I thought Sundays were lazy in England, but no, the French are masters of the laid-back Sunday.
I woke up early this morning to the meowing of my host’s cat, which had decided to perch itself on my wooden balcony, right outside the door next to my bed. As sweet as this good morning was, it was way too early (6am). I rolled over in the hope that drowning the meows out with pillows would aid my distress until I was ready to actually get up and ready for the day.
* * *
I awoke 5 hours later. 5.hours.later.
I only went and missed the local market, and all the shops being open (by all, I mean like 2 supermarkets).
I collapsed back into the pillows, annoyed at myself for oversleeping, knowing I could very well being trying to boil pasta in a microwave all day, because nowhere would be open.
I eventually made it out of the house at half 12 and sourced a quiche lorraine and a pizza avec chorizo et poivrons (that’s peppers to me and you). You have no idea how happy finding food made me; I half feel like a walking pastry, half am absolutely craving a hot meal made by my Mum. I literally cannot wait to find a house, and just cook to my heart’s content – cos there’s no way I can deal with all this pastry.
Nevertheless, I gaining terrain more and more by exploring more and more of Libourne. It’s such a peaceful little town, yet totally alive with hundreds of people milling about, and of course, drinking coffee.
I have so much to share with you about my first week in France so keep your eyes peeled for a write up of each and every day so far.