Lille log: Bread, bread and more bread

Narrow stone-paved streets, old-world architecture mellowed with contemporary flair, streetside artiste, the smell of freshly baked bread puncturing the chill of the evening: Lille is everything you would expect from a quintessential European city.

Getting here for the IAAF World Youth Championships was a bit of a hassle though, largely because of an illness that has been dogging me for the past few days; but my first impressions of this place were a pleasant and much-needed distraction nonetheless.

Far from the hustle and bustle promised in other parts of the country, this is just the place for my country-boy spirit: a little excitement, but not too much.

In fact, long before I actually arrived in Lille, I received a nice little taste of the simpler, calmer side of France, during the one-hour long train ride from Paris into the northern-most French city. The scenery changed from farmlands and industrial complexes to more farmlands and industrial complexes.

perfect harmony

Anyway, back to Lille and the smell of bread. So there I was walking along the streetside, amazed at how well people and vehicle live together in perfect harmony. No bad driving here or any problems crossing the street because of impolite and impatient drivers.

Ok, back to the bread again. Thirty minutes into my trek, I noticed a long line of persons bursting through the door and curving to the side of a small bakery establishment and decided to check out what was being given away, because certainly, there must be some freeness on offer to justify that line. Turned out people were just trying to get their hands on some gourmet bread, all kinds of bread and cheap, too.

I chose two, pointing to my selections so as not to confuse the young miss with my non-existent French. Being a fan of bread myself, I must say, I had never tasted anything like this before. Soft, cheesy, goodness: raisins, cinnamon, all kinds of niceties - this is how bread should be made, if only I had a nice bowl of chicken foot soup to go with it.

However, as much as I like the bread here, it seems the locals may be taking their reputation a bit too far.

I arrived at Monday's breakfast to a spread of bread. It was everywhere; all the bread you can imagine with precious little else to choose from. What is wrong with these people, don't they know that I am Jamaican and I like to feel a little bit of steam on my face in the mornings?