Day 10 of 30: Asian & Frenchie's only need apply.

So I’ve been sparing you all the ridiculous frenchie male experiences.  I dare not mock the brave. It must be on the list for bad karmic revenge. But I can’t help it any longer. These last few have been note worthy. I don’t mean this to gloat. I don’t feel any more special than the rest…but it’s been part of the experience and that is what I aim to bring to you. 

Yesterday’s #3: Walking home and a young guy is walking in a group of 3. He’s on the far right coming up in the opposite direction. Just as he get’s within arms reach he steps right in front of me and reaches out both arms in bear hug position. Manages to wrap his arms around me and tries to plant one on my cheek as I duck and dive. I keep walking and he stands still begging God only knows what in French. 

Today’s #1: Walking…I hear a man yelling as he runs up behind me “Mademoiselle...Mademoiselle” me in English “Sorry, I don’t speak French”. Him, “Ooooo wonderful you are American. I don’t like American woman. They are too big, only Asian and French. But you, you are big in only the right places (as he waves both hands in front of his chest). You know. I hope I’ve not offended you.”

Today’s #3: Walking…always walking, a young man is all of a sudden walking next to me, out of breath. He says something in French. Me, again “Sorry, I don’t speak French”. Him, “I speak English. I just want you to know that I was with my friends and I saw you and you took my breath away and so I left them.”

While I don’t condon the first two approaches, I do think they all deserve some credit for going for it. Most of the 2 plus a day’s have been some tamer variation of #3. This “Holla’ at a sister” thing must work out sometimes and at least they know they gave it a shot. That’s admirable. At first it freaked me out and I was certain they were all crazed stalker rapist. But no…they are just regular people not afraid to put themselves out there. In America, it’s been my experience that men are so afraid of rejection that a woman has to pretty much shoot a flare gun for them to get the point that it’s okay to approach. Either that or just a cocky contrived pick up line. Que Sera, Sera. 

 Now to the meat of it. I took a trip to China Town today or shall I say Vietnam town. I’ve never seen more Vietnamese restaurants ever. Blocks and Blocks and block with occasional Chinese and Asian blend spots. It was a marvel to my eye’s and nose. I have a moderate to dangerous Pho obsession (Vietnamese staple food pronounced Pha like Fa-la-la-la-la). I love it so much that even the sight of the word makes my mouth water on command like Pavlov’s dog. I decided that it makes me feel so good that I took a pictures of each one for the first 3 blocks. A Pho Photography montage, if you will. Yes. I am a bit crazy but that’s why you love me. 

  I found the first one without a single non-Vietnamese person inside and proceeded to enjoy an absolutely fantastic meal. Kat- I wish you were here with me. I nearly shed a tear. Most of the dishes are comprised of Vermicelli rice noodles which are usually just a vessel for the rest of the yumminess. But these noodles where flavorful, like freshly cooked rice without the sweetness. Perfection. I then walked 3 miles back to feel better about the indulgence. 

From there to finish of the last and final wing of Le Louvre. Toured Napoleon’s apartment and saw his grand but extra short bed that he had especially made. Hilarious! And the last of the Crown Jewels. Closed the place down and took home the cozy tingles of absolute accomplishment.

Day 9 of 30: Vixen tales and cheese dreams.

Today was my fancy shmancy afternoon on the town. I first hit up Palais Garnier, Paris’s Opera house since 1875. One hundred and thirty-six years old and looking as classy as ever. The building is tremendously elaborate inside and out. The ballrooms were classic and surreal...gold platted and beautifly carved and painted tip to toe. My photo’s just don’t do it justice. I walked all the way there in 4 inch wedges and I must say not a single ache in the tootsies. That’s 2 miles there and back, ladies and gents.  This just goes to prove that sooner or later comfort does become beauty. Flats are for looser! You can quote me on that. I’m not ashamed. 

From there to the Rodeo Drive of Paris. Carolina Herrera, Dior, Bvlgari, Cartier…all within walking distance of the Ritz and all of the other terribly expensive hotels. FYI – a 300 square foot standard room at the Ritz Paris will run you $1300.00 per night…ummm tax and tip not included. Yup, I looked it up. I think when you are paying that much they should rub your head until you fall asleep and read you bed time stories. Just saying.

After a picnic in the park, I head to my casita linda for a nappy poo. I rest up for bit and then head to Eleanor and Xavier’s. They invited me over to their home for dinner and drinks. Eleanor made a phenomenal Thai Chicken Curry …my first home cooked meal in over a week. Having grown up in the West Indies, she knows just the right amount of spice to make one smile ear to ear from gastronomic delight. 

Xavier DJ’s some fantastic tunes all night…most of which I’ve never heard of and all of which I’m happy to know of now. The most interesting of the bunch Serge Gainsbourg; considered one of the world’s most influential singers (wikipedia says so anyways) who also happened to have a two week fling with Bridgette Bardot while she was married. He wrote some creepy songs dedicated to her and he was said to have never gotten over it. Totally let himself fall to shit and eventually road his life so hard with drinks and smokes that he died.  Note to the wise…don’t date crazy hot vixens unless you are prepared to pay the ultimate sacrifies, lonely alchy death. 

 From there to the cheese course. I thought this was an urban myth but no sir! This is for real! Viva la France!! They eat cheese and bread every day after dinner. Ummm…yes please. The bread was phenomenal, firm and fluffy all at the same time. They explain that I can get the same at a decent bakery by asking for a “Tradi” aka a traditional. Apparently there are rules and standards for the recipe’s to be considered this type of baguette. They have most definitely perfected it. I’ve never had such amazing bread, truthfully! 

The cheese was Brie but not like the bland nothingness I’ve had before…this was flavorful and creamy. O man! I hope for their own sake, they stay away from the cheese section at Publix. I’m sure there are better boutique shops around town but the prices are surely astronomical. This no less than 2 pound piece of yumminess was only $13.00 at their local grocery store. Not a fancy one. Just an every corner grocer; their version of Publix. 

Three bottles of fabulous wine later and we finish of the meal with a fruit salad of mango, pineapple, kiwi and banana. Delicious! A wonderful evening with wonderful people.

Satisfied from the inside out. 

Day 8 of 30: If that wine was a man.

Today was my first real homesick day. I miss ENGLISH, washing machines, pollo empanizado, Katarina and warm sunny days. And so I partook in the most optimistic day yet.

 First stop Jardin de Luxembourg. What was most fascinating was that this felt like an everyday residential park. It was the first time that I had seen a slew of locals; playing with their children, jogging, resting up and reading. Paris is the most visited city in the world and summertime is prime time. That makes it hard to find a group of locals. Even more astonishing was how absolutely gorgeous it was and how it just seemed so normal to them. I felt silly taking pics. This is the type of beauty the Parisian’s are not phased by. Lucky bastards! The gardens were colorful and seemingly wild yet obviously not with fountains and sculptures everywhere.  

From there to the Ile St. Louis a small island in the middle of the Seine. No metro stations or bus stops here all residential 16^th and 18^th Century Mansions. Most definitely for the ubber rich and probably famous…Voltaire once lived here. Not a show stopper but it was on the way home. 

Place Des Vosges the city’s oldest square and also where Louis XIII and Anne of Austria had their wedding ho-down. Totally uniform red brick buildings with art galleries and café’s all around. Not the most exciting place I’ve ever step foot but definitely worth a looksie since it’s like nothing like the rest of Paris. 

Eleanor & Xavier, cordially invited me out to dinner in Montmartre. I had the yummiest quiche ever and delicious red wine, Chinon. I’d never had it before and it was perfect. Very simple, tasty but unobtrusive and perfect with everyday food. Like the classiest table wine around. If Chinon was embodied as a man he would be the most situationally appropriate plus one EVER! If you find him...send him my way.

 Then an after dinner walk to the Sacre Coeur. Remember the big church that looked a bit like the Taj Mahal…well apparently in the evening all of the local hoodlum kids come by to blare their rap music and throw beer cans. They must have come all night and piss where ever they land because the entire place reeked of urine. We got out of there with a quickness. 

Off to the Plaza du Tertre, a tourist dream land with music and tons of artists ready to paint your portrait. There are more tourist per square inch here than anywhere else in Paris. Seemed a bit staged for my taste but the history is there…Picasso used to live here. 

Past the one week landmark and I'm fully intact. I’ve never gone this long without a longtime friend or boyfriend by my side. It’s rewarding and terrifying all at the same time. Alone in the most romantic place on earth. Lol…Only I would dream up such a thing. 

Love you and miss you all…xoxo 

Night…Night…

Day 7 of 30: Best 10 bucks I've ever spent.

I’d like to preface this by saying that I am no crazy art fanatic. What happened this morning at Musee D’Orsay made me wonder how anyone who’d been here wouldn’t be. 

 Today I lost my breath at the site of a Monet. Like literally lost my breath to Nympheus Blues (aka Water lilies) . I don’t even really like it that much. I’m not sure what it was exactly. I just felt overwhelmed at the thought that I had seen this very piece reproduced dozens of times before and I could literally reach out and touch it. Mugs, bed bath and beyod, aprons, door mats....Sounds silly, I know.

 From there to the Degas. There is only one thing that got me through Art History and it was him. There is something about his ballerina’s that makes me feel soft and oddly sensitive. His bronze statues in the flesh are not what I Imagined. They are like the plastered paint on the impressionist canvas, thick and seemingly slathered on in chunks. Somehow they still remain delicate and feminine. 

A slew of Van Goghs. It’s no wonder he is so adored. The colors are so vivid and while the mood may be somber in most, he makes you feel good either way. I was sad to see only a single Klimt, I had hoped it would one of the beautiful woman with vibrant gold tones but I searched and searched at no avail. 

 Renoirs most famous piece was at center stage today, Dance at Le moulin de la Galette. I had seen it in books before and it never did much for me, just too busy. In the flesh it was large and vibrant and mesmerizing. It’s Renoir’s real life snapshot of a courtyard in Montmartre. Having just been there yesterday, I felt much more connected than flipping a page in a textbook. 

There was one piece of an artist I’d never heard of before. It was my favorite of the day. Portrait of Mademoiselle Carlier by Lucien Levy-dhurmer. I stared in a daze for a long while trying to understand her expression and hoping that I am capable of the same one. It doesn’t look like much in a photo because the truly impressive part was how bright it was. It literally glowed. 

I could go on and on about my day at Musee D’Orsay but truth be told there are no words. You have to go.  There are no fancy ropes separating you from the pieces and they are all one’s you will recognize. The largest collection of socially recognizable art I’ve ever seen by a long shot. They are the best of the best for a reason and the best $10 I’ve ever spent.

PS- I promise not to make the next post so sappy...but when sappy comes, sappy is what I've got :)

Day 6 of 30: The secret behind the skinny Frenchies revealed! Aha!

Another bright and early day! I’m getting good at this earlier riser thing. Unfortunately today it didn’t pay off as planned. I tried to make it out to the Musée National d'Art Moderne at the Centre Georges Pompidou but no such luck. It doesn’t open until noon and since I have to start working at 1:30pm, I missed out. So I made my way to Le Defence. The last stop on the one line, a 35 minute metro trek. My friend Angel advised me that it would be well worth the journey.

It was nothing like anