Idyllic city
Welcome back! If you aren’t privy to what this story is about, check out both Part 1 and 2.
Anyway, new day… new opportunities. I got up and took a looong hot shower. Since, I didn’t add breakfast to my reservation, I needed to go into the city to find something to eat. I got dressed and here we go.
Strasbourg city
I hopped on the tram and arrived in the city centre about ten to fifteen minutes later. The inner city was idyllic — and unfortunately, the weather was considerably less so.
I walked around anyway. It was nice. People moving through the streets, tourists photographing every sight they could find. Me included, naturally. As I said in Part 2 — if you didn’t post it, it never happened.
I passed the Strasbourg Cathedral — built in sandstone, it reminded me immediately of Heidelberg’s Castle. Newer probably, but the resemblance was striking. Something about seeing familiar architectural echoes in an unfamiliar city felt like the city was speaking my language.
I wandered through the streets, took it all in. Found a sweet little café with a view onto the street, sat down, ordered a croissant and a latte macchiato, and just listened to the hustle and bustle of a Saturday morning in Strasbourg. Paid. Walked around some more. Had some ice cream.
Living a little.
A lil relaxation
With my last evening approaching rapidly I headed back to the hotel. I went to the gym and had grand plans for a massage — until I discovered, courtesy of the fine print I had not read, that massages needed to be booked in advance and there was no masseuse on staff that evening anyway.
Wonderful.
I went back to the swimming pool instead. Spent the rest of the evening exactly as I had the night before — chilling in my hotel room, watching shows, being entirely unbothered.
Check-out?
My mind started racing. My heart skipped approximately five different beats. The receptionist looked at me, confused.
And here is where I need to be honest about something.
For me — as a Black woman — there is a particular kind of awareness that arrives in moments like this. When my card gets declined. When I’m fumbling in my bag for money I know is there. A heightened self-consciousness that goes beyond embarrassment.
I become aware of being Black in the room. I start wondering what people are thinking — about me, and by extension about other Black people. Whether we are being judged. Whether a single declined card becomes a statement about all of us.
With slightly shaking hands I reached out to retrieve my card. *”No problem,”* I said — because what else do you say — and handed over my regular EC card instead.
I knew I had enough money on there to cover another two days. I knew it. And yet I was still afraid when I slid the card in.
It was accepted. Of course it was.
But I always wonder, in moments like those, how much space that particular kind of fear takes up. And how long we’ll have to keep carrying it.
I said farewell to the receptionist. Said farewell to the hotel. And went about my merry way — relaxed despite the hiccups, and ready for the next chapter. Because from Strasbourg I was heading directly into my Master’s student journey.
Thanks for bearing with me through this one.
Strasbourg was a genuinely lovely getaway and I would recommend it to anyone living close to the French border — card machine anxiety and all.
Check out Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven’t already.
See you in the next one.
