Nice, France.

And then we had a hot drink, and missed our train… lulled into complacency by an information agent’s information (twenty minutes before, the train will be displayed on the screen for which track to go to), whispered into inattention by the calm and serene atmosphere of a train station without announcements, we were happily sitting in a corner near a café, sipping tea and coffee, backs to the tracks, as our perfectly-timed train slipped off and away.

I will say this, only in France could you buy baguettes at the train station cafe, not to mention how delicious the pastries and sandwiches looked.

I was upset and she was not, I remonstrated myself, chided and scolded and beat on myself and she laughed and said “you know, I find it pretty funny that we missed our train.” I came around to the humour, and what could possibly follow but almost the best three hours we have spent here yet.

From the Gare de Lyon to the Bastille, to the Port de l’Arsenal, to the Seine, to a little green crêperie so crowded that the waiter pulled the table out from the wall bench so I could sit down, mere millimeters from the fellow to my left. The same waiter later had to push an empty table closer to the wall simply so he could serve those at the next. After a few Paris cafés I begin to properly appreciate the amount of space in our first eatery, where our server would skate on the tiled floors in his shining black shoes every time he approached a corner to turn.

I thought of taking a picture of my first crêpe, but then I looked at it, and I ate it.
It was delicious.