We were obviously expected to take the pathway to the cathedral, but its cobbles, like endless rows of tortoises pressed together, were huge and quite impractical for a stroller. We set out across the grass. Along one side were a few ancient inns, originally built for overnight pilgrims and now catering to “day trippers” – sightseers like us – and locals. We stopped by one.
“Sorry, can’t let her in,” the landlord said, pointing to Kate.
“It’s okay, she doesn’t drink,” I said, trying for humor. “Well, nothing you would sell, anyway.”
“Licensing laws,” the landlord said, shrugging. “What can you do?” He sighed and turned away.
It was a beautiful, sunny day, and sitting at one of the outdoor picnic tables was no punishment. Even so, Kate climbed on our bench and poked her smiling face through the ground floor window, much to the amusement of the patrons inside and mild consternation of the landlord.
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