Oh Paris. With your endless cafes and superior baguettes and love of ham on everything. Your military berets and chain smoking and restaurant maitre d’s whose ears are offended by my broken French. I couldn’t tire of your snaking Seine through the city crisscrossed by no less than a million bridges, your calorie-laden quiches and punk rock hotties carrying “man purses.” I am a slave to the Mediterranean je ne sais quoi of your people- even your stray dogs shoot arrogant glances around as they drop la maird ten paces from mes oeufs simples. I am smitten with your dirty, smelly chaotic streets of charm and sex appeal. If loving you is mal, I don’t want to be juste.
Eurostar: St. Pancras to Gare du Nord
A perfect lunch
Is he the groom, or just a pervy photog?
Solo pic attempts at the Louvre
Boule is taken so seriously, there are outdoor closets for the players
Statue of Liberty?
Tour d’Eiffel from Jardin de Luxembourg
Chez Paul in the Bastille neighborhood
Cafe de Flore en St. Germain
Sacré-Cœur and the views from Montmartre
Seine boat cruise
No such thing as too many Eiffel Tower pictures