Fezzik In Paris

Two Americans, three cats, and too many places named "de Gaulle"

In my anger at USAA last week (hey bank, yeah, you: Fuck you.), I managed to forget that we went to Rouen.

This fourth journey to Rouen (unfortunately there’s a post detailing our New Year’s Eve exploits sitting in a text file somewhere; I think it would be a little weird to add it now) was embarked upon with three goals:

  1. We were to relax;
  2. We were to escape the heat;
  3. We were to shop (it’s soldes season, and Rouen (read: anywhere, really) is cheaper than Paris to begin with, so we figured we’d find some deals. Ask the Purrito about my chouette new shoes for work…)

We accomplished the entirety of this list, though we added a strange wrinkle; the food sucked. A new pizza place, a lackluster bagel joint, and a terrible, terrible restaurant (we both seem to have gotten mildly sick at the haché chicken burger) were all awful.

We’ll stick to the (mediocre, if safe) pizza joint next time.

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