Assuming I can get under sail and past the bar in the coming week (wrecks are always far more likely close to the port -- many's the slip..), I will have survived these rooms. Close traffic, noise, fumes, heat in the first part of it, ventilation too dirty to use. And yet a price roughly equal to much sounder quarters in the past, sometimes in this city. But it's the tourist season, and I had to book late. Oddly, the theatres are closed during the tourist/leisure season, so the coffeehouses had to bear the burden of the evening jaunts. Coffee much more reasonably priced on the western half of the peninsula. (Which is the Eastern half.) Henry James talks about the summer repertory of the Comedie Francaise in Tragic Muse -- deadly classics, staged for the tourists. But apparently, there's a tradition of festival season in this part of the world, and preparing for the fall, when the city will start up again as itself.
Found it impossible to read, think, write. I did manage to lengthen the morning runs, and solidify the practice after firming it up as a daily practice again in the last city -- after the disastrous winter in the country to the south.
"When the water is muddy, I wash my cloak. When the water runs clear, I wash my head covering."
In each engagement, conquer what you can.