To say nothing of the dog
“Remember where we are: in France, amongst a fickle and wavering nation.”
Shakespeare’s [i]Henry VI, Part I[/i] (VI.i.138)
The tunnel under the English Channel. Fast train. I was wondering if I could really see fish while under the sea.
“Bonjour (then a bunch of stuff in French I didn’t understand),” was followed by a plunge into the tunnel. Of note, the time, according to my watch, in England, it was 1:07 PM, but in France, it was 2:02 PM. This is a country I could like, you know, running on South Austin time. GMT is 5 minutes past the hour but in France? It’s about quarter til. Yeah, that works.
I’m hoping I can dig it up, but I’ve got a picture of me with my fellow travelers, Sister and & co. We did take one picture Monday morning, all of us in bed. Hey, I’m traveling on budget here, have to double up as needed. Alas, the picture didn’t turn out.
Dinner was with the fabulous couple from the Left Coast, some of sister’s friends, however, Sister was not in attendance. We all meandered around, and finally stumbled into a little palce called “Lipp.”
As they pushed us further and further back into the crowded restaurant, I kept seeing the food being delivered – big plates piled even higher with various meat products, sliced beef, sliced ham, sausages of various forms, all looking good.
It was good.