We find ourselves with an extra day in Paris and ride to the Bastille after saying goodbye to our hosts Chantal and Gerome who were very nice and even rescued our bikes from a midnight tide of sewerage through their cave or donjon as I joked with them. I awoke to hear the distinctive sound of a falling mop handle,
The day then proceeded to the Jardin des plantes and the big black woman’s laugh as we suggested making crepes was an art mystereuse.
Two big beers at the station while the old man was removed from behind blue curtains on the platform made for gas emissions all night long.
The train forced a deafening rush to break down the bikes and get them bagged up for nothing really.
Then on board with brilliant Pony’s help and the train breaks down… ho hum we get to do it all again for the bus trip through the most amazingly beautiful alpine scenery. The old black fella with two pens and a suit felt so useful when he got to help with the black mammas baby ahip super heavy bags…love is in the world everyday….
Dead beat at 11.37 and we reconstruct the bikes in record time in the middle of the road on a concrete circle. Then to the htel Flora and the it was awake and we had the best room with green everything and a really dead to the world sleep.
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