They had France under their belts, and had a taste towards the north. It was time to descend to the land of sunshine, coffee, churches, pizza and “teenage Mafia hit men high on cocaine”. Dawn, Mike and I flew south to Naples, one of the most colourful, exuberant cities in southern Italy.
My newest guests were oldest friends from sunny Edmonton, Alberta (Canada). I met Dawn back in Grade four at an inter-school violin recital when I took to whacking her on the head with my bow. Who would have thought that nearly twenty years later, she’d travel thousands of miles with her beau to vacation with Bow-Boy? The aforementioned beau is Mike. He’s good to be around.
What do you do when you’re weary of the easily accessible cathedrals and lack of cliffs in Paris? When you want to start your own Early-Canadian fan club? Or when you have a long weekend and crave butter? You visit Bretagne, of course!
Well, it’s springtime in Paris — the most beautiful season in the most beautiful city in the world. Or so they say.
Nancy and Jody (my second and third guests of the year) were arriving on Saturday morning at 7AM. I would have had to get up at a ridiculously early hour to meet them at the airport, so I gave them excellent directions to get to Denfert-Rochereau from Charles de Gaulle Terminal 1. I got to the métro station a bit later than I expected, but they weren’t there yet, so I waited and read my Dive Theory book (my exam is at the end of the month). I waited about an hour, and decided that since I didn’t have Nancy’s cell phone number, I should go home and wait for her to call me…
I spent ten glorious days in Paris and easily could have spent more. My list of things I still haven’t seen is constantly growing.
As a birthday gift to myself, I sent myself to Paris. I don’t think I could have picked a better way to start a new decade then by getting off the american continent and expanding my world a little further.
It’s cold it’s cold it’s cold. It’s frickin’ freezing France. I get back from balmy Canada where the most we have to worry about is a bit of hoarfrost (well, in the west, anyway) and Paris has had eight centimetres of snow. It hasn’t snowed in Paris for five years and all of a sudden it decides to welcome me back with a raging blizzard. Well, there was snow on the ground anyway.
Well, Happy New Years! Out with dusty old palindromic two-thou-two and welcome to kinky two-naughty-naught-three. A new year and a new Doomsday to remember (Friday, if you haven’t already calculated it). I’m now a year-old Parisian, bright and fresh and ready to face the baguettes. But for a special treat, I’m not going to talk about France, the French or Paris for my first travel log this year.
Saturday saw us come home from Amsterdam entirely unprepared to do anything. So that’s what we did.
GKarlsen
Holy Smokes!!!
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