planning a vacation, it’s not too late to get in on the action.

For instance: food. Scoring reservations during the festival is not (we repeat, not) as easy as getting laid, but the rest of the year you can name your time and table. (So what if you’re not staring at Sharon Stone over your frites?)

At casual Vietnamese Le Jade (24, rue Pasteur, +33-4-93-94-33-49), proprietor Mi (no last name) is tough (but fair). Don’t be French about showing up; even slightly late arrivals put their reservations in jeopardy.

For some vielle France, trudge up the historic rue Saint Antoine in the Vieux Port to La Maschou (15, rue Saint Antoine, +33-4-93-39-62-21), where gloriously singed hunks of meat emerge from a charcoal oven that casts a warm glow across a dense, hot, low-ceilinged room.

Not exotic enough for you? Try Harum (16, rue des Freres Pradignac, +33-6-18-09-70-28) for Moroccan or Tantra (13, rue Docteur Gerard Monod, +33-4-93-39-40-39) for Tahitian.

Want to really push the boat out? Book Roger Verge’s Moulin de Mougins (Avenue Notre Dame de Vie, Mougins, +33-4-93-75-78-24), and leave a trail of bread crumbs to find your way back to town. Warning: It’s expensive enough to shock the deepest Hollywood pockets (or the highest-maintenance cutie).

Um, shopping? Of course! (Duh, you’re in France.) Good news — prices are not all that crazy. For one thing, designer stuff is ten to twenty percent cheaper here; for another, you can get the VAT (an additional thirteen percent) back at the airport.

Take the obligatory walk along rue d’Antibes. Marquee designers abound: Yves Saint Laurent, Gucci, Celine, Louis Vuitton. (You may have heard of them.) Favored look? Resort and preppy.

Stop at Le Grand Bazar (90, rue d’Antibes, +33-4-93-39-13-13) for funky couture. We couldn’t afford the blue Romeo Gigli shredded backless dress but settled for a consolation-prize belt — a hand-tooled number with a big butterfly clasp. And because everything old is new again, we snapped up a pair of Le Coq Sportif sneakers at Western Shop (44, rue des Serbes, +33-4-93-39-85-21). Some things, of course, are priceless. Like the T-shirt we tried to buy off the owner. It read: “the liver is evil and must be punished.”

On Saturdays, don’t miss the flea market on the parade ground just to the west of the Palais. Not everything shines, but certain items — cool bubbly glass from nearby Biot, antique cameras, old film and advertising posters — make browsing worthwhile.

In other words, come to Cannes not for the red carpets and velvet ropes but for Cannes.

Really, it’s the South of France. Like you need an excuse?

Photos courtesy WireImage.