When you have to catch an early train, it’s only natural that bar next door gets rented for some crazy hootenanny and the dj pumps music all night. What’s worse is the French love for disco and trying to sleep while they’re belting out showtunes or somesuch. That being said, waking up early enough to catch our train was aided by my excitement, a feeling reserved for trips, birthdays, Christmas and the the last day of school. I have become quite blasé about the latter three so I hope travelling never gets old. The ride to Caen is about two hours. Having not seen my S.O. basically at all during the week, the train ride went by all too fast, talking and joking the whole way, laughing so hard I had tears welling up and all my strength employed to avoid orangina shooting out my nose.


We are the Dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Arriving at the station, we managed to figure out how to buy bus tickets to Courseulles-sur-mer despite the language barrier and not being able to find the station door. We had some time to kill after so we walked around downtown Caen, ending up at a église st-jean, complete with crazy modern stained glass and courtyard with late-blooming poppies. Back on the bus, which was more like a coach, we had a nice lolling sojourn through the northern countryside. It’s not uncommon to pass a world war cemetery in almost every town, neatly kept with straight rows of brilliant white crosses. The town themselves are pretty small and the houses almost exclusively stone with terracotta or slate roofing. The towns maintain a quiet old-world charm and of course, there is the perpetual church steeple poking out at rapid intervals.


“here is the church, here is the steeple”

We slowly made our way into Courseulles-sur-mer, getting off at ‘Place de 6 juin’ the date, of course, of D-Day. The square is the very centre of town, where the pier, boardwalk, each access, carrousel and town monument meet. There is a croix de lorraine just across the quay to commemorate the return of Charles de Gaulle to France 14 June, 1944. We arrived at high tide, the brisk and salty sea air greeting us with pleasant acquaintance.


At the centre of the square is a Canadian Sherman tank, pulled from the frigid waters of ‘Juno’ beach some 25 years after it sank during the commencement of operation Overlord. It was of course cleaned and restored, now adorned with the insignia of the troops that fought and died here including the Royal Winnipeg Rifles, Regina Rifle Regiment, Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada, and North Shore (New Brunswick) Regiment. The tank itself is now enveloped in a pillow of flowers, often red and white organized into the Canadian flag. Also placed nearby is a German Kwk 39 anti-tank gun with obvious signs of battle damage, also restored.


For it’s early in the morning and I’m far, far away.

Making our way to the Juno beach centre, we waited for the swing bridge to let some sailboats in and we checked out the catch of the day, at the plethora of stalls erected right beside the fishing boats docked in the river. Arriving at the centre you can hear the waves crashing along the shore, the gentle breeze rustling the long grasses. The landscape has long since returned to tranquility, though the centre acts as a reminder to us the events of the war.


Juno Beach Centre

The tour begins with footage of the landing and an audio representation of that the soldiers would have heard preparing to land on the beach, the sound of the sea spraying over the boat, heavy artillery exploding and rumbling nearby.. the tour encourages you to also learn about Canada’s fragile military and economy predating the war to further appreciate the difficulty lying ahead.


The centre of the tour had a trove of information about the different ships, tanks, aircraft, formations, payload, propaganda, home front and war effort from a Canadian perspective. It was absolutely fascinating to discover the attack and defence strategies, and certain difficulties unique to north america such as trans-atlantic transportation of supplies and how to diminish u-boat damage. Also, that Canada went from having basically no air force to the 4th largest during wartimes. We also attended an emotional video giving an in depth detailing of the Juno beach events.


The final room was a relievingly lighthearted Canada factoids room for those not acquainted with our culture. There was a great amount of hockey gear and curling rocks, let me tell you. It was my great pleasure to encounter other Canadians accessing the tour. You can easily pick them out because if they want to get by you while you’re looking at something they linger first trying to wait for you to finish what you’re doing, then slip by you giving ample berth while saying “sorry”. There were also a lot of toques.


the shepherd will tend his sheep, the valley will bloom again

We also attended a tour of two recently excavated German bunkers. The first was built early in the occupation so it was not built as a defensive post but to aid in the organization of potential invasion of England to the north. The structure was built using French labourers and whatever materials they had on hand, some parts brick, some concrete, even railway ties for beams. It is speculated that the French tried to sabotage the building by placing the cinder blocks on their sides so the walls would have hollow pockets. The walls also had wood interlaced for hanging up maps and fixtures.We also visited a bunker built much later in the war, at a time when German occupation of France was shakier and they were preparing heavy defensive fortifications.


