May 18

After breakfast, we leave for Pornic. Thank God for the GPS. Except when Felix is wrong, which happens at times (the second exit was in fact the third). I admit I honestly do not know how Roger manages to drive with such prudent assurance. It will have to come to me... but not today.

We walk in Pornic. Along the sea, a stone sidewalk overhangs the marina. Pornic Castle is not easy to photograph in keeping with Mr. Photographer's requirements because it is a private family residence, so visits are at the whim of the occupants.

The narrow strip identifying Roger's backpack as cabin baggage comes undone. I picked it up in the street, I want to put in the trash. The trash can has a little handle showing an arrow. I try to pull, turn, push… all in vain. I press a small opening on the side, nothing. I ask a passerby how it opens. He looks at me, puzzled, and says he does not know. I ask him, well, it's a trash can, isn't it? He laughs heartily and replies, oh no it's a fire hydrant. General laughter. Now really, I ask you. Does this look like a fire hydrant?







Weather newsflash: nice, sunny and warm.








I'm writing this from a small calvary, on a small hill overganging the town. On the base, a pious soul has carved this profound thought:
NIKE
LA POLICE

It means
F*K
THE POLICE

(I intentionally put only one asterisk in order to be faithful to the French atrocious spelling.)

Nothing's new under the sun.