Sleep in late, the guys feel a little run down or sick this morning. Today there is laundry to be done. The front desk directs us to a nearby laundrette with a cafe next door.
A few hours enjoying croissants and espresso then later a fresh chef salad while the laundry dries.
Back to the room to clean up, change clothes, and relax. A tour a typical Etap accommodation:
The spacious,
circa-1993
water closet.
Dorm style furniture with a queen sized bed on the bottom and a twin above.
Blinking and not understanding, the phrase is repeated, but this time in clear Spanish, “Pardon, mi amigo, esta mi novia...” (“Pardon, my friend, she is my girlfriend...”)
Dorm style furniture with a queen sized bed on the bottom and a twin above.
Out for a walk in the late afternoon along the Promenade des Anglais. As the sun begins to dip in the sky, the walk in front of the residential buildings facing the sea become more active.
Not looking for anything in particular, a group of transvestite prostitutes was one unforgettable feature.
A stomach rumble decide on locating a dinner. Unfortunately, the French prices were a bit steep. Crepes from a street vendor become a fair goal for a meal.
As we search for a crepe monger, a sign reading, “Mother India” promised another possibility. Narrow and dark, the alley houses a luxurious but expensive hookah lounge.
Decorating the front entrance is two men. One older drunk in a suit, and the other is a young accented man named “Safe” claiming to be from Tunisia. Safe said he spoke not only English, but French, Arabic, and Spanish.
Decorating the front entrance is two men. One older drunk in a suit, and the other is a young accented man named “Safe” claiming to be from Tunisia. Safe said he spoke not only English, but French, Arabic, and Spanish.
A mess of interaction, the old man dances, clothespins drop from the window of an apartment above, Safe becomes carelessly affectionate, and we are ejected from the alley by the maitre'd of Mother India.
Continuing forward to crepes, it is obvious that Safe does not how read his situation and relax. With an arm around my shoulders and neck, Safe is interrupted by the guys informing him in rusty imprecise French, “Excuse moi, mon frere, c'est mon fille...”
Blinking and not understanding, the phrase is repeated, but this time in clear Spanish, “Pardon, mi amigo, esta mi novia...” (“Pardon, my friend, she is my girlfriend...”)
Still not hitting home, I laugh and exclaim, “I thought you said you spoke French and Spanish!” Whether Safe understood or not, it was enough for him to slip off into the shadows and disappear.
Shortly after, we find some crepes topped with nutella. Tasty, but a bit sweet, I prefer the salty variety eaten as a dinner.
Straggling back to the Etap, an underpass features a beautiful blue light that we are unable to avoid.
Finally, we retire to our dorm beds
for a restful night.
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