escape hatch

This bunker by contrast is solid cement, with two heavy metal doors that double as a gas proof chamber, a gun slit facing the only entrance and 365 degree parascope. Our guide told us that it was expected of soldiers to do 36 hour shifts in the bunker so there were also fold down beds and a small stove for comfort. The bunker walls are 3 metres solid concrete and the only emergency exit was a small tunnel filled in with sand, so if you were trapped at least you could start digging your way out. Apparently in allied training it was instilled that if you see a grate or opening into a building that you should throw in a grenade to clear the room before entering. Once the Germans caught on to this practice their bunkers, as this one did, had false grates installed that lobbed the grenade back out at the intruder. It was also equipped with a gun nest, each pointed on angles across to beach to create crossfire.


In 1944 the bunker was right on the water and locals can remember as children jumping off the parascope into the sea, but nowadays the beach has shifted greatly and there is now a barrier of sand in front of the bunkers so you have to use your imagination a bit to picture how the beach looked way back then. We finished our tour on the shore where we got to see the buoy indicating the shoreline at low tide, which is much farther out. Upon deployment, the entire beach was riddled with anti tank and anti personnel mines some 5 ft apart, blockades, razor wire creating what was dubbed a “devil’s garden”.


Just before deployment there was heavy bombardment to reduce the German numbers by an estimated 60% though in effect only reached 5-15 % depending on the area. Despite the odds, the fortifications on the beach were overcome and the troops moved inland to liberate Courseulles-sur-mer. The Canadian troops lost 356 men, 574 wounded and 47 taken prisoner, though the losses were lower than estimated from the devastation of its predecessor mission operation Jubilee in Dieppe. Despite the difficulties and objective failures Juno beach alongside Utah is considered to be the most strategically successful of the D-Day landings. Walking the sands where such a critical and painful battle was fought is truly a moving experience. The land is now so beautiful and the town so gentle and quiet it is hard to imagine what it was like, which is why I personally believe it’s important to keep listening to the stories and remember the sacrifices made.


We made our way around town to to our rented room. We decided to try out airbnb for the first time. We got a private room with key in an old converted garage with facilities shared with the homeowner. Our host was very nice and accommodating. I did my best to speak French and we understood most of what the other was trying to say. Airbnb is of course much less expensive than a hotel which suits us just fine. That being said any money we saved on the room we probably promptly spent at the most hit-or-miss restaurant I believe I’ve ever been to.


We decided since we were “on vacation” that weekend we would live a little, by which I mean order a drink with dinner. Big spenders! We both got the house cocktail which turned out to be cheap champagne spiked with curacao and a generous profit-margin of juice topped with a stale candy and sugar rim. It has got to be one of the worst drinks I’ve ever had. Next came the complimentary bread. It’s basically expected to get free bread with your meal here, and being France the bread is always fresh and delicious. So when I tell you that the bread was so stale that no pigeon would eat if you can see why we started to become suspicious of this place. Next came the complimentary appetisers brought out to us by the chef. Maybe the chef should spend more time cooking and less time schmoozing because the only thing the app was good for was a raised eyebrow and hearty laugh. I think they were supposed to be maki.. I think. Being by the sea didn’t help this dish any. I think it contained rice that was made three years ago that they found behind the radiator. Or it might have been tiny pebbles, I’m not sure. If you go to pick up your app and it crumbles into a pile of dust you know something is wrong.


However, next came the oysters. Thankfully all they had to do was open them for me to enjoy a wonderfully delicious treat fresh from the sea. SO had some kindof yummy bouillabaisse. It was stewier than most but he seemed to like it. Our main was some kind of tiny braised fish on a bed of lentils, which were quite yummy. The fish was decent. For dessert? Bread pudding. Now I’ll give them a break because it’s not a french dish. That being said, they’re only a stone’s throw from England and also bread pudding is easy, who can’t make that? They took a slice of old bread, presumably the same stuff they served before dinner and instead of soaking it in cream to make it soppy and delicious they kindof.. toasted it? Then drizzled cream on top? I’m not quite sure what was happening there but the tiny after dinner mints were good. Here’s a tip to enjoying a shitty restaurant : a) don’t read the bill too closely cause you’ll just get mad b) make fun of everything relentlessly.


croix de lorraine

Anyway, late in the day the tide was going out and the inlets had become rapids. We strolled along the now widened beach to tiptoe thru the seaweed and find cool shells. We wandered home and settled in for a good night’s sleep, lulled by the patter of rain that amazingly decided to be nice and hold off until we were tucked in.


