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You don't stop laughing because you grow old. You grow old because you stop laughing.
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This appears to say something about the founding of the city, but I'm not confident exactly what. If you know, clue me in.
Nice looking plaque, though.
We had recommendations for a very good cafe for bouillabaisse (for which Marsaille is famous), but apparently reservations well in advance are required. Instead, we walked to a less formal cafe next to the docks. Janet and I had their excellent bouillabaisse (Janet's had a prawn the size of a small lobster - just don't call him a shrimp!), Dale and Carol had a four course meal (shrimp cocktail, ostrich with rice, a variety of cheeses, and ice cream neopolitan), while Elizabeth had a salad, turkey, cheese, and an apple tart.
After a brief panic over finding the hotel, we managed to locate a single taxi with a knack for fitting huge suitcases into small places. I tipped well.
On to Rome!
Or not. The local train on which we planned to ride was over an hour late, putting us in danger of missing our connection to Rome. I tried to get reservations on a TGV train (using my "best" French: "Bon jour, monsier, j'aime cinq reservation en train avec passe", to which he replied "Sorry, pal, that train's full" in flawless English. C'est la vie!).
At the local window, I tried to explain in my fractured French that we needed to change our Nice reservation since we couldn't make the connection. Finally, I must have gotten through, because her manager handed me 5 1st class reservations on the TGV. Apparently, they keep a few in reserve for "problem" people such as me. :-)
While trying desperately to open the door to the TGV train, a Frenchman walked up to the door, pointed to the sign that said "HORS SERVICE", and shook his head like I was crazy. Apparently, that means the door is broken. Illiteracy is a real pain.
The train from Nice to Rome was quite crowded, as Janet had asked the travel agent to keep us in one compartment, and he responded by booking us in second class accomodations. Sleeping was tough, as my body and arms wouldn't both fit on the bunk, and I whacked the bunk above mine with every crosstie. Other than that, I slept great.
Rome is the end of the line, so we had plenty of time to extricate our luggage from the train. We hired two taxi drivers who spoke no English (but could read the Internet printout I brought with the address of Hotel Lillium), and we arrived in short order.