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13.10.01: Café de la France, Place d'Italie / avenue de la Soeur Rosalie As may father put it, "zey shisn af afganistan, efsher zoltsu blaybn in pariz" -- which is to say, they're bombing Afghanistan so I ain't getting into no airplane. Paranoid, sure, but what could I do. Mark and I had gone to the Auld Alliance for a pint the night the festivities began, and while he wouldn't have let it cancel a trip home, he more or less affirmed my decision. A few days later we had dinner with Pollie at a cheap couscous place in the 13e, where she proceeded to havve no sympathy for my anxiety, claiming that the British have had to deal with theses kinds of threats from the IRA for decades. Thanks. Mark and I went on to have a beer at the only café on the Place d'Italie I had yet to visit. A perfectly lovely night on the terrasse, except that a few minutes after running back to get the helmet I'd forgotten, the rear tire of my bike blew out. So I suppose it was also a perfectly lovely night for a long walk home.
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