All in all it’s a glory and a fitting monument to the will do, altruistic determination of the common man. Inside its dimly serene and oozing with the welcoming, steadfast, nurturing warmth that only wood can provide. It’s the kind of structure that you want to hug just because it’s there. I could have happily lingered longer, but as so often happened on our trip, advancing age found itself needing a nap and the husband’s spine had been jostled to whinging point by the horse drawn tour of the cobbled back streets of the town. But all that paled into insignificance when we discovered Chocolate Street.
The French have a way of building up, creating buildings that feel taller than their multiple floors, as often as not with attic rooms. Even in the villages and hamlets most houses have three floors. This multi floor concept, becomes loftier in the towns (pun intended) where the streets are lined with incredibly thin houses and apartment buildings standing shoulder to shoulder. The habit seems to be a hangover from the Romans who housed the impoverished masses in 4 or 5 storey apartment blocks made of wood.