One fine September morning, I sat on a wall in the town of Rouen with my Mum, noshing on real French bread and cheese. Rouen's claim to fame is that it's where Joan of Arc lived and died. We had just landed in Paris in the early dawn; a chartered bus picked us up from Charles de Gaulle airport and we were whisked straight out of Paris. I've never done an organised tour before or since, it's not my style, but I was allowed to join a school group as an extra chaperone.
So we had wandered through twisted medieval streets with tall half-timbered houses, passed the darkly modern St. Jeanne cathedral, and conquered a local outdoor fruit market all in the space of an hour or so. It wasn't lunchtime, but we were all messed up from a 24-hour flight broken only by a couple of hours in Hong Kong.
We had our bread and cheese and a melon from the market, and sat to eat it on this wall between a grassy park and the scooter-filled street. Across the street was this café all set up for the midday rush - all in yellow and white, every knife and fork and glass in place. I like patterns, so I thought it'd make a nice picture.
1 comment:
Very lovely photo! Nice story, too. :)
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