A combination of last-minute planning and careless reading of details meant my return ticket was to Nîmes, rather than Arles. I arrived in Nîmes with no plan, a Reddit thread of "what to check out in Nîmes", and a train ticket to Arles for much later in the evening. Nîmes has been my favourite city so far. An ancient Roman tower overlooks the top of the public garden (which, by the way, is like an amusement park but for nature — I'm not sure how else to describe it). The purpose the tower served is still somewhat ambiguous; the purpose it serves now is to fatigue local tourists who climb the narrow staircase in search of the panoramic view at the top that is largely unchanged from the (much more accessible) panoramic view at the foot of the tower. Naturally, given I was at the mercy of the Reddit thread, I climbed the tower, where a little pavilion of stone surrounds the fenced-in terrace. Naturally, given I was at the mercy of adrenaline-seeking, I climbed onto the semi-safe pavilion, ignoring the signs clearly prohibiting this action, figuring I could always rely on the [[thefrenchexcuse.png|"I can't read French"]] excuse. Naturally, I heard my mom's voice in my head, telling me to get down. I could almost feel her hand holding onto the back of my shirt, an old habit that happened whenever I insisted on climbing onto something. But of course, I was alone. I watched the sun set on the former Roman city. And then I climbed down; I went home.