Also, the wind is up, and kicking dust and pollen and debris right about eyeball level. This was very irritating, too, but I survived.
The ferry terminal is in the port, which is in the older part of town. The roads around the port are narrow, and front fairly tall buildings, creating a canyon effect. Of course the ground floor of many of these buildings have restaurants, which spill tables and patrons across the sidewalk and encroach on the roadway. Pedestrians are everywhere, and it just gets crazy from there. It reminded me of an anthill being stirred by a stick. I left. All the ants dissuaded me from trying to find a museum, much less a parking space.
The traffic going back was quite a bit worse for awhile. Then it cleared up and was pleasant. I found a cash machine (the one in the village where I am camped is broken), and then a little cafe.
In the cafe, I pointed to something that had a sign that read "burger." I was delighted to find (and taste) when it arrived at my table that it had sautéed mushrooms and a meat that was like that found in a traditional gyro, with a similar sauce, lettuce and tomatoes. It was, as my grandson Oskar says, "deelishus." I will try to duplicate it when I return home.
I heard today from STANtours that the letter of introduction has been issued for Turkmenistan, but the visa is held up because the consul went on holiday. But everything is on track.
Just one little note on current French fashion. Tight leggings are being worn by many, many women. Sometimes they are worn with a skirt, some skirts (many) shorter than others, and sometimes they are worn with a long shirt or tunic. Sometimes, they are just worn. However. Tights are not flattering on every body type, including mine. I have in mind a woman easily as old as me, wearing olive green tights, tan boots, and a dark green tunic. Peter Pan? Tinkerbelle? And my legs were better than hers.
So, no more Fench fashion reports. I won't even mention that men are still wearing purses here. It's France.
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