Paris

As we were away for an entire month, I have decided not to do it day by day like I do with most of my travel posts. That would take for EVER, so I shall do this city by city, or vineyard to vineyard perhaps. I took enough photos to compete with a google image search, so there will be some serious editing happening, but seriously, France is just a place that I could not get enough of! I wanted to take a photo of everything I saw, but I had to remind myself sometimes that I should see things with my own eyes and not always through the lens of my camera. So it was a blessing in disguise the times that my battery ran out, more memories and inspiration just for lil ol' me.

Ja' dore, Paris. I really do! I would live there in a heart beat, if only I spoke the language. And what a beautiful language it is. I would have to say, and yes its never too late and all, but I do regret never learning that language when I was younger (like high school, I ant that old...). My school only offered Spanish, and I never had a love for that language...I never really knew much about it. And learning from one teacher who speaks South American spanish, and one speaking Spain spanish, I was all confused and didn't really grasp on what was going on. And it also didn't help that the whole time I wish I was learning french. I have tried podcasts, but its not that same. And staying in Paris for the five days we did, I already learnt some words like jambon, fraise, poisson, boeuf, vin rouge ... get the picture? The beggars never bothered me, the arrogant stereotype never came our way, and the hot chocolates were really something else.

My first french hot chocolate experience was something of a time filler, and not something I planned on encountering. You see, after what seemed like a 20 minute train ride on the Eurostar (yes, I was two and a bit hours, but it really was blinking fast!), we grabbed a cab and went to our apartment. A lonesome door, and not a cool looking one like the rest on the street. We were right opposite the French Bank, so all was safe, and all else that was there, that was open, was a little cafe with cigar smoking men and chic looking women. We buzzed, no answer. We rang the lady, no answer. So hot chocolate time it was. When it doubt I say...

After a while, with still no answer or way to get into our apartment, bags not disappearing into thin air like we would have liked, dad went off in search of alternative sleeping arrangements.

Then my phone rang...

It was dad. Saying he had booked us for a night at Hotel de Louve. He was shown the room, which sounded like the size of our house. Two enormous beds for such royalty like ourselves, and all for the pretty penny of...well he didn't say. It was a bed, and thats all that matters. How amazing, right?

Wrong.

As soon as I hung up, the lady from our apartment rang. And she had been home the whole time, and was trying to find her charger. For two hours. I don't think so lady. So yea, we canceled that booking at the hotel, and dragged our bags up five flights of stairs, which according to dad, Napoleon climbed a few moons ago, and into our petite palace. No bells and whistles here, fold out bed there and there, bathroom (can you see it...its that small) and a mini kitchen for skinny people. But it was home for the next few days. Once we got hot water. One day two. We smelt great.

Day Two; bus tour to get a feel for things and see what this beautiful city has to offer.

Day Three; shopping at Galleries Lafayette and stood in a line for two hours waiting to book train tickets to Bordeaux. What a mission! And turns out the Europass isn't so pop-in-heres-your-ticket. You have to book WAY in advance. But booking a few days before, you do have to pay like the rest of the mere mortals, but it does become half price. And the man who served us was lacking in some serious humour.

Day Four; Monet Gardens. It poured down this day, but it somehow made the place look even more magical. Everything looked fresh and alive, blooming with colour and smell. And the kitchen in Monets' house, I want it. Bad.

So that's why the streets are tidy. They hide these babies down the drain. Nice.

For my Pops.

In a toy store. Only in Paris.

For a night. Next time.

Saw a sneeky bugger pick these out on the sly. 

Detail overload.

Typical tourist, looking up. But there are some amazing interiors that pop out in the penthouse windows.
Amazing, if only I could get inside.

Bit of man love going on there.

Spot the people. Then you get scale of the mighty Arch.

Can you see the people down there? Yeah, never realised this thing was surrounded in an amazing
park with cafes and ducks and all things french. 

View form my balcony. If I lived there that is.