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| St Brieuc to La Rochelle, France |
Although I wasn't hassled much at work on Monday, it proved to be fraught with report writing and cost forecasting which I detest. In the air-conditioned luxury of the hotel room at the Novotel, I didn't mind the drudgery for once. We wandered into the historical area of St Brieuc, which looked like a dystopian dream of long abandoned shops, zombies milling about and wayward youths just languishing around. We sat at a table in a calm plaza and requested two glasses of wine. Everyone around us was getting on the piss, including a gentleman at the table next to us who didn't seem to be too concerned that a bird had shit on his head. With broken French words I attempted to order lunch but it was all stuffed up. Instead of mussels, sausages came out along with the "plat du jour" which was some sort of reheated breaded fish. I had to go back and do more work, which I didn't mind since there really wasn't much to see in St Brieuc, at least on foot. The night was spent in the hotel bar watching Japan's failed world cup clash against Belgium, enjoying a modest three-course bland dinner and drinking four bottles of the local white.
The massive effort in the Novotel bar on Monday night meant I didn't wake up feeling as spry and energetic as the previous day. I ignored the alarm squelching and went back to sleep and got out of bed only a few minutes before my first scheduled conference call three hours later. I suffered through a morning of jargon, shouting at the laptop and frantically updating actions on a spreadsheet. Then a powerpoint presentation was updated for a weekly report that I send out that nobody reads. How do I know this? I e-mail it encrypted which will force a return read receipt even if it goes to a foreign domain. I can't remember when someone last read this report and considering I walk a gaggle of people through it on a weekly call, it bemuses me that nobody bothers to open it.
I consulted the Michelin guide and we found ourselves at the relatively understated L'Air du Temps for lunch. This time ordering the three courses was much easier because the chalkboard was placed in front of our faces and there were not many options. A bottle of red from Bourdeaux was enjoyed, a glass of it in the laneway after I excused myself to ring into some boring meeting that thankfully finished up quickly. I scoffed down the casserole of meat and fresh veggies and thankfully cleansed my palate with stinky cheese and the remains of the bottle. Once again I returned to the hotel to respond to e-mails and chase others in even more exotic overseas regions to action items. After another wander around the town, once I finished my daily duties, we found ourselves once again in the air-conditioned Novotel bar and drinking the local white wine once again late into the evening watching England win their world cup match thankfully.
Wednesday yielded rain and again, little enthusiasm to rise early and visit the gym. I started in on my professional tasks early which meant we could meet for lunch at the Donkey, which is just a coffee shop after cheap labour was exploited at the local laundromat to wash our sweat-stained clothes from the last few days. He didn't mind and I was told that the locals were practising their understanding of the English language whilst our clothes tumbled back to a state of cleanliness. I ordered the tuna on a bagel but it turned out to be from a can mixed with beetroot. The cold vanilla latte was nice and reminded me of something that you could easily source in Melbourne. After I closed my work laptop for the day, we once again went for a long walk around town. After stopping for two small cups of cider at a brasserie where it was hard to get service, it was back to the Novotel bar for the usual bottles of white before pulling up stumps early and retiring.
It turned out to be a very calm sojourn to St Brieuc which is what I designed as part of the overarching plan. After the chaos of the previous month of moving out of London and the usual social responsibilities, I needed a break in air-conditioned bliss in a hotel that ironically was listed in my Michelin guide. A hotel that I highly recommend.
