Getting Lost in the Gothic Quarter

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The Gothic Quarter doesn’t really do straight lines. You pick a lane that looks promising, and ten minutes later the lane has opinions of its own: it narrows, it turns, it dead-ends into a courtyard where someone’s laundry is drying two stories up between medieval walls.

Orange trees line the plazas. A busker plays guitar under one arch; under the next, two old men argue about football with the seriousness of a treaty negotiation.

Then, without warning, the lane opens and there’s the sea — a strip of blue at the end of the street, exactly where a postcard would have put it.

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