Sylvia's Journal

I was the first for breakfast this morning, testing how well prepared the kitchen was for having some 30 people show up every morning this week.  As there was no one in the restaurant I ventured into the kitchen. What I saw there was rather disgusting, and once again I am amazed they were able to keep Ebola out. The place was filthy with plates from last night’s dinner heaped up and general chaos. I swore not to eat anything that was cooked in there and this morning I declined the omelet. It is going to be a week of limp baguettes and tea. The luxury will be the small Vache Qui Rit triangles that I will buy myself. It is a bleak prospect but it will all be over by Friday.

What is also bleak is the news on France 24 with all these images of serpentine wire, guns, explosions, blood and crying women. And then there are the documentaries about climate refugees; this morning was about villagers in Bangladesh whose livelihood has been wiped out and who are now squatting in the slums of Bangladesh. I watch more TV during my trips than at home and it is a sapping experience.

Bleak is also the large mirrored bar cabinet in the restaurant that doubles as bar at night. It could hold 40 bottles but there are only three, whisky, gin  and something else, that speaks of loneliness and its consequences.

I am utterly aware of the catabolic energy that pervades just about everything and I am determined to turn it around, at least with the people I can influence this week.