Jean-Marie takes me to the hospital in Dijon first thing after breakfast. The wait is not long and the x-ray of my side shows nothing. “The pain is too low on your side to be a rib,” the technician explains. “But I can feel something broken,” I insist. “Of course, it is your cartilage,” she explains. She carefully traces my ribs with her finger to show me where they are above the injured spot. There is nothing I can do but let it heal, she says. She uses my health card to invoice the Ontario government instead of charging me. She prescribes a pain killer and an anti-inflammatory to make it easier on me, but she sees no reason why I cannot continue my cycling.
I walk out of the hospital as though I am in a dream, as I have not been expecting this good news. I feel a bit foolish. Peace of mind is worth the price, Mike tells me when we return to the house, as though he ever shown any concern. Patrick drops me off at the confisserie from where we begin our separate tours of the city. I visit the cathedral, Saint Mary of Dijon, with its façade of gargoyles, and the small carving 
of an owl on an exterior wall that is supposed bring good luck if you touch it with your left hand. So many have touch it that its face has been rubbed off. Of course, I don’t read my guide carefully and touch it with my right hand, which probably bring bad luck. Not surprising with all those germs….
The old town is very compact. Its narrow streets are lined with half-timbered houses from the 12th to 15th centuries, mostly still in good shape. I had a café in the square in the old town that has the bronze statue of the naked youth Bareuzai enthusiastically mashing grapes with his feet. I am not sure of the legend, perhaps a Renaissance version of Dionysus. He looks down at me with a smirk on his face, as though he’d be both fun and trouble. 
I walk to the huge Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, which looks like it could belong in Versailles, and stop at the entrance of the Musee des Beaux Arts, which is adjacent. I walk along the river before returning to the confisserie. It is a lovely city, but I imagine it is swamped by tourists all summer, as there are enough here already.
The proprietors of stores in the mall where the confisserie is are gathered after hours to celebrate the birthday of a woman named Claudine, who owns a shoe store. I am impressed. I have never seen this done in a Canadian mall before. Mike hits it off well with Claudine and everyone is making a joke about it, as though he might settle down with her or they might run away together. But besides being a woman, she is much too outgoing for him. We drink and snack at the mall until 10, then leave to have dinner in a pizzeria.
PHOTO 1: facade of the ST Mary of Dijon Cathedral
PHOTO 2: the lucky owl (almost worn away)
PHOTO 3: details of the cathedral facade
PHOTO 4: statue of Bareuzai, the Dionysus of Dijon
PHOTO 5: street in old town with half-timbered buildings
PHOTO 6: half-timbered building
PHOTO 7: Notre Dame de Dijon
PHOTO 8: Le Marie (Town Hall)
PHOTO 9: Palais des Ducs de Bourgoyne
PHOTO 10: in old quarter of Dijon
PHOTO 11: statue outside entrance of le Musee des Beaux Arts
PHOTO 12: downtown square with carousel
PHOTO 13: can't remember what this is, but it looks cool
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