Breathing

I’m in Arles, now; until Friday. Here’s the first thing I noticed about it: it isn’t as humid as Lyon. For which I’m very grateful.

Here’s the second thing: Google Maps told me it was only a 14 minute walk from the train station to my hotel, so I decided against a taxi. Here’s what GM neglected to mention: half the walk was completely uphill.

Yay.

Then it turns out that my hotel doesn’t have an elevator, and my room is up two flights of sharply curving stairs.

Yay.

But…

The room has an attached terrace, looking out over the hotel’s courtyard, in the shade of what they say is a 500-year old nettle tree (celtis australis).

It is huge and fragrant, and I may or may not have spent hours on my terrace with a glass of rosé in its company.

(That's the terrace in the upper left.)

Man—if you can’t breathe here, just give it up.