“They sat with their backs to the industrial estate and let themselves get hungry.”
That’s a line from a story by Roddy Doyle that ran in The New Yorker a while back. I like it because it reminds me of how often – when you’re stuck somewhere boring on holiday – you spend so much of your time just waiting to be hungry again. Just so you have something to do, look forward to.
It’s also true of vibrant, revved-up foreign places that you love – having that nervy next-meal anticipation charge you through your day. (Having said that, it can just as easily jumpstart a few unwanted “where do you want to eat?” arguments between tired-out travellers.)