Unconditional amour

Just stepped off the plane, hopped on the 98 bus et voila, more restaurants than you could shake a stick at.
Blue skies up above…

Then I get on the 400 bus. It stops at my Hameaux. The driver shakes his head. Traveaux, he says. Roadworks, I translate. In England I would be huffing and puffing. Here I shrug and ask about the nearest stop. This means a 15 minute walk, uphill, dragging my suitcase.  But, it is 26 degrees and sunny ( see image if you don’t believe me).

Is this true unconditional love? Bad behaviour will be forgiven and all that.
Funny how, irksome in England becomes quirky in France.
Then I go to my bank. Credit Agricole in La Colle-sur-Loup, as my account is here. I pay cash into my account. The smiley young man is being kind to the tired, middle -aged woman, who is struggling to speak French. This money won’t be in your account until Tuesday. Yes I know it is a ferie (bank holiday) on Monday, I agree. However if I went to Villeneuve-Loubet, the money would go in straight away, he explains. Apparently a different machine…
I smile, I nod. In Barclays, mild outrage would ensue. C’est ma vie!

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