On the road, I wake up early. Not sure why, it’s just a thing that happens. My eyes open at 5 something and I can’t go back to sleep.
I was so excited that the bakery a few steps from our Airbnb opened at six. I got dressed and brushed my teeth extra slow to give them time to actually get the doors open.
6:05 I’m there. Nary a customer, tables and chairs still stacked up inside, the shutters are only half up. BUT I smell what the guy is baking and it’s butter-delicious.
2 warm mini croissants later, I’m sipping this extra strong shot of coffee and watching the city wake up around me.
With every infinitesimal pulse of the rising sun, I remember things about this place I’ve forgotten. Like how I need to order café au lait because I’m too much of a wuss about these shots of bitter/strong coffee.
People in France are nicer (to strangers) than in Spain. I almost had a heart attack when this kid said “good evening” AND held the building’s front door for us to pass.
Then this morning, 2 strangers so far have said bonjour to me just out of the blue. It could be the scent of fresh baked goods working its magic on them, though.