Protip – An easy way to amuse/confuse French wimmins in hotels is to not be able to say large numbers in French, such as one hundred and twenty three, and resorting to listing the numbers one by one. I’m talking room numbers, here, and room 123 being refered to as ‘un deux trois’ has caused quite the stir!
The hotel today is a massive improvement on yesterday’s affair, but €90 VS €38 is clearly going to make a large difference. No strange smell in the room, sheets that you don’t just hope are clean but actually look it, Wifi (which didn’t work, alas), a nice restaurant (who even cooked me up the hot shit (a traditional western France dish made of potatoes, melted cheese, pork and onions called ‘le pompt de pompt de pompt’) at half three when they closed officially at 2pm. J’adore du pompt!), easily amused staff (see above) and an ace guy on reception who sorted me with a map of the city and directions to the race track. We will call him Jean Pierre, as that is probably his name.
So Jean Pierre sorted me directions to Le Mans ‘Circque de 24 heure’ and I went to have a gander. Track itself pretty uneventful, what with there being no cars whizzing around it, not really sure what I expected, but then I am a retard, let’s not forget. However, the on-site museum was slightly better, having lots of old cars to look at and take photos of, such as these ones:
A nice old Bugatti
A nice old GT40
A nice old Bentley
Subsequently went for a drive into Le Mans town centre, and after stumbling upon a free (presumably) car park shortly thereafter, a walk around Le Mans town centre. It’s a nice place, and I even successfully stopped for a coffee at a place just outside the most impressive looking cathedral you’ve ever seen, successfully asking for a ‘cafe créme grande passe’, successfully asking for a ‘coke’ a few minutes later, and successfully asking to use the loo (or ‘merde du pompt’) shortly thereafter. Photos of that (the cathedral, not the merde du pompt) will go on when I can be bothered, it really was something else. It’s an hour later and I can now be bothered:
Sat outside the hotel right now, enjoying a beer, trying to frantically type this up before the not-fantastic battery in this laptop dies on me (although I’m really not slating it as this thing has been a life saver. If you go on holiday by yourself and don’t plan anything ahead, a laptop is your best friend, or as the french say, “j’ami du pompt”).
Tomorrow’s hotel is an improvement further upon even this one, allegedly, at €134! Zut alors! There’ll probably be liquid gold on tap, or something.