Quiet and calm, Troyes was lovely for a well-deserved relax after the long trek from Newcastle and non-stopy-ness of the first two days. The town is kind of similar to York in architecture but no where near as busy and not the same level of cool.
I would recommend having a good neb down all of the little alleys you can find (a good recommendation for many French towns!) – as long as it's safe and everything – as you're more than likely to stumble upon something amazing!
Tah-dah!
The true French restaurants (i.e. frequented by locals; tourists would do well to test there French at these! They'll appreciate the effort) are more than likely hidden away in a courtyard or distant square. Be brave – explore!
We did our own little Tour de Troyes with some bikes we hired from our campsite which, by the way, is a LOVELY way to see a city/town a la Frenchy. Not so good when your mother falls off her bike when she's had a glass of wine though. "It was the curb, honestly!" Yes, of course, I nodded as she and Ian came back from a (secret!) ride into town.
Serves me right for having my head stuck in a book I suppose. But it was such a good book. I know you'll understand. Not as much as Jade who lent me it to read though. She practically wrote it, I'll have you know – as did I...
There was also a wonderful Lumiere on throughout the town, it was as simple as following the blue light path. Said wonderful event decided to erase itself from my camera, so alas I'm left with only a memory. What did people do before cameras again? Paint? Oh no, can't do that. Imagination! Yes, let's.
Imagine massive cathedral– I'm talking York minster mixed with Sagrada Familia– bathed in a glowing light, courtyards spilling with music and painted with light depicting a long forgotten battle.... Aaaaah.
After Troyes we dipped into a tiny little village that I have ashamedly forgotten the name of, but it was cute nonetheless.
I did freak out a little when a lovely old French man tried to make a joke by pretending to steal my camera. The stealing I could cope with, the raspy, all-to-fast French I could not. 'Je ne comprends pas' and 'Je suis Anglais' couldn't come out of my mouth fast enough. In hindsight I'm sure a smile and a laugh would have been universal sign language enough for him to understand I got the joke. But he smiled at me a while later though, so it's all good.
The next little stop of, I did remember the name of! Vesoul. Ha!
And this was our view for the night. Belle belle belle belle belle belle.
Guess what we did next? No, we didn't go and eat snails. That's what I did back up there in Troyes but forgot to tell you about.
Escargot, my friends. First tried in England (The next chapter) and finally in France! Tasty stuff. Garlic mostly, but who's trying to attract cute french guys anyway?
