I
stopped for a drink. The café
overlooking the pyramid (or pyramids) had opened its terrace, and I treated
myself to a highly alcoholic cocktail.
The tourists at the other tables had their noses in their guidebooks. There is a class of tourists who never seem
to see the things they’re visiting, I thought.
They prefer to look at directions to the next place they’re not going to
look at. A hot-air balloon piloted by
naked can-can dancers could have flown past and no one would have seen it
except me.
(from A Year in
the Merde by Stephen Clarke)
8½*/10. The
complete review is here.
.
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