1. Les Deux Garcons is a ritzy brasserie on the main drag, Le Cours
Mirabeau. You're not supposed to take photos in it as its owned by
the local mafia and they get tense around camera but I snuck a
couple. Enough to give you a sugar overdose but quite pretty in some
weird wiggy historical sense. Look for photos HERE.
2. The bartender/owner at Le Bar PTT, our newly-identified local, is
a hoot. He has now identified us as ragulars and Geri gets kissed on
both cheeks, I get a handsake. Not long before I get the two kisses
the other regulars get I'm sure. Am shying away a bit. He's
well-lubricated all the time and his replacement on the night shift
gets up to speed on arrival with four quick shots. Both are
continually on the edge of disaster wheil pouring or delivering
glasses to the table soutside, but somehow seem to manage it.
3. The bar's regulars have loud disagreements over the previous
night's tabs with the staf while the bar tender continues to pour us
drinks he doesn't charge us for until we force him to.
4. I've settled into a rhythm with the available papers. Even number
days are beer and L'Humanite. Odd are rose and Liberation. Seems to
be working so far. Liberation I read at home online and is no
surprise. L'Humanite a bit dumbed-down. But no where near where The
Times (London) has gone. The Guardian sold out this morning so I got
one for Geri. My god, it has become just another tab or close to. A
pentasyllabic The Mail.
5. 200 neo-Nazis held a celebration on Saturday of the 125th
anniversary of Hitler's spawning. Thankfully outnumbered by 500
protestors.
6. Having a fabulous time.
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