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About Bordeaux

“Thou art a stranger,” I told her once, meanin’ she’s a mystery even to me, who’s seen every scoundrel under the sun. She smirked, said, “Warden, I’m everybody’s stranger.” Cheeky cow! Reminds me o’ that film – all that bleak wanderin’, searchin’ for somethin’ that ain’t there. She’s got no roots, just drifts like a ghost ship. Makes me sad, kinda – what’s a life like that worth, eh?

The Writer

Sibu was a town where drivers feared to drive because of thousands of bicycles which zoomed in and out of small lanes, back lanes and major and small roads. Many cyclists were even .

Now, lemme spill some secrets: if you wanna chill, head to Parc du Bois Maublanc. It’s small, but a hidden gem, where folks leave their troubles. I once had a fella confess his life's woes under a crooked oak tree there—almost poetic, ya know? Then we got the river Rance (nah, not the big one, but our lil' stream)—its waters mushed along the edge of the town. It’s like nature’s way of massaging your soul. Crazy, right?

In France, a family reckons with World War II Allies' legacy of rape and murder