Wednesday is my only day off during the week, so I wanted to put together a grand adventure. I packed up my bicycle and wound up and down and through a million petite villages to the CITY OF BOOKS, located on la Montagne Noire. Despite its small size, the town hosts fifteen bookstores. Each bookstore is narrow, but three stories high, with movable ladders and floor to ceiling shelves loaded down with old cookbooks, scientific encyclopedias, comics, psychological novels, plays, and art pamphlets. There is also an old book factory, mostly abandoned, save for one little corner where there is space for a glass-blower and a paper-maker. There is also a museum of typewriters and letterpresses, but they were closed for lunch, so I will have to return with a sketchbook at a later date. .It is really a shame that I did not bring a backpack, for I could only fit one book into my pocket. I sought french translations of Tennessee Williams plays, because Fabienne and I are going to see "Tokyo Bar" in a few weeks. I found "The Roman Spring of Mrs Stone." I came to a nice little bed and breakfast that served lunch, and I fell in love with their giant window-seats painted light blue, with long, billowing white curtains, and a shelf of teas and caramels. I biked home after lunch, for a total of 86 kilometers, phew!
Pictured below is the jawbone of a wild boar that I found on a hike above the town. Who lives in this belle ville? Patrick Suskiind, author of my favorite book: Parfum.
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