A visit from the Soeurs Blanches tonight. One from Burkina, and we reminisce about the Village des Artistes in Ouaga. Another who arrived from France in 1958 (i.e. during the War, so quite in the opposite direction of most), and another from Spain 50 years ago, who I could barely understand, and who went directly to Kabylie (off limits area, but her home). The latter somehow correctly identified the cook (who I've not seen yet) as being from Kabylie, nothing short of amazing to all of us. She could barely hear, barely see, barely walk (all her words), and yet her sense of taste was very much exercised and intact. We all started with a 'petit gout' of an aperitif, but she asked for 'more than a taste.' We conclude with crepes in honour of the day.
Otherwise a lazy, jetlagged day. Walked a bit, and survived. This city has value-engineered out not only ATMs but also red lights. Maxed out my library borrowing privilege (5 books, via catalogue search and retrieved by the librarian only), which must remain in the reading room (sigh).
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