While walking my daily commute and talking to Raymond on the phone,[^1] my jacket caught on a protruding fence spike and ripped. After searching online, I discovered the only way to fix my only source of warmth (the woes of backpacking) was a specialised tape that was sold in a few outdoors-y stores. No problem, I figured, I would just get it in Paris. Only, there were no stories in Paris that advertised carrying it, a fact I discovered the next day. Turns out, the nearest store (one of four in France) was in Marseille. I booked a ticket, realised I should have confirmed they had it before booking a ticket, cancelled my ticket, got transferred a few times for my French is not comprehensible over the phone, rebooked my ticket, and three hours from when I first hatched this idea, I was in Marseille. I walked into this store with only a name of someone to ask for. Each person I asked gave vague directions until — I kid you not — someone recognised the brand of my *socks*, at which point I was marked as an outdoorsy insider (nothing could be further from the truth) and promptly guided to the person I was looking for, who then was extremely helpful with not just my jacket[^2], but with my entire Kilimanjaro packing list. Then, I ate a crepe, walked around the sea, walked into a Tunisian restaurant where I understood 22% of what was going on and even less of what, precisely, I had ordered, and ate the most soul-warming meal of my life. Problems are typically just problems. But things tend to work out as they are meant to. [^1]: More precisely, I was trying to configure my data — which goes on strike at least twice a day — to pick our Facetime back up, an action that takes up at least half of the time Raymond and I spend virtually. [^2]: Turns out, I had asked for the wrong type of tape. But, because my jacket is semi-known in France, I was immediately directed to the correct type.