Juggling pins flung through the hands of the others, and I spotted a unicycle propped against some suitcase of tricks. Lorena waltzed down the steps, took charge of a friend’s poi, and performed a few sequences, glowing, back in her natural habitat. Drums lined the steps, violinists and guitarists sprung up spontaneously, and Lorena gyrated through the motions of Flamenco.
St Malo
Our bags dampening our backs, still close to St Malo’s station, Iain and I spotted three bright awnings, a red, a green and a blue, all advertising “Hotel”. We split up to find the cheaper of the closest two, and agreed to meet back at the third.
The blue and the red establishments out of our price range, we entered the last of the three, Hotel l’Europe. “Bonjour. Combien ça coute pour… une chambre pour… deux personnes?” I attempted, eyebrows raised meekly. “€30 pour une chambre sans douche” he smiled, inspecting us from under his eyelids. I agreed, as he ticked the room off as occupied in his diary, repeating the type of room, “Sans duche”. Iain looked at me as if to ask, “What does sans douche mean?” to which I chirpily replied that that the room simply would not have an ensuite shower.
We tackled the five storey climb to our “duche”-less room, perspiring heavily by the time we reached the top. We were met by an unpleasantly familiar smell, seemingly embedded in the coarse carpeted walls. Iain sat down to finish off an article while I braved the “supermarche”, to buy us some lunch.
The simple act of going to the supermarket in a foreign country cannot leave one bored or complacent. The absolute mystery of the signs, the foreign brands on often foreign looking foods, and the speech that hums around you, faster and faster, can leave one quite giddy. New stimuli are everywhere. Even the ordinary becomes intriguing. Continue reading St Malo>>
