It's rush hour in Nantes by the time we arrive at the train station. The place is crowded with people, tourists taking photos, office workers pouring out from buses and trams and dashing towards the platforms in their tight trousers, smart suits and high heeled shoes. As we wait for our train in our creased clothes and with our rucksacks on our backs, we are surrounded by commuters. We eavesdrop on their conversations, snatching snippets of their daily grind. We laugh firstly at their funny clothes, their harrassed expressions, the fact that their telephones seem to be an extension of themselves. And then we laught at ourselves. I hadn't realised just how much I've turned into a country bumpkin...
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