Moving into the end stage of the extracts. Two days left to go!
At some point in history, selling postage stamps became inextricably linked to selling tobacco in France, Spain, and probably other countries in Western Europe. If I ever find out why that happened or who did it, then time travel will have to be invented just so I can go back and wreak full vengeance. Also, melons would vanish from the timeline, to make the trip more worthwhile and the world less full of horror. Melon. How can anything that is an anagram of the noble lemon be so worthless? If you like melon, you will get no apologies from me. Bah! It's just solid water!
Stamps are a pain to buy over here, especially when you consider how useful they are. At least we sell them in so many more places in Britain, if the post office is closed and not just in tobacconists! Presumably it's a link based on duties and taxes in history, and the ubiquity of tobacconists in those countries. None of the cities I've visited have had what I would call convenience stores at all, and most of them have had very few supermarkets in accessible places. Perhaps the tobacconists are the most numerous shops for the purpose?
This Mediterranean trip has received its crowning cliché: A trip to the beach! It was very lovely in the Frioul Archipelago, and I even went swimming at the calanque (beach in a little bay) of St Estevé. Now only the sunburn lingers, a horrible sensation and not experienced in years. Horrible! I might have to do it again tomorrow, Marseille proper not having taken the proverbial fancy. In fact, there was one brief look around at the beginning of the day, and then a swift and breezy walk to the ferry to Chateau d'If and Frioul. Chateau d'If is the prison island that once housed the Count of Monte Cristo and the Man In The Iron Mask, a yellow stone sun-bleached fortress in the beautiful blue Mediterranean. It's effectively Dumas island! Foolishly, they let me out. Mwahahahaha. It was actually very interesting, even after my camera sadly ran out of batteries and space. In many ways things are far more enjoyable sans camera, so that you can simply be yourself instead of the perennial and detached observer.
Now the day trip is over, spaghetti bolognese has been eaten, and there remains little to be done. Perhaps it's time to do the second batch of postcards... Parents get one for each leg of holiday, the delightful mad postcard collector gets a second too, and the ex-pseudo-sister-in-law and good friend. There's no excuse now that I've stomped around five tabacs looking for stamps. It took forever. No excuse at all.
Oh, stamps!
O.
No comments:
Post a Comment