With Clown Bike returned and thus no more Alpian cycling on the agenda, I turn my attention on our last day to exploring the rest of Annecy, which is such a perfectly charming little town that it looks like a movie set, or Disney. In fact, I keep saying that to Stacey: “It’s just like DisneyWorld!” It’s clear that Annecy was modeled after Disney – why else the similarities?
I also find bikes that might have been more my speed, and that look like they’re better taken care of and maintained than Clown Bike. Ah, had only I known!
And it is only on this last day that I suffer the one true tragedy of this entire trip, the kind that makes one want to wail and gnash one’s teeth at the injustice of it all. That day – it pains me even now to write this –
but that day, I innocently go off to the farmers
market nestled within the cobblestone streets of Annecy, and there, surrounded by every kind of beautiful produce known to man, pulled fresh from the earth that morning, as well as loaves of crusty freshly-baked bread and every kind of wonderful cheese you can imagine….I realize that I would be unable to buy anything. Because we were leaving
Now really, if this isn’t the worst kind of torture, being at a market in FRANCE and knowing you can’t buy many hunks of cheeses, well, then I just don’t know what is. I console myself by having a couple of peaches, and maybe a gelato or three – I forget the details, as it’s all a blur now.
And so, it’s back to London, and civilization, of a sort. At least the kind that doesn’t involve cycling in some of the most beautiful country known to man. Somehow the cornfields won’t look quite the same after this….