Commerce on Sunday is a vastly different picture than the same metro stop the day before. Where yesterday there had been practically more people than one is able to walk through now there are only a few. I guess that should have tipped me off that all the shops would be closed, but it hadn’t. Here I was on a Sunday and, thanks to the hostel’s being strictly closed for all between the hours of 10h00 and 15h30, without a place to go.
I wandered through Le Jardin des Plantes and the cemetery beyond it, the former teeming with screaming children and voracious pigeons and ducks while the former contained only a solemn crow and two finches.
Closed too were the grocery stores so Melody and I had to improvise: noodles cooked in water than refused to boil with a sauce. We made the most of it and everything was made more bearable by the comfort of knowing that tomorrow would bring with it a dorm room with a shower whose hot water would hopefully last more than three minutes.
I wandered through Le Jardin des Plantes and the cemetery beyond it, the former teeming with screaming children and voracious pigeons and ducks while the former contained only a solemn crow and two finches.
Closed too were the grocery stores so Melody and I had to improvise: noodles cooked in water than refused to boil with a sauce. We made the most of it and everything was made more bearable by the comfort of knowing that tomorrow would bring with it a dorm room with a shower whose hot water would hopefully last more than three minutes.
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