Living in an old city for a short period of time is fun. Narrow, cobblestone streets, buildings covered in Ivy, mostly upscale restaurants with names like ‘’l’homme de bois’’ make it seem like you are in the 16th century. It’s a fun experience!
The things that are so charming, are also the biggest obstacles if you tried to really live here. Parking! There were no cars in the 16th century . . . the roads were built for horses and people. We have been enjoying the walk up the hill to the apartment, but I could see that carrying a new refrigerator up the hill might be a problem, not for Patrick, of course, who works out every day at the gym, but for under-muscled me.
And, of course, the down side of cobblestone is that it is a 1000 year old technology. And, even though I enjoy the occasional tumble onto the pavement, while trying to flatten myself against the beautiful, old, beautiful red and green ivy covered walls, as a car tries to wind its way up the hill picking off pedestrians with impunity, I think it might begin to wear on me as I get older.
And, of course, there is some crime. The upside, if you are a pickpocket, is that there is always new people wandering through the towns, many of whom don’t seem to mind leaving their wallet in their back pocket . . but, not for long.
However, I think the biggest crime is the expectations of Americans who come to a quaint corner of a foreign country and expect it to be like La France, South Carolina. This is not hot dog country. This is crème-fresh, gouda, and french bread with crudités country. I must admit though that there is a hamburger restaurant which sells an Aloha Burger (pineapple on the burger). I had to smile, but being an occasional Franco wannabe, I had to turn up my nose while making a note to tell Randy that the Aloha spirit had traveled half-way around the world to this tiny town on the Atlantic coast.
As I was walking on the cobblestone streets yesterday near my apartment, dodging tourists and maniacal small cars, and eating a piece of french bread, I thought of Ben Franklin and how much he loved France . . but, in the end, he decided on America.