Our host was still asleep when we left early, trying to get a leg up on our journey back to Paris. The bus took us on the reversed journey, this time the cities quieter and more cars at the church parking lots. Arriving at Caen we stopped first for pain au raisin before heading up to the Chateau de Caen. The Chateau is an 11th century fortification buit by William the Conqueror. It saw several engagements during the Hundred Year’s war, and the keep pulled down during the French revolution. It was also used as a barracks during WWII and was heavily bombed at that time. It is one of the largest castles in western Europe.




It now houses two museums and a church, and you can see the ruins of other structures such as the keep, William’s residence, ramparts and curtain walls, and the two fortified doors. There is still ongoing work to excavate the bottom of the walls and more ruins are still being uncovered. The walls are incredibly high and you can peer thru the bow slits into what would have been a moat, though these days just grass. The stone stairs heading up the ramparts and towers are so worn from literally a century of use they are very curved.


super neat.

It’s a huge area which was great fun to explore. The art gallery at the top houses a nice collection from many eras in French history, which matches beautifully with the lineage of the castle. Afterwards, we strolled around town, the majority of stores being closed but lounging in parks and cafés is not a bad way to spend your afternoon. We finished off the day at a nice restaurant in an old area of town on rue du vaugueux ie) beggars row.


It’s a small and narrow pedestrian street with old shifting houses, once known for squalor and crime. It also once housed a bar owned by Edith Piaf’s grandparents, and the woman who murdered Marat. It now houses a number of nice restaurants while maintaining the enclosed medieval structures. We had some nice wine, confit du canard, terrine de poissons, croustillants de chèvre chaud and ile flottante which is a whipped meringue cake soaked in thin caramel sauce. I really need to learn to make this back home! Before having to catch our train back we made sure to watch the sun set behind the glimmering houses from the parapet.



la nourriture

When I told my folks back home that I was going to Paris, a good number of people mentioned the food and how good it was going to be. They aren’t wrong.. I have, of course, been eating a lot of good food. Not to sound like a prick but, its all made by my SO and I. We have gone to a few places to eat but frankly the food is so astronomically expensive here I’m afraid to go out. It’s very common for an average dinner to cost € 30 ($ 45 CAD) per plate and I’m really can’t afford it, nor do I think it’s worth it. Back home I would spend less than $20 on dinner, more if it was a special occasion or something, but I definitely wouldn’t spend forty-five, let alone every day.


I can count the times we’ve gone out for dinner in the month we’ve been here on one hand : because it’s three. Twice we went out with folks from IHP because its a good social thing to do. And the food was alright, but imho nothing to shake a stick at. Also, being frugal students we tried to find more affordable but decent places, such as Kunitoraya. The third time we went out was yesterday. Yes, it took us a month to go out to dinner on our own. We of course googled the shit out of Paris cheap eats and settled on Gladines, a chain restaurant. The restaurant was divey in appearance but they had some affordable options (€ 14.50 for confit de canard). We chose the location on St. Germain which is in the 5th near the Seine where they had plenty of English menus, being in a touristy spot. The restaurant was definitely set up for quick turnover, the meals pre-made on individual cast iron skillets to be heated on ordering. It’s a good setup in that people don’t have to wait long for food and the menu consists of meals that by nature are better when reheated (read: duck confit), but I just can’t seem to be able to justify the experience against the price. Yikes, I sound really ornery right now.


We usually eat around the same time we would back home, say seven or eight pm. The French however eat much later like nine or even ten, or dix-huit ou dix-neuf if you run on a twenty-four hour clock like they do here. Needless to say by the time we finished our meal we could hardly find room to shuffle to the bar to pay. Maybe the magic of “going out” gets ruined when you have worked at a cafe, bar or restaurant (or all three if you’re me). But I know that the people there want you to eat your meal, enjoy it, then get the fuck out. Also, leave them a good review on Google + or Yelp. And the food tastes like it.


