Joan and Peter left port today with their full compliment of grown-up grandchildren aboard, leaving us alone, to stare at the photos of our own grand-progeny, bemused at the thought that one day they too may become astonishingly independent and articulate young adults and wondering why they can’t stay variously cuddly and cute or gangly and inquisitive and just exactly the way they are.
But the realisation that we have less than a month to see all those other people we have to see, places we have to go, and do the things we have to do dawned, and we set off once again down town to see, go and do, timing our setting off nicely to arrive about lunch o’clock.
We may have been tempted by the wares at HotDog City (with beef sausages from Alsace) had they not made such a song and dance about them being 100% without horse meat. After all, what’s a hot dog without horse meat?
In the end we happened upon a little “gourmet trail”, a market with dozens of stalls manned by chefs, each trying to out-do each other with exquisite little tastes of all manner of exotic offering. Although we suspect none of them had horse meat either, we snacked stupendously until the food ran out, thankfully at just about the time a sensible person would have cried “enough”.