The Parisian Blitz!

Before we flew back across the pond, we had less than 24 hours to see Paris. A friend recommended a very well located hotel near the Notre Dame, so after flying in and ditching our bags (and trying as hard as possible to avoid butchering the French language) we set off on our whirlwind tour of Paris.

I made David pick the first food stop, which turned out to be a creperie. I may or may not have just made that word up. They sold crepes. It was good-ish. But we were on a mission! Notre Dame! St. Chapelle! Eiffel Tower!

Yeah, the churches were closed by the time we got there, so David decided we’d just walk to the Eiffel Tower. You know, to really get a feel for the city.

I tell you who got a real feel for the city — my Squirrel paws. I had decided to wear my new sassy $30 euro Italian suede bootlets, which were exactly as comfortable as one would assume such footwear to be. I still have blisters on my ankles. But that is irrelevant, because Paris is AMAZING.

Flower shops along the Seine

Immaculate, refined, composed. Unlike Italy, Paris was everything we thought it would be. And you know, the people were nicer than I expected. I kinda fell in love with the river, the bridges, the vendors selling antique books and postcards. Very, very cool. I mean, the whole world knows Paris is cool. It’s a thing. I was just happy to find that I agreed.

The Seine is like right behind the booth. Trés cool!

Actually, Paris felt like it was your grandmother’s fancy city, but she left for the weekend, allowing all the cool folks to party in it and have a fantastic time. But everyone is respectful and careful because they know she’s coming home on Monday and heads will roll if anything’s messed up. As odd and disjointed as that metaphor is, that’s what Paris felt like to me.

Anyway, after an hour or so of walking, we finally glimpsed the Eiffel Tower…

She's a big gurl.

Tall Squirrel

We circled around her, snapping tons of pics. David got some really fun shots.

Then he got us tickets on a champagne boat tour, which we thought would be a great way to get back to our neighborhood. Plus, it offered great photo opportunities.

This'n's for you, Beth.

She's so stunning at night.

One more of 287 pictures we took of the tower.

Turns out the boat was a non-stop deal, so we ended up having to ride it back around, then cab it back to our neighborhood, which resulted in us hunting for a restaurant at 11 pm. We finally found one, scarfed down dinner, and then headed to bed to rise early for one last sprint through Paris.

We started with breakfast at a little café, which was a perfect little French moment.

Fresh croissants, baguettes with butter, juice and jam. Ahh.

From there, we headed back over to the Notre Dame. But on the way, we encountered a very Parisian oddity — a pet market!

Furry chickens! Seriously, it looked like Peter the Cat, but with a beak!

Pretty Bird! Pretty Bird!

These French Bunnies were OMG cute. Totally cuter than American Bunnies.

David wouldn’t let me have a bunny. I cried all the way to the David St. Chappelle church, where I completely forgot my bunny heartbreak. I was awestruck. Check out David’s pictures…

Saint Dave Chapelle's Church

There was simply no topping that. So we boarded the train, checked in at the airport, and prepared to travel home. But first, we had to stop at the macaroon shop.

A rainbow of confection perfection.

The only thing better than these macaroons was that the macaroon purveyor was totally flirting with me — giving the eye and all that. After I greeted him and ordered my macaroons in haltingly pronounced French, he said, “You speak excellent French.”

I said a bashful thank you, collected my macaroons, and headed back to David to report the “incident.” (some would say brag). But after  one bite of a macaroon, his petite amount of jealousy evaporated. “Get back in there and get some more macaroons!”  I returned with two boxes for friends, and with free bonus macaroons — for my “perfect” French! Nothing like whoring yourself for dessert. 😉

Bags of delicate macaroons in tow, we boarded the plane. Instead of being operated by my darling Air France, Delta was in control, and no amount of free chardonnay could change that fact. But we managed to survive.

Even though our trip was awesome, it was great to come home, where I could feel free to “speak American” anywhere I wished. And I have — now I find myself striking up conversations with strangers …  just because I can!

So, the jet lag is gone, our bank accounts are being rebuilt, and we have begun to eat Italian food again. No trips for us for awhile. Although I did get an email from Delta the other day about discounted flights to … Australia! [I can see David’s eyes rolling]. At least they speak American there, baby!

Thanks for enduring my ramblings and sharing in our adventures. Hope to see everybody soon!

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