‘A Jacques Tati square,’ our walking mate Peter calls it. We know exactly what he means.
We sit outside the boulangerie in St Martin sur Vesubie with our early morning cafe and pain au chocolat and watch as the village comes to life, its characters coming and going like figures in a mechanical clock.
Nobody seems in a hurry, including us. We have several hours to kill before the bus will take us back to Nice. Continue reading