Having dropped off my bicycle for yet another round of repairs of the crank, I met with Trine Lise and stumbled across a nice café called La Rustique. The place goes very well with it's French name: the interior is as rustic as it suggests, the place is somewhat randomly organised, and the girl behind the counter wandered charmingly disturbed around searching for plates before she ended up improvising with napkins. However, despite all this it would be wrong of me to recommend the place, 'cause then I'd never find a free seat for myself...
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