When I get home, I plan to write about France after spending time in all these unbearably quaint small towns.

It’s like I opened an old closet full of perfectly preserved Mickey Mantles and Willie Mays baseball cards from the 50s and 60s.

At first you think you have hit the jackpot but then instead of dozens there are millions of them, and what you thought was ultra rare is actually common.

It’s a weird disillusionment, no fault of the place. Got me rethinking everything.