One of the glorious things about food in France are the plethora of high quality ingredients available conveniently. It seems you can’t walk ten feet without running in to a boulangerie, stuffed with handmade breads and delightful pastries and desserts, or a produce market overflowing with the freshest and most appetizing fruits and veg, or pêcherie containing more varieties of fish than I’ve seen in my life. In fact our most frequented place is la Baguettes des Pyrénées, only 50 m from our house.


the typical lineup at la Baguette des Pyrénées


the typical lineup at la Baguette des Pyrénées

They have the best baguettes we’ve found so far in addition to many tasty treats like pain au chocolat (croissants stuffed with dark chocolate) or tarte normande (giant apple and custard tarts). There are also quite a number of street-side food stops à emporter (to go) selling equally delicious croques, or tartines, all of which are always drizzled in toasted melty goodness. Trust me, the French don’t skimp on anything. There is no such thing as “low fat” or “low-cal” here, everything is made with the best and tastiest ingredients because there is no other way. The French balance this out by living an active lifestyle and never snacking – eating a meal is a very serious thing here.


Also, when the French faisons du lèche-vitrine, they are usually drawn to storefronts to admire things like swanky clothes or nice shoes.. but we definitely bee-lined it for an amazing demo kitchen on our way to Orsay, standing slack jawed in the street, basking in its shiny marble glory. Sigh. Nous aimons cuisiner!


Most recently we went to the open air market at Place des Fêtes, open Tuesdays (mardi) Fridays (vendredi) and Sundays (dimanche) just up the street from us. It’s a meandering maze of market stands zig-zagging through the square. In fact, if you don’t know what you want to make for dinner, it’s a little overwhelming. Something special always manages to catch our eye, though, be it fresh beans or giant artichokes. Back home, I make an effort to buy fresh food, I try to go to local markets and get good stuff straight from the source. But frankly some of the food stands make any market back home look like a pile of crap, and I hail from an agricultural stronghold. Perhaps it’s the population density here allowing for high turnover of goods, but I think this is something I’ll be sad to leave when I go.

featured in purlou

la Canadienne étrange

My SO has returned from Marseille finally, so my schedule has changed back from sleeping in late and sitting around in brasseries drinking bière and musing about artistic and historical conservation. Instead we caught up on life and looked at pictures of beautiful Marseille. It’s really gorgeous in the mountain and coastline regions and I was able to view many nice landscapes courtesy of my SO who trekked for hours to the tip top to capture them.


holy foothills, batman!

Yesterday we also received another IHP student who needed a place for a night until he could get the keys to his apartment in Paris. Our apartment may not be the biggest but there’s always room for friends. So being his first day in Paris we just went out and walked about in the downtown, mostly around Île de la Cité where we were treated to ice cream and milled around watching the huge lineup to get into the Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris (it extended out of the building and around the square). We walked around the courtyards and surrounding gardens and found a bench not completely covered in bird shit to sit a while and chat.


ding dong

After a bit we departed to meet some more friends for dinner. Outside of the Notre Dame there was a superb statue street performer, who when you give some euros breaks his act and invites you over for a picture.


“…la fille français is not amused by your antics”

We previously arranged to meet our friends for dinner, and agreed to meet at a métro stop. Now, in Canada there are usually one or two entrances to a subway station, but here there are lots. Usually around 5 or 6. So if you agree to meet your friends at the métro stop, they could basically be anywhere the a two block radius. Regardless once we located each other we headed off for dinner and ended up at a very busy Japanese restaurant. SO and I ordered Udon, and our friends had rice bowls. Super yummy! And somewhat reasonably priced, which is a difficult thing to find in Paris. Usually if you are just walking around a lot of the restaurants are usually € 30 for a two or three course dinner. In order for me to spend $45 CAD on a meal, it would have to be a really special occasion. So I’m not really accustomed to spending this much on dinner.. but SO and I managed to get our two Udon for € 33, not bad! We meandered a while after dinner, got some espresso and chilled and chatted, very nice. Afterwards headed home for some much needed rest.


Île de la Cité

Today our friend left and we went out for a long walk, after the obligatory croissant and espresso of course. We headed down to the 20th and went to the Cimetière Père Lachaise and wandered through the tombs and had some interesting discussions on burials, last wishes, grieving and memorials. I know I have some strange and unusual opinions on such things. It’s definitely nice to have a SO who is equally weird. It’s not fun to have someone to balance you out, it’s better to match, imho. We discussed the importance (or actually lack thereof) of having a dedicated, visitable “plot” or tomb and instead entertained notions of rock climbing walls and water slides. Why not? We are generally in agreement that once we’re dead we’re not going to know what our final resting place will consist of, so what is going to matter is your legacy. Who doesn’t want a water slide legacy? Just sayin’.


retour à la nature

We also determined it would be good to donate yourself to scientific research. That’s a pretty good legacy, too. Unless you just get chopped up by some first year who later drops out to join the circus. That must tarnish it a bit. My favourite plots were those reclaimed by age; ancient rock broken and crumbling, covered in tree branches and ivy, and even the big stones laid down return back to the earth and enshrouded in the embrace of nature. I like that.



We endeavoured to go visit Fourier and Laplace and other stupidly famous mathematicians, but unfortunately they didn’t make the list of notable figures on the big map. C’est dommage! Of course if you follow the hordes of gum chewing swaggering half drunk weirdos up the winding hill and through the tombs desecrated by graffiti and scrawled names towards the sound of music playing out of some tiny dollar-store speaker, towards the smell of rotting heaps of flowers and cigarettes you will find Jim Morrison’s grave. It’s pretty disgusting. As much as I am a fan, and by fan I mean totally-obsessed-owning-every-possible-LP-and-book-and-poem-totally-encyclopedic-knowledge-filled-wide-eyed-super-fan, the disgusting decorum of these fans is sad.



I don’t mind so much milling around smoking hash and drinking wine sadly humming Doors songs and thinking about this person you admire so much, it’s more the people who desperately want to take some kind of ownership of the space and endeavour to make their mark, whether its carving their name in some poor neighbor’s tomb, sticking their gum (and I mean thousands of bits of chewed gum) in some nearby ash tree, coating the bannisters that are in place to keep the rabble out in layers of meaningless stickers or leaving condoms, wine corks, cigarette butts and otherwise trash around the site or pinning it up somewhere so it doesn’t get swept away? How reprehensible is your demeanour that you think spewing your trash allover a cemetery is admirable? Not that Jim Morrison promoted proper behaviour, but standing up for things that are important to you and you feel need to be said, and sticking your refuse in somebody’s gravestone are two different things.


“Victimes des révolutions”

Just outside the cimetière is the Square Samuel-de-Champlain which is a lovely hilly garden that houses the Victimes des révolutions, by Paul Moreau-Vauthier. This bas-relief sculpture is often mistakenly called the mur fédérés but is actually a tribute to the victims on both sides of the revolutions. It is meant to be a general monument, with ghostly anguished faces lightly carved into the wall, with the figure of a woman standing in front. The stones of the wall, however, are the actual stones from the wall where one hundred and forty seven “fédérés” (combatants of the Paris Commune, France’s oldest labour movement and socialist government that briefly ruled Paris after the Franco-Prussian war), were lined up and shot and thrown in a trench at the foot of the wall. Père Lachaise was the last remaining stronghold of the uprising, with a long and difficult battle fought in between the tombs and through the night, which ultimately ended in the horrible demise of those remaining few that surrendered, who joined the thousands before them that died in the gallows and on the streets of Paris. The anguish on the ghostly faces lightly carved into the wall fill your heart with dread and despair, contrasted with the goddess whose splayed body both enacts the execution and stands in front of the victims with arms extended as if to protect them. The bullet holes lodged in the stones speaks haunting tales to any viewer who beholds it, and while it isn’t specifically for the fédérés, they are a few of the hundreds of thousands of souls lost in the historical, political turmoil of France.



After a long and meandering walk through the cimetière we stopped into a nice restaurant for three-course lunch. I had caprese salad, chicken in mushroom creme sauce and crème caramel and a café au lait for dessert. SO had les œufs au mayonnaise, roasted pork with cauliflower casserole and chocolate mousse for dessert. Damn, french cuisine is so good. Afterwards, we found (much to my delight) a very mishmash and very thrifty street antiques sale. There were many boxes laid out to dig through the piles of old dishes, shaving kits, broken watches, figurines, old photos, violins, coffee grinders and anything-and-everything wrought iron. There were also occasional stands selling artisinal meats, cheese and crêpes. You seem to find the strangest places to spend money on a Sunday when all the regular stores are closed. We then headed back to the 19th, started dinner cooking and caught up on some work for the week as we waited. On Sundays, I sometimes find a modest sized chicken and cook it up for my SO and I, and am reminded of Henry IV of France who stated “I want there to be no peasant in my realm so poor that he will not have a chicken in his pot every Sunday.” I often think of this quote when we sit down to our humble and yet delectably wholesome meal. Granted, I usually substitute a pot for an oven.. or these days.. toaster oven.


another Marseille picture, because it’s fucking gorgeous, that’s why.

les étranger souriant

We spent a quiet and short morning together until SO had to catch the train to Marseille. I offered to go to the train station with him to stand on the platform and wave my kerchief at the train as it leaves the station, dramatically. My offer was not accepted. Which is good because I was totally bluffing about riding my bike down there today.


leaving the house.. why?

Dimanche dans Paris is quiet and slow. Most stores are closed today to allow people the freedom to have a “day of rest” and spend time at home with family. That being said, there are still a number of areas in town which do not comply and are open for a shopping experience extraordinaire! One of these areas is the Marché aux Puces / Saint-ouen, and is said to be Europe’s largest open air antiques and flea market, with over 2500 stalls in different themed marchés, block after block of impromptu flea market stalls along the sidewalk, as well as a large number of people hawking “legal” goods, etc.


When I ride the métro I’ve taken to writing down a small cheat sheet of directions and station-stops, which is invaluable. I don’t really like standing in front of maps and tourist info things because it makes me look like a target, especially traveling around by myself. This way I can just put on my shades and walk around like I know what I’m doing, and not many people bother me.


hey, I don’t feel like talking to you now, I am an artist 1

If you’re ever looking for the Marché aux Puces and you’re a bit lost, just look for the hordes of people. Seriously it’s so hard to navigate except for to merge with the stream and let yourself flow along, listening to the variety of languages with french accents or the inverse, checking out table after table of knock off shoes, football jerseys and purses, as we push past the occasional blockage of stationary people waiting at some window for a falafel. After some time I departed the crowds in favour of the less traveled marché of antiquities, spending my time perusing the usual bricabrac; crates of old doorknobs, wooden frames, postcards, lead type, china tea cups, glass vases, leather bags, wooden side tables and mirrors, as well as some unusual things, like doll heads, apothecary jars and unused wine labels.


I think I might have interrupted the guy in the top corner’s phone call..

I also found a stall that specializes in antique keychains. If it sounds specific, it is. Everything from miniature wine bottles, ads for shops of days past, tiny cars, tiny shoes, tiny folding knives, tiny ice skates, tiny anchors and tiny dogs. I opted for the tiny shoes. I mean, do you know me?
I spent a long time browsing, and I only saw a small portion of the place.. but this is good because it means I can come back and see new things all the time. And also pick up those items I regret not purchasing!


I managed to find a small asian grocery that was open near my flat and picked up a few things for dinner. Now, leeks slow braised in garlic and white wine sauce, a simple emmental frittata, short grain rice in a creamy mushroom and beef broth, fresh pinto bean salad. I probably made enough food for 4 people, but that’s what I do. Whatever, leftovers are good. And I bet you couldn’t find that meal at a restaurant for the 4.50 euros I paid for it. Also turns out I’m a good enough cook to pull it off with a hotplate. Bam! Ok, enough gloating. Bon appetit!

1 http://youtu.be/MK0ITXBWpHE

talons hauts

The weather was much more amicable today ; blue skies, gentle breeze, warm afternoon sun. But when there’s nice weather, there’s skirts. Fashionable ones. And where there’s skirts, theres high heels. Fashionable ones. So despite the fact that my feet are still in a considerable amount of discomfort, I donned my pretty shoes for fashion’s sake and strolled along the boulevard in search of un croque-monsieur, la tarte au coco, et des fraises fraîches.


la tarte au coco, et des fraises fraîches

We walked over to the parc des buttes chaumont to eat our lunch and watch the kids run by kicking soccer balls. It’s really nice to have the flexibility to spend some days just relaxing and enjoying the simple things! The strawberries were a little on the expensive side but I couldn’t resist. They were really small and red, which back home means they’re sweet and full of flavour! The same is true here, although the flavour is a touch different. After our nice jaunt in the park we headed back home to lounge around and read. Not very interesting, but very fulfilling. Someone was playing opera music somewhere nearby, and it was nice to listen to it echoing thru the block, mixing with the friendly chatter of my neighbours and the warm buzzing of daily life in Paris.



For dinner, another homemade meal! But turns out whole chicken takes much longer to cook in a toaster oven than it does in a big stove, as I should have realized sooner.. so while we waited around for le poulet, more wine and cheese and bread! And Star Trek Voyager! Lots of new things, with a little touch of home 🙂