Legends from our own lunchtimes

Friday, August 22, 2014

On being a tourist

We think of ourselves as “travellers”, not “tourists”.

We like to think we are aloof from the beat of the normal tourist trail, no matter where we are with no urge to tick off items on the tourist guides.  Mostly we don’t even have a guide, preferring to discover in a hap-hazard way the delights or otherwise of our new neighbourhood.

But in Bar-le-Duc once again, with just one day to show John and Elaine that we had been paying attention on our previous visits, we found it easy to fall into the role that so often we eschew, wandering the streets and rediscovering the ghosts of the town’s long and chequered past as well as the ghosts of our own happy times.

They are in training for the next stage of their journey, a walk across the Pyrenees, which probably accounted for the lack of complaint as we pushed them ever upwards through the old village despite increasing hunger-induced fatigue as lunch o'clock became perilously close to passing.

Fortunately we fell under spell of a siren call of a cafe in the nick of time.  Safely seated in its clutches we all too quickly found ourselves "traveller" mode,  allowing the sights unseen to remain that way for another day.


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