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Well that was entirely too
much for us to handle, still being somewhat
fatigued from our travels. So we ceased our
explorations and found a brasserie along the
Av. Jean Médecin at which to have dinner,
accompanied, of course, by a couple of beers.
After dinner, we wandered a short distance to
another brasserie at which to have another
couple of beers. As per the instructions, we
repeated as necessary. Repeatedly.
Eventually, the foot
traffic died down and the air grew chill, and
it was no longer worth avoiding the fact that
we were going to have to try to find our way
back to the hotel, drunk and in the dark.
Fortunately, we located some portable beers
on the way back with which we could seal our
fate once we returned to the room. And pass
out we did, until morning.
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After breakfast, we decided to
head down to the beach. On our last trip, the beaches were
pretty much deserted except for us and maybe two or three
other people. Not so, this time around, as there were
people everywhere, many of whom were not tourists at all
and therefore quite attractive. But they were not our
current goal. Yet.
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We
headed for the hill at the end of the promenade,
which houses some marine museum or something that
we weren't the least bit interested in, and has a
large memorial hewn into its backside. The hill -
or, as we referred to it, "Stair Mountain" - isn't
really as tall as it looks but through some strange
spatial warp, it's possible to climb for hours and
never reach the top.
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At least that's how we
described it at the time, in quite the whiny
fashion. We took every excuse to stop and take
pictures instead of continuing up the endless
stairs. As the days turned into weeks, we
foraged along the path for grubs and berries,
which we threw off the side at random pedestrians
while we ate the sandwiches we had packed with us.
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"Look!" I
said to Roger. "The beach! We've gotta get a picture of this!"
Roger just glared at me, daggers from
his eyes carving his contempt into my chest, for having heard
that self-same phrase from me about thirty previous times,
prior to thirty previous pictures of that very beach from
about thirty slightly different angles.
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Seriously, though,
those daggers frickin' hurt and I almost
couldn't take the picture, what
with the blood on my hands making the camera
all slippery.
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