So I lied a little. This isn’t Dijon, it’s my first real view of Paris — just outside Gare de Lyon. I was sent 6 pages of idiot-proof instructions for the odyssey of getting from CDG to Dijon, and this stop was where I took a nap. Yes, right in the train station, wrapped up in a silk shawl, lying on the train station floor like a homeless person.
The next day, we visited town — this is their town hall.
I went in the fountain. Though it was intended for children. I may have been asked my age. “Five”, I answered. “I’m five.”
I also went in this fountain. Then the cops came, and I’m told I looked very guilty. Despite that, I tempted N in too.
The church had all different goblins crouched, ready to devour your soul.
Inside, it housed a rather large organ.
And here you can almost see the holy spirit. So N tells me, anyway.
This building’s pillars were woven, perhaps in the name of art.
We visited wine country, and found a lost pyr who wanted so much for us to follow. We humoured him for a while.
On the wall of a cemetery, overlooking a razed wheat field, we contemplated how we all die alone. Or perhaps what we might have for dinner.
Ah, and dinner was good. Outdoors, by a fountain in the old town, we waited a good hour for food, and I made impolite faces when I had my first mouthful of andouillette. I understood nothing of the conversation, but I could feel the warmth and good humour of N and his family.
This was the window of my room (the office) at N’s house.
It was home for 3 days, and I even had a cat who loved me. The boys call her a traitor because she never sleeps with them, despite knowing them both a decade+ longer.
To be continued…
nb: this is part of a series on my trip to France