Day 1

I spent most of yesterday travelling as me and my mum left really early for the airport just to be on the safe side. The flight was very quick which was lucky as I spent the majority of it praying that Ryanair wouldn't lose my luggage.

My only other experience of flying alone and finding my way into the city was in Nice last year so I'd sort of vaguely imagined a similar scenario. Turns out this was completely inaccurate, Tours airport is absolutely tiny! We were the only plane there, there was one baggage carousel about half the size of the ones at terminal five, one waiting area, and then a small car park where an unmarked coach shuttles people between Tours bus station and the airport. And that was literally it, it must have been about the same size as Reading train station or maybe even smaller. There must have been security for outgoing flights somewhere but it was a very casual laid-back experience as they brought us our bags really quickly and then it was literally just out the door and onto the bus waiting right there. (Encouraging for potential visitors!)

From there it wasn't too hard to find my hotel although it was fairly slow progress with my obscene amount of luggage. I tried to get in a huff at one point because a lot of the pavements in Tours don't seem to have dips where you cross the road and I was having to lift my luggage a lot. But my huff was rudely interrupted about a minute later when I stopped to check if I was on the right road for my hotel (I was), and someone pulled up in their car and asked if I needed directions or a lift. 

The hotel (Ibis Tours Centre Gare) is pretty snazzy for a budget hotel, and after I'd dumped my stuff I went out for a McDo which was not french but was very much appreciated and then I walked around and located a boulangerie for the next day and also found the Hôtel de Ville and the Palais de Justice, but as neither of these sold food I was less interested.

I quickly checked out the train station and bought a french paper and some Pim's biscuits (a Sutherland-in-France essential), and then retired fairly early to read Dawn French's memoir 'Dear Fatty' in my pyjamas. (I'm a real wild child)