I packed for France with the same ruthlessly minimalistic mentality exhibited by Ghandi; albeit a very materialistic version of Ghandi. I got rid of anything that wasn’t clothing, and when choosing clothing I repeatedly chose fashion over practicality. This is how I came to be in France with no rain jacket, no rain boots, one sweatshirt, and no peanut butter.
This was kind of rationalized in my mind (ok, not the peanut butter part) by the idea that somehow, it does not get cold and/or rain in France. Ever. I lived in London, where the sun is an urban legend, I said. I once went to Sweden and didn’t get frostbite, I said. I can survive for up to half an hour in the dairy aisle of an American supermarket, I said.
I am sorry to report that my theory got shot to hell this week, where we had one- literally, ONE- vaguely nice day. Unfortunately this meant that I was severely limited in cultural activities for the week. I did, however, go to Vieux Lyon, the old quartier of the city. I had never been there during the daylight, plus I heard they had good ice cream, so I knew I had to go.