Verdun - Nancy 103.53 km
Before I overwhelm you with superlatives about Nancy, we first need to deal with one of the most pressing issues facing mankind. I refer to the lack of adequate lighting in les toilettes of France. If you're anything like me, you like nothing better than accompanying a sitting visit (NB I am a man) with a perusal 0f the latest headlines or even examine a map. However, French toilettes have a unnatural aptitude for darkness. This presents a myriad of problems, mostly logistical. For example, where's the paper? and once found and utilised, where's the bloody bowl? or shall I just throw it on the floor? I hope I've made my point as, having not been able to read, the mind turned to the correct word for having a dump - one of very many metaphors. Urination also has plenty of metaphors but everyone knows what it is and to what it refers. It is now several hours after the event and I still can't think of the proper term, although it's a shame that disembowelling is already taken.
And so to Nancy, it was au revoir La Meuse and Bonjour La Moselle along some glorious roads amid some glorious weather and then came Nancy. I don't know what to say to you. My advice is visit. It's worth it alone simply to stand in Stanislas Place. It's a big square and, provided the battery didn't run out, I hope to have provided a small video. In the middle of this square is a statue of a chap named Stanislas. It seems he was a King of Poland, so quite what he's doing here is anyone's guess. Perhaps he's lost. Geographical confusion apart, this World Heritage site is sublime, a real feast for the eyes. How this square has survived a number of wars is something for which we should be truly grateful. If I'd been successful in a war here, I'd have stripped the gold leaf before you could say Zut Alors! Luckily, I'd broken one of my golden rules and booked a hotel room. It just so happens that the Grand Hotel de la Reine (which I might add has four stars and bathrobes for the punters) is on this breathtaking square.
This leads me onto another small muse. You may or may not know that walking around a French town is usually accompanied by a constant salivation. The Boulangers/Patissiers are simply eyewateringly tempting. I do not care if eyewateringly is not a word. So, I ask you to imagine for one moment that you are French. I know it's difficult, what with all those genders. But do try. And then imagine that you go on vacances to, let's say, the UK or Germany or the US. What on earth are you going to eat? Fried eggs ?!?! Baked beans ?!?!? Schnitzels?!?!? Hot Dogs ?!?!? Hamburgers ?!??! Good grief, what have we done!
Tomorrow morning, I shall have to leave this wondrous square and it will not be easy. However, saying goodbye to Nancy isn't supposed to be easy. Before then, there is the small matter of some room service, which I shall accept wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I may even be smoking a pipe and twirling my moustache.
By the way, did I mention the tot?
No comments:
Post a Comment