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You know, I don't actually have a picture of Cherbourg, so this is a shot I took of Paris.
I didn't get out much in Cherbourg; I went for a few good walks along the countryside, which is beautiful, but it's difficult to get out of the city centers (the sprawl, well, sprawls for quite a ways.) It is, at least, authentically French; I got me my best pastry of France, a pain au chocalat, on Sunday morning, by virtue of it still being warm out of the oven, in a small town east on the peninsula. Walking along the coast is a bracing diversion, but early in the mornings or towards sunset a beautiful one as well. I also did a heck of a lot of gumdo; there are public greens in Cherbourg, as opposed to Paris, that aren't covered in dog much - that's quite necessary as I left my trainers in St. Christopher's Inn, quite by accident.
Unfortunately, I also got sick, so I spent a couple days moping about in my hostel room, playing Golden Sun on my laptop. Such is life, I'm afraid.
The town itself is very charming; one can get good seafood, being right on the channel, and the Sunday market is very worthwhile - any market where you see old ladies selling produce out of their home gardens is a step up from the touristy traps, in my opinion. That kept me fed for the duration of my stay, as a matter of fact - since this hostel has a kitchen, I was in no mood to go out after eating out endlessly in Paris. The town itself is a classic French town of undressed stone buildings, with the standard modern additions; since it was only of strategic interest in the Napoleonic wars it survived WW2 unscathed. There will always be something romantic about ducking through a pedestrian impasse to go from street to street.
The hostel is also pretty good; there's no Wifi, so I had to put up with buying internet, but the hostel sells it for cheap so it's not much of a problem. There's a kitchen, clean showers, and the standard French Breakfast: to anyone who plans on staying in hostels in France, bring musli or oatmeal or something. There's no filling up on white bread and jam, it's simply unhealthy. Quiet and clean, my only complaint is that there weren't enough interesting guests, though I did get into a good argument about cooking with the cleaning staff.
It doesn't compare well to Paris, however, and I'm actually kind of thankful I became ill; it stopped me from getting bored outright and left a good impression of my final days in France (I have a few more in Roscoff, Rennes, and Paris right before I fly back, but this trip is nearly over and I can feel it.)
London has been very welcoming so far; I haven't been to Montreal, but my friend Agatha describes it as a cross between Montreal and Kingston - I can see what she means; it is as vibrant as, and less uptight than, Paris (at least, that's what I've seen of Soho) and there's a lot to see and do. I'm writing this in the National Portrait Gallery, as a matter of fact, taking a bit of a break after wandering about for two hours.
I'm not sure I like the hostels though - the Holland Park hostel might qualify as the worst hostel of the trip: breakfast and wifi at high prices (1 pound for twenty minutes, five pounds A PLATE respectively) where virtually every other Hi Hostel has provided a meal as part of the fee. Further, I'm in a forty man dorm, in a triple bunk that might be described as cozy - I'm glad I'm not claustrophobic. However, the building itself is a foundation of the hostel idea, donated by some old distinguished gentleman right in the middle of Holland Park, and I'm very close to a tube station. Further, there's actually a pretty decent kitchen with fridges, and since I know how to make Turkish coffee I don't really have to worry about buying London priced meals, pretty much ever, I think it's still got its merits.
Tonight, I'm going to see David Tennant and Catherine Tate in Much Ado About Nothing, and then tomorrow I head up to Jill's. Much like Paris, actually, I've seen enough of London the whet my appetite for more. Will probably buy myself either running shoes or an opera ticket as my birthday gift. More on that as it develops.
Oh, a final note about London: buy an Oyster card. Just do it and save the trouble. And the Hummous here is delicious.
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