Grand Tour – French Riviera

I’m not big on travel, but my wife enjoys it—and after two years of hard work and ten years since our last grand tour, the decision was made to go see the south of France. The initial plan included Paris, but logistics got in the way, so Paris will have to wait. Our 20-day trip (including air travel) can hardly be called a grand tour, but hey, it’s modern times when plebeians such as us can afford to travel a bit and hopefully get cultured. I typically prefer trips to events such as MATG or DefCon, but roaming the south of France didn’t sound bad—after all, I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. So the rough plan was to fly into Marseille, get a car, and visit as much as we could. I’m still processing the grand tour and hopefully I’ll have more revelations, but for now, I’ll just randomly dispense my thoughts as they surface in my mind.

France has quite a different approach to food, at least compared to North America. Breakfast is very fast and light: no eggs, no bacon, no potatoes, pancakes, or anything of the sort. The most you can find at a bakery is sandwiches, and not all bakeries carry them in the morning. The bakery is the focal point, and it certainly seems everyone goes there each morning. That’s the place where you can get bread, coffee, and pastries and have a quick sit-down if you’re a tourist since I didn’t see many locals having breakfast there—just in and out. We visited a few bakeries along the way, and I can’t recall any of them being bad. Some were better, some had a bigger variety, but all had the same basic breads, which were pretty good. I must admit, French bakeries pushed me toward the idea of making my own bread (currently in the works). It is quite nice to have fresh bread in the morning. But the killer feature of any French bakery is pastries, and my personal favourite—the éclair. I honestly gave up on éclairs some time ago, as I couldn’t find any to my liking locally. But in France, every bakery we visited had awesome éclairs. Somehow those éclairs took me back to my childhood, tasting exactly as I remembered an éclair should taste.


While in North America you can get almost anything anytime you want, such as breakfast at dinner time, the French operate differently—they have a strict structure. For breakfast, you can’t have lunch; for dinner, you can’t have breakfast. Bakeries close after lunch, while restaurants open only for lunch and dinner. The time in between I call “dead time.” That sunk in after a few attempts at finding something good to eat around 16:00. Yes, you can find burger or shish kebab places, but I learned to avoid those or proceed at your own risk of having okay food at best or food poisoning at worst. I found two courses of action to follow if you want to eat during dead time: tough it out and wait for restaurants to open, typically around 18:00, or go to a grocery store and get a sandwich. I had a few sandwiches from grocery stores along the way and am happy to say I didn’t get any indigestion. Sandwiches are pretty decent considering the price. As for McDonald’s (or other fast food), they are few and far between unless you are in a bigger city.


I’m not entirely sure I sampled enough French cuisine since the majority of offerings were similar to North America: pizza, burgers, salads, and such. However, their burgers are very nice! Perhaps I’m biased, or maybe I’m not used to having medium-cooked burgers, but it was good. The most spectacular was fresh seafood—that was something, especially considering I’m not a big fan of sea creatures. A long time ago, I visited Quebec and acquired a dislike for beef tartare, but salmon tartare in France is really good; I wish it was more popular in North America. Overall, I established that to have a good meal, expect to pay €18 and up per dish (or €14 and up for pizza) for lunch or dinner. One note: apparently some restaurants require each customer to have their own dish. That caught me off guard (luckily only once) since we typically like to share, as our kid usually eats half a serving at best.

We stayed at each hotel (2-3 stars) no longer than three nights, so perhaps the breakfast buffet changes, but I didn’t see it. Each hotel has pretty much the same items; however, bigger places have slightly more choices. Basic buffet breakfast items include bread, eggs (typically boiled), butter, jam, Nutella, yogurt, pastries, cheeses, and a couple of meats—typically cold cuts, but once I saw bacon. Breakfast also includes coffee, tea, hot chocolate, and juices (typically apple and orange). Prices for a hotel buffet breakfast range from €8 to €13, so going to a bakery is a more budget-conscious option. Coffee in France is pretty good but small, so staying for breakfast in a hotel offers an additional benefit: endless coffee, and better yet, you can make it to your specification, double-double in my case. I’m not entirely sure why, but adding a bit of milk to coffee isn’t common in France. Moreover, most coffee machines have milk but lack an option to add it to coffee. You can press the “latte” option, but you can’t have black coffee with two milks.

Whenever I think of France, I imagine a very liberal society, but that doesn’t seem entirely accurate. Some things seem acceptable, others not. You can buy a bottle of wine at a grocery store for just over €3 (the lowest price I saw), but to buy tobacco, you must go to a special separate store. At the same time, smoking in public is okay, even in restaurants, bars, and coffee shops, as long as you sit outside (which is the majority of the time). However, fast food restaurants do not serve beer or wine (unlike in Spain and Italy). Interestingly, beer at grocery stores is cheaper than soda, which makes some sense but still makes me wonder. The French are famous for their love lives, and it seems like the majority of women don’t wear bras. Yet, the latest political battle revolves around age verification for explicit websites, even though similar content is available on TV. All of this seems a bit confusing, but in a way, that’s exactly the experience I signed up for.

Patience is one of the virtues that doesn’t seem to rank high in priority. In a couple of instances, I was quite glad I didn’t understand French. An exchange student at the Picasso Museum in Antibes confirmed this observation, indicating that French men are especially impatient. I’ll take her word for it, but French ladies don’t seem far behind, as muttering and mumbling occurred right behind me while I was waiting to pick up a couple of coffees and pastries from a local bakery (maybe I ordered one too many eclairs). Road etiquette didn’t take a break either—tailgating and beeping on slow, tight, busy city streets happened as well, mercifully only a couple of times. However, the most surprising aspect was customer service! For the most part, it was good, but in a few cases, it sure felt like they were doing us a favour. One time we visited a seafood restaurant for dinner, which was mostly empty. However, the owner first inquired about a reservation (which we didn’t have) and then visibly considered whether we should be allowed in. I wasn’t feeling well at the time, so I didn’t want to eat, but the owner informed us that we must pick all the dishes we wanted to order, as the kitchen would be closing soon. About an hour later, more people were coming in and the kitchen was still operating. Well, not to mention some other quirks the owner displayed, but overall it turned out okay—and gave us something to talk about. In another small place, we learned that if an order is messed up, the blame will be squarely placed on you. It’s jarring coming from North America, where any issue is usually worked through and at least approached from a neutral or customer-friendly perspective. Not so in France—staff will happily insist that you are the one at fault. Ironically enough, the only place where a server paid a lot of attention and bent over backward for us (they had run out of snow crab) was a seafood restaurant in Aix-en-Provence that highly encouraged tipping—while tipping is typically not expected in France.

French countryside is beautiful; I recommend visiting the lavender fields and sampling their produce. It looks like there is no shortage of estates with little gift shops and coffee areas. Lavender scent is typically associated with Pine-Sol (a cleaning product), but you have what might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to drink lavender beer, sample lavender ice cream, and perhaps cook with lavender oil. Let’s say it is an acquired taste, so don’t rush to buy a six-pack or a big bowl of ice cream. We travelled across the French Riviera, and it became painfully obvious that each area has its own memorabilia. So if you find something you like, buy it there (support the locals); chances are it will be harder or impossible to find elsewhere later. There are plenty of wineries, but check ahead of time if an appointment is needed, as well as prices and such. Not everyone is happy to host visitors at a moment’s notice. In some cases, a winery might also host an art gallery and/or a restaurant, and that might be by reservation only. There are plenty of places to visit, and for the most part, there is no need to plan ahead. However, some places do not operate on weekends, some might be temporarily closed, and some might require hiking shoes—for example, if you want to discover some of Cézanne’s landscape motifs.


One of my favourite places to visit was a Roman amphitheater, but mind your step—some areas are kept in their original shape and might not be as foot-friendly, as my wife unfortunately found out by stepping on an uneven stone and twisting her ankle. Last but not least are the markets—they are quite awesome. In larger cities, they can span wide and seem like an endless heaven for some

During our grand tour, we mostly visited private museums. Some were good, others not so much, and a couple were temporarily closed for restoration. If you enjoy car museums, I can recommend Musée des Citroën as I enjoyed it immensely.

Art museums are not my thing, but Musée National Marc Chagall in Nice is really good. You can really tell the difference between a private lot and a national museum; the biggest hint is the security checks with metal detectors, especially for Jewish artists. The grand tour took us across the land from Marseille to Menton (and back), as we managed to visit Salon-de-Provence, Baux-de-Provence, Aix-en-Provence, Gordes, Grasse, Fréjus, Antibes, Vence, Nice, Monaco (only in passing), Cannes, Menton, and Arles. While some cities are cleaner and better taken care of, all share the same bathroom policy—none of the coffee shops, restaurants, or other establishments allow bathroom usage unless you are a customer, not even for kids! It seems quite heartless when an 8-year-old needs to go, yet no one lets her use a bathroom. There are public bathrooms, but I’m not sure what the deal is with them; let me elaborate. Public bathrooms that I came across are basically stainless steel boxes on the inside, with stainless steel toilets that get cleaned after each use—which is very cool, but the way it’s implemented leaves much to be desired. Once the toilet is used, the door closes and power washing starts, followed by power blowing, and it is finally ready for the next user. Unfortunately, what I found after cleaning were wet floors, walls, toilet seats, and, according to my wife, wet toilet paper. After a couple of attempts, we avoided public bathrooms like the plague. Perhaps that might explain why there was a grown man urinating in the middle of the day on a fairly busy old city street. This, in turn, explains why some areas just reek of urine. Well, I guess it’s just part of the French experience.


Europe has good public infrastructure, but we opted to travel by car for a few reasons, mostly flexibility. We could go anywhere at any time and haul luggage along as we traversed the land. Car rental seemed to be fairly affordable, as we rented the cheapest car for 375 euros with unlimited mileage for 20 days, which comes to just under 19 euros per day. Gasoline is quite expensive; luckily our car was sipping fuel, and after the entire trip of 808 km, including driving in the mountains, the car consumed about 75 liters, which worked out to about 130 euros. As far as driving went, the roads were pretty decent, even though my wife might disagree as some roads were pretty narrow and mountain passes a bit wild for her taste, though fun for me (Tail of the Dragon is even more fun). Since we had a road trip in Spain, slow and tight city driving didn’t come as a surprise; however, traffic lights did. The location of traffic lights is different, closer, and invisible to the first car at the light; however, a smaller version of a traffic light is mounted at a lower level right by the first car’s line of sight on the right.

Initially, I didn’t even register the small lights but quickly learned of their existence and purpose. In North America, traveling between cities teaches you simple math: take the length and roughly divide by 100 (speed limit on highways) to get a rough idea of the time it takes to get there. In France, the math doesn’t work. A lot of the time, you will be driving through towns with speed limits of 30–50 km/h (enforced by speed tables), and when you get to a highway (non-toll), the speed limit might change several times per single kilometer—here it’s 80 km/h, now 120, slow down to 90, now go 120, and slow down to 70. It was mentally taxing just to keep track. Luckily, Google Maps displays the speed limit on any given road. I often wondered who designed the road speed limits and how much money they wasted on signs. It would have been better to average the speed limits, saving money and headaches. Even more hilarious was the fact that mountain passes didn’t seem to receive the same level of care. They would have signs for 80 km/h even though going that speed might be reckless at best and dangerous at worst. All in all, driving in France is different but not in a significant way. If you plan to travel by car, I strongly recommend researching and planning parking. Some parking lots are better than others; consider theft, damage, or just tight parking spaces that not every car can fit into. Research ahead and pick primary and secondary parking locations in case the primary parking lot is full—it will save you time roaming around in busy city traffic. In addition, you will save yourself from pricing surprises. Different cities have different pricing structures; some parking lots might be significantly higher priced. It’s reasonable to expect anywhere from 6–8 euros for a few hours to 15–25 euros depending on the location and city.

As we moved along the French Riviera, we stayed in different places, and not all of them were hotels. My wife prefers hotels as she always says, “there are standards,” and I learned the truth of that. We rented a couple of private places; one was a big wagon with an entire apartment built-in, including a tiny kitchen area with a tiny stove, tiny fridge, small sink, and such. The place was very cute, had air conditioning, and private parking (which you don’t see often). It also had an outdoor hot tub—which for some reason was an extra 30 euros per day—an outdoor patio, and a private zoo. It is quite something to wake up, go outside, and see a couple of llamas barely paying attention to you. While I was baffled, the kid actually enjoyed the zoo, as the very welcoming owner let her feed the animals. I guess some retire and go to Florida, others buy and sell cars, some travel, and some set up a zoo with donkeys, swans, ducks, chickens, llamas, wallabies, and whatever else I didn’t see behind the fence. As much as I enjoyed the place, it was lacking in the bedding department. The bedsheets were very cheap and felt like plastic, which didn’t add any joy to sleeping. I wish the owner hadn’t skimped on that. Another issue was ants—after a couple of days, they appeared in the kitchen sink and were happy to grab any crumbs they could find. Judging by ant traps left by the owner, it was not a new problem. Next was a private apartment in the historic city of Vence; I dubbed it the hobbit house. The entrance was narrow and low. I quickly learned to duck after hitting my head on a ceiling beam a couple of times. While the apartment had a washing machine, kitchen, normal-sized fridge, bathroom, TV, and Wi-Fi, it lacked air conditioning. The owner explained that air conditioning was not allowed in the historic part of the city, but I doubt that. I found air conditioners elsewhere in the historic part of the city and even worked out how to integrate air conditioning into the apartment without the intervention of a construction crew. After the first and only night of “open windows,” it became painfully obvious that mosquitoes were out and about. Even worse, once morning came, mosquitoes were quickly replaced by flies. The situation wasn’t helped by dirty floors and towels that needed to be thrown out a decade ago, but by that point, it didn’t bother us much. The entire stay was less than pleasant. The owner promised to bring a fan but never showed up. The final nail in the coffin came as a message from the owner demanding reimbursement for couch cleaning; however, no photos or additional information followed. One thing I learned: if you want an adventure, don’t limit yourself to hotels, but otherwise, remember: “hotels have standards.”

As far as any trip goes, something is bound to go sideways, but for us, it started early, as Air Transat informed us of limited space for luggage. Luckily, we pre-purchased space during early online check-in. Otherwise, we would have shown up at Pearson Airport just to find out that our suitcases had to stay behind because the airplane was overloaded. I never knew that an airplane could be overloaded with luggage and that there is no guarantee your luggage will make it onto the plane. Uncertain about Air Transat’s ability to bring our luggage back, I attempted to pre-purchase space for the return flight to no avail. Support staff on the phone couldn’t help due to system limitations, and the entire ordeal came down to “talk to people at the counter in Marseille on your way back.” Luckily, it worked out, as the return flight to Canada was half empty, even though I pre-purchased luggage the moment online check-in became available. I don’t travel much, so I didn’t know what to expect. While the transatlantic flight was equipped with an infotainment system, headphones were only available for purchase—only kids received free headphones; adults had to pay. That would have been fine if I could pair my Bluetooth headphones, but there was no option in the infotainment system. During our short stay at Pearson Airport, we discovered lounges, specifically the KLM Crown Lounge. Let me tell you, it is a very nice way to spend your time at the airport if you want to sit and relax—food, drinks, comfortable furniture, and as good a view as you can get at an airport. What made the whole deal sweet were the free passes to the lounge, as some credit cards provide travel bonuses. Unfortunately, my wife barely sampled any luxuries, as she caught a bit of food poisoning earlier, making the experience and the flight, let’s say, unpleasant, culminating during landing at Marseille Airport. Rental car pickup took an hour, even though we booked online. There were so many people that I ended up standing in line outside (luckily in the shade), while my wife and kid were recovering on some kind of couch in the garage-sized office with no air conditioning but open doors. That wasn’t the best start to a trip, but it wasn’t the worst either, as I recall the car rental place at Madrid’s airport in the middle of the night and how hard they pushed car insurance on us—it sure felt like a shakedown.

The entire trip was pretty safe; no one bothered us, and almost everything went more or less smoothly. We even managed to drive to Italy and back. Border crossing was a non-event; Italian border guards were nowhere to be found as we drove by, and on the way back, we managed to spot French border guards in a van—one was asleep and the other seemed too busy with his smartphone. Welcome to France. In a way, that made sense, since upon arrival in France, the border guard didn’t bother to ask us much: guns? drugs? purpose of your visit? how much money are you traveling with? None of it—just: “Hey, how’s it going? What’s the kid’s name? Why? Go ahead.” I like the nonchalant attitude; I wish it was more widespread. Despite some attitude and impatience, people looked better and slimmer than in North America. I wonder if it is because of the food or because people walk or bike more, or perhaps the south of France is an exception. Either way, food in grocery stores has additional information in the form of a simple gauge, informing the buyer how nutritious it is. I like the idea—you don’t have to read the entire label; you can just take a quick glance at the gauge and make a decision. I believe there are apps that can help with purchasing better food, but I’ll have to dig and see. Another joy was seeing how many people bicycle around. In the hilly areas, almost all bicycles are electric with mid-drive. As I took this in, I wondered if I should follow along, change a couple of things in my life, and start bicycling as well. As I walked around, I couldn’t help but notice that there were a lot of old cars—I even saw a grandma driving an old Renault 4 to a grocery store. I like old cars. In North America, old cars typically exist as restoration projects or prized possessions, almost never as workhorses. But the French concept of a car seems to be quite different. While it is a bit mind-blowing to see so many cars with scratches and dents, it conveys quite a different outlook on life and automobiles.

I feel like the grand tour was quite successful and despite my doubts, hesitations and reservations I learned a few things. I believe going into different environments and experiencing things always leave you with something no matter how big or small. Early on I was joking with my wife that France is just a wealthy and expensive Mexico. But by the end of the grand tour I don’t think it is the case, not even close. I’m not sure when will be next time I see France, but for now I’m happy I had privilege to go and experience small part of it.

Dacia Sandero Stepway 2025 – Just Enough

I like small utilitarian cheap cars. I own a Hyundai Accent 2011, my wife has a Kia Soul 2016, and previously I drove a Mitsubishi Mirage 1995, so I walk the talk. SUCC (small utilitarian cheap cars) are honest and are here to do one job and one job only—transportation in the cheapest way possible. They are not here to entertain, show off, or bring status to your mundane tasks. While all SUCCs might conceptually feel the same, different manufacturers prioritize different things. For example, Toyota prioritizes reliability, Mazda ride quality, Kia features, and GM… price. Don’t get me wrong; if you buy a Mazda 2, it won’t ride like a Mazda MX-5. Similarly, if you buy a Toyota Yaris, it won’t have the same reliability as a Lexus, but priorities are real within budget constraints.

Recently, I came back from France, where I got to drive a Dacia Sandero Stepway 2025 (rental car), and what an experience that was. If I had to describe it in one sentence, it would be: I hit rock bottom… and then discovered there was a basement. I could not believe that such an unrefined car could be manufactured in 2025. As far as I can tell, the Sandero costs on average $22k Canadian dollars, so comparing it to a Kia Soul 2016 is fair game. Now, in all fairness, there is no Dacia in Canada or the USA, so my guess is the Sandero targets a specific market, and therefore the manufacturer’s priorities might be fairly specific—or at least that’s what I convinced myself of. I wish I could say the Sandero was barebones and horrible, but it isn’t, and that’s what piqued my curiosity.

Ok, let me get the obvious out of the way: I don’t know how reliable or lasting Sanderos are since I got a new one with only 2500 kilometers on the odometer, and it didn’t give me any trouble at all. However, what I could see is that the Sandero clearly prioritizes cutting costs wherever possible and adding only what’s necessary. In practice, that translates to exposed metal panels that in any other car would be covered by plastic, no doubt saving a cent here and there. The same philosophy was applied in the passenger area—cheap, minimal plastic. Even the floor mats seemed to be made exactly to size and then slightly reduced to save a cent or two. That kind of dedication reminds me of Mazda’s “Gram Strategy”—but in a bad doppelgänger sort of way. The transmission deserves a mention: while performing flawlessly, it somehow never seems quite happy to go into any gear at any speed or RPM. It just has a slight “la resistance” feel to it. The engine, on the other hand, seems pretty happy and jumpy—you never quite know when it will kick in boost and suddenly accelerate. It’s a bit wild and fun, unless you’re on tight French streets trying to slip by busy traffic when a sudden power surge requires immediate correction. The amusement doesn’t last long as the implications sink in. Initially, I thought it was because of the small engine and turbo lag, but 10 years ago, I drove a Smart ForFour with a similar engine configuration, and I don’t recall any sudden accelerations. Last but not least are the all-seeing eyes of its sensor arrays, coupled with endless warnings and trajectory corrections. Don’t get me wrong, cameras and sensors are awesome when fitting into a tight parking spot in an old French city, but they become incredibly worrisome when they correct your trajectory toward a biker splitting lanes right next to you. I guess the computer is more worried about self-preservation than the human passing you on your left. Similarly, the computer constantly analyzes driver behavior and keeps informing you that you’re tired and need rest, even after good sleep, breakfast, and coffee. I ended up constantly disabling lane correction (due to safety concerns), but unfortunately, there is no way to permanently turn it off—it resets every engine start.

I drove my wife’s Kia Soul 2016 to and from the airport before and after driving the Dacia Sandero for a couple of weeks, and the driving experience difference is stark. The Soul might lack a few features and could use more refinement but is still miles ahead by comparison. Power delivery is linear and predictable, gear shifts are smooth without resistance, the interior feels better and softer, fitment is superior, there are no rough spots, and, importantly, no computer constantly tries to “correct” your line and sideswipe passing motorcyclists. The Sandero is an interesting car. On one hand, it has everything—even LPG to save money on gasoline, which is undoubtedly appreciated in Europe. On the other hand, it provides nothing beyond what’s strictly necessary. So you end up with a car that is comfortable enough, pulls just enough, is computerized just enough, and is essential enough—but lacks refinement. I think that’s enough.

2CV – scratching the itch

Every once in a while, I look around for a car—something unique and interesting. I like small cars, so kei trucks and vans captured my attention. After looking and reading for a while, somehow I came across the Citroën deux chevaux, or simply 2CV. It captivated me with its capability and engineering. Citroën engineers set out to build a workhorse and achieved something beyond that. Germans have the Beetle, the British have the Mini, and the French have the 2CV; no other car has such recognition—just drive a 2CV around, and people immediately smile at you. I spent too much time researching the 2CV. YouTube and forums can tell you a lot, but nothing beats experience, and I was really itching for it. Getting a hold of a 2CV in Ontario is a bit challenging, but luckily I was going to France, and there are rental options.

They say, “never meet your heroes,” but I finally did. First impressions revealed a bit of rust and a look suggesting it had seen better days. Some repairs had been done over the years; I’m pretty sure that the front seats should move back and forth, but they were stuck in position. The steering wheel was a bit heavy—but I can’t tell if it’s due to poor maintenance or if that’s just the way all 2CVs are. Panel fitment was like the old joke goes: “…we leave a cat, and if after 24 hours the cat is still inside, it means the car is sealed.” There are no huge gaps, but you can see around the doors, making me wonder how much water would come in during rain. Floor panels wobbled a little, and even though they aren’t structural, it felt strange. The suspension was squeaky on big bumps—I guess a bit of lubrication would fix that. Additionally, the suspension setup was so different from any car I’ve driven so far that it made me feel uneasy at high speeds. One really unexpected thing was how close the windshield is located to the driver, and more unsettlingly, how close the top of the steering wheel was to the windshield and metal/plastic panel. I couldn’t grip the top of the steering wheel comfortably and worried I could shear off my fingers if I did. There were other minor things different from a “normal” car but perfectly in line with any other classic, for example, oil spots around the engine area on a parking spot. However, the biggest disappointment was how un-convertible the car felt with the roof rolled all the way back—it felt just like any other car but with sunshine.


Ok, but what about the engine? I mean, they do call the 2CV a tin snail. Let’s address the elephant in the room—the 2CV’s (later models) engine has a displacement of 602 cc (before mods), which depending on the model produces 28-33 HP, so it’s not a speed demon by any stretch. Luckily, the 2CV has a 4-speed (forward) gear transmission that gives it just enough pep to get around town. It drives just fine on old, tight, slow French roads (30-50 km/h). Now, high-speed roads on an incline are an issue, but that’s to be expected—the 2CV wasn’t built for autobahns. Surprisingly enough, though, the 2CV sits pretty comfortably at 80-90 km/h on a straight, flat road. Another thing worth noting is how loud the car can get. If you’re pottering around, noise levels can be managed by switching to a higher gear. But if you need to rev it out, oh boy, does it get loud. The same goes for high speeds, in addition to wind noise.

The biggest surprise is how comfortable the ride is. I don’t know if it’s due to the independent suspension with preload and/or hammock seats, but it’s unbelievable. The suspension is so different and needs some getting used to, but man, it’s comfortable. I know the original specification called for going over a field with a basket of eggs, and boy, that doesn’t feel exaggerated. I bet it could give many modern cars a run for their money. Another surprise is how nice the transmission is. It’s a little unfortunate that 1st gear is non-synchronized, but you quickly get used to it. However, going up and down gears is so nice and easy, it might as well be a modern car. The clutch feels light and easy to operate—I couldn’t tell the difference from a modern car. Moreover, I didn’t miss or grind any gears (not even slightly), and that’s impressive, especially considering some newer cars from the past 10-15 years don’t always perform as well. The 2CV is as basic as you can get: no computers, nothing beeping at you, no screens or panels of buttons — it feels liberating. “It can’t break if it is not there,” as the French say.

As I was scratching the itch, I wondered if the 2CV could fit into my life. I can’t help but adore the car; I love the idea of its utility and simplicity. A few annoying things can be modified and improved; the engine can gain some more power, and noise can probably be reduced slightly—but there’s a bigger issue. The 2CV is no longer cheap, especially in Ontario. Prices have gone up, parts seem costly in comparison, and shipping costs must be factored in. Additionally, there are no 2CV specialists around, so you either need an enthusiastic mechanic or learn to do everything yourself. As I deliberated, it began to feel somewhat similar to why I passed on the Miata NB and went for the NC: too many small things would keep me busy working on the car instead of enjoying it. Furthermore, the 2CV would have to compete with my Miata, and unfortunately, the Miata is way more fun. I figured if I lived in Europe, a 2CV could have been a great idea, but in Ontario, it’s a bit more challenging than I’m willing to commit to.

Cost Reasoning

Cost seems to be an inseparable part of our lives. We look at it when we buy stuff, pay taxes, purchase services. But it takes a bit of a backseat when it comes to computer science—especially during the academic years. It comes back once we join the workforce, though it often takes on an elusive form — at least in my IT experience. It doesn’t come naturally; it’s effectively forced on us through communication with the business side. To me, “cost” is so ill-defined that it’s often thrown around for emphasis rather than as something more or less concrete.

Even in personal life, cost is tricky. Let’s say a pen costs $1. Is that the real cost? Do we just buy it and move on? Well, here’s how I see it: the pen costs $1 + $0.13 (13% sales tax) = $1.13. Now factor in income tax—say, 30%—and the cost becomes $1.13 / 0.7 = $1.61 (rounded). So once we factor in both sales and income taxes, the cost jumps by about 61.4% from the sticker price. And that doesn’t even include the cost of earning that money in the first place. Do you drive to work? How long does it take? Do you pay for insurance? Is your car depreciating? If you run a business, you might write those expenses off—but if you’re an employee, you just eat the cost. By the time all’s said and done, you’re looking at a markup of over 61.4%—and that’s before environmental fees, dealer fees, or whatever else sneaks in at checkout. And finally: how much time does it actually take to make that money?

Now to the IT world. I remember a while back when agile cards (or T-shirts and such) were a popular tool to estimate work for a sprint. At some point, that idea took a dive—never to be seen again. Why? I believe it comes down to two things: inaccuracy and waste. You end up estimating in points that are hit or miss (most of the time, a miss). Then managers try to make sense of those points for that particular team and convert points to time. Eventually, they give up and just ask for time estimates instead. Next, all of that gets applied to project estimates, and finally, to the budget. Eventually, the whole exercise was written off as useless. Why waste time estimating when it doesn’t improve accuracy? It just ends up wasting time for no benefit—or in other words, increasing cost.

Next up: software craft. How do we reason about the cost of code? Do we think about execution cost? Development cost? What about refactoring, adding features, maintenance, or security upgrades and dependencies? Do we factor in code correctness? Recently I was part of an architectural decision-making process. We had two paths: develop a new feature using an old dependency or a new one. Let’s break them down.

Using a new dependency: faster, easier development, with future support. Risk: the new feature might not integrate easily with the legacy system.

Using the old dependency: easier integration. Risk: slower development, no support, potential security issues. And when the old system is retired, we’ll either have to rewrite everything or keep dragging around old dependency — bringing all the baggage with it.

Moreover, we know the old system is set to be retired within the next six months, while new feature delivery is targeted for the next twelve. Just from the timeline alone, it becomes painfully obvious that the risks of supporting the old system are already mitigated. From a development cost perspective, it makes far more sense to adopt the new dependency. Yet the issue keeps getting debated—because, well, “nobody gets fired for buying IBM.” The essential argument is that writing new feature code based on the old dependency will work “everywhere,” so the deadline will be met, and we’ll all be safe—no risk. But what about cost? It would take three times as long using the old dependency. What about future cost—what if we have to rewrite it later? How about support—dragging around an old, unsupported dependency isn’t free. And do we ever factor in security risks? How much will that cost? Yeah, at the beginning of the day, if we don’t consider cost—or worse, don’t communicate it to the business—we might feel “safe.” But the business can count. And usually, better than IT. So by the end of the day, cost questions will creep in—and by that point, no one will be safe.

The cost of software development is anything but trivial—it depends on a variety of factors. Maybe it’s a throwaway project. In that case, we can skip tests, write a mess of code, use bubble sort, and slap it all together just to get it running as quickly as possible. But should we do the same for a legacy project? What about a current production system? Do we write clean code so it pays off with the next feature set—or just duct-tape things together and leave it for someone else to debug at 3:00 a.m. on a Sunday during a production emergency? I believe a developer can make any choice—as long as it’s a conscious one, based on cost considerations. And to make that kind of decision, cost must be learned, understood, and applied—as part of both software education and everyday development.

Norbert’s Gambit

Recently, I learned about Norbert’s Gambit, and it seems like a really nice way to avoid paying currency conversion fees. You still end up paying something, but depending on the amount you’re converting, the fees can be pretty small — I’ll illustrate this later.

So what is Norbert’s Gambit? Norbert’s Gambit is a strategy used to convert Canadian dollars (CAD) to U.S. dollars (USD) (or vice versa) by buying and selling interlisted stocks or ETFs — stocks that trade on both Canadian and U.S. exchanges. The idea is simple:

  1. Buy the stock in CAD on the Canadian exchange.
  2. Transfer the stock to the U.S. exchange.
  3. Sell the stock there in USD — effectively converting your money with minimal fees.

As I mentioned, this method helps avoid conversion fees that banks, brokers, and private exchanges charge. Here’s what I’ve seen:

  • Banks: Typically take 3–5 cents per dollar (3–5%).
  • Brokers (InvestorLine in my case): Around 2 cents per dollar (2%).
  • Private exchanges near me: About 1 cent per dollar (1%).

Fees of 1–5 cents per dollar might not seem like much at first, but they add up fast—especially for larger amounts. For example, if you exchange $10,000 CAD, the fees would be ~$300–$500 for bank, ~$200 for broker and ~$100 for private exchange. Now think about your entire retirement fund — suddenly, those fees don’t look so small.

Norbert’s Gambit isn’t completely free. Here’s what you still have to factor in:

  1. Trading fees: InvestorLine charges $10 per trade, so buying and selling costs $20 total.
  2. Stock price movement: Prices fluctuate, so there’s a chance the value changes before you sell.
  3. Market spread: The difference between bid and ask prices can result in a small loss.

That said, InvestorLine does automatic online transfers, so there’s no need to call anyone or wait a day — minimizing the risk of price movement. To test it out, I ran a small experiment:

  • Bought 1 share of BMO:CA for $138.17 CAD
  • Sold 1 share of BMO:US for $95.8516 USD
  • Effective exchange rate: 0.694
  • Market exchange rate at the time: 0.693

I actually gained about 10 cents per exchange, but that was just luck due to market fluctuations going my way. Now let’s extrapolate and assume things didn’t go in my favor. If I exchanged $13,817 CAD, I’d buy 100 shares of BMO:CA and sell them in USD at an effective exchange rate of 0.692 instead of the market rate of 0.693.

  • Norbert’s Gambit: 0.692 × $13,817 = $9,561.364 USD
  • Official exchange rate: 0.693 × $13,817 = $9,575.181 USD
  • Loss due to the exchange rate difference: $9,575.181 − $9,561.364= $13.817 USD


So, I lost $13.82 USD due to the slightly market volatility. If I had used a private exchange instead (charging 1 cent per dollar), the fees would have been: $9,575.181 –  (13817 * 0.683) = $138.17 USD. That’s 10 times more expensive than my $13.82 USD loss from Norbert’s Gambit! Now, let’s add in the trading fees: 20 USD + 13.82 USD (loss) = $33.82 USD total cost. Even after including the trading commission, the total cost is still way lower than the $138.17 fee from the private exchange.

In my mind, Norbert’s Gambit is an awesome strategy, especially considering that Canadian investors have to exchange currency at least twice in their lifetime — once to invest and again to cash out for retirement. This means Norbert’s Gambit can save Canadians around 2% on foreign investments.

3 Years Since the Full-Scale Invasion of Ukraine

It’s been three years of war, and it keeps on going. My naïveté is slowly being replaced with cynicism. Last year, I hoped the West would pull itself together—providing much more support to Ukraine while applying greater economic pressure on the other side. While there have been some increases, once again, it’s been too slow, too little, and in some cases too late.

To some degree, I’ve started to feel like the West is trying to preserve the aggressor. Yes, save the murderer—because otherwise, someone would have to deal with the fallout?! It’s astounding to contemplate such a scenario. It feels like there is no justice, no honor—it’s all about preserving the status quo. And by the way, the same seems to be happening in Israel. After the horrendous October 7th attack, somehow Israel is labeled the bad guy.

If you attack, kill, or kidnap—you are the aggressor, the murderer. It should be plain and simple. Yet, this concept seems too difficult for some to grasp—or so it seems. Another concept that apparently baffles people is democracy, liberalism, and freedom. Some places have them; others don’t. Ukraine and Israel have them. And the opposing sides? Let’s see: one place has had the same “president” for over 24 years—marked by repression and political killings. The other hasn’t held elections in the last 19 years, and political opposition tends to end up flying out of windows shortly after speaking up. But again, this concept seems too hard to grasp. Who are the bad guys in this situation? Somehow, we’ve bent the truth so far that Ukraine supposedly started the war and Israel is somehow the aggressor.

I’m tired of watching these horrific events unfold, but I don’t dare look away. It’s a reminder of how people operate, how disinformation spreads, and how evil prevails. But we cannot give up. We must keep fighting—keep going until the very end.

Source

Slava Ukraini.

Radon Test – Don’t Waste Money in Ontario

Recently, I started worrying about radon exposure in my house. So, after a quick trip to Home Depot, I picked up a short-term radon test kit for about $20. The clever marketing got me—I thought I was buying a complete kit. Well, turns out I was wrong. To actually get the results, you have to pay another $40 for lab analysis. Lol, “paid envelope included” – yeah, sure, the envelope is free, but the test results aren’t!

When I got my results back, I was horrified—radon levels were almost four times the recommended limit. Naturally, I wanted to retest before jumping into any drastic (and no doubt expensive) solutions. But spending another $60 on another test? No thanks. So, I started researching my options.

Turns out, instead of buying one-time test kits, you can get an electronic radon detector for around $150. A much better option, especially if you want to test multiple locations. Sure, you can find cheaper ones, but who knows if those cheap Chinese knockoffs actually work or just make you feel better? So, my thought was: either buy a proper one or nothing at all. But then I wondered—do I even need to buy one? Can I rent instead?

Do NOT Buy or Rent If You Live in Ontario!

Here’s the best part: you can borrow a high-quality radon detector for free from a public library! Apparently, radon became a big enough concern at some point that the government provided libraries with free detectors for public use. All you need to do is go to your local library, register (if you haven’t already), and borrow the device for up to three weeks.

I found this program through the Windsor-Essex County Health Unit, but I’m pretty sure it’s available across Ontario and possibly beyond. So, don’t buy, don’t rent—just borrow it for free from your library!

Hope this helps!

Email with custom domain

I remember a while back when you could purchase your own domain and connect it to Gmail for free. Unfortunately, that’s no longer the case. However, it appears there is a workaround. It requires some effort and navigating through Gmail’s deep settings, but the option is still available and functioning.

I’m including a link and backup here in case someone wants to connect their domain name to their Gmail account – How to user your own custom domain with Gmail for free.

Inequality and Risk

I’ve been slowly making my way through Paul Graham’s essays, and for the most part, I’ve been enjoying the journey. Recently, I came across his essay, “Inequality and Risk,” and it gave me a few thoughts. As Paul said: “The word ‘essay’ comes from the French verb essayer, which means ‘to try’”, so let me try.

“Like many startup founders, I did it to get rich. But not because I wanted to buy expensive things. What I wanted was security. I wanted to make enough money that I didn’t have to worry about money. If I’d been forbidden to make enough from a startup to do this, I would have sought security by some other means: for example, by going to work for a big, stable organization from which it would be hard to get fired. Instead of busting my ass in a startup, I would have tried to get a nice, low-stress job at a big research lab, or tenure at a university.

That’s what everyone does in societies where risk isn’t rewarded. If you can’t ensure your own security, the next best thing is to make a nest for yourself in some large organization where your status depends mostly on seniority.”

Paul Graham

I understand that startups are incredibly risky—it’s a fact. People investing in startups also take the same risk as founders, or perhaps even more. So if the reward isn’t worth it, then investment—and therefore startups—won’t be worth it, which means development stagnates. I agree with this argument.

But here’s my question: does progress and development only happen with big rewards? Paul says it isn’t about the money but about security. There are different ways to achieve security: one way is to make lots of money, and another is to get a secure job—a low-risk, low-stress position that’s stable and reliable. So if there’s no risk and no reward, does that mean all brilliant minds would gravitate toward secure jobs in big companies, research institutions, or government?

What about Albert Einstein? He made it. Now, for the sake of argument, what if security were already provided? Let’s wave a magic wand and imagine you receive enough money to live well. Wouldn’t you then want to dedicate yourself to what you do best—perhaps to development and innovation? Maybe one could be driven purely by a desire to innovate, rather than by the promise of big rewards or security. Not everyone becomes a doctor just to make loads of money. Some people genuinely want to help others and improve lives. Shouldn’t pure curiosity and the desire to improve be enough motivation?

I get it—there’s no magic wand. There’s resource competition. Effectively, this is all about security and resources: if you don’t secure yours, someone else will. It’s funny (and sobering) how quickly the argument can devolve back to a Stone Age-level mentality—it’s either you or them. But that seems to be what Paul is describing in his essay. We need inequality and risk to drive development and stay ahead, which in turn allows us to secure and gain more resources.

I’m not saying Paul is wrong, and I don’t claim to have better ideas. I’m just pointing out these dynamics and wondering out loud if there’s a better way. Ultimately, it might be the only way—our technology, biology, and language may simply be inadequate for any other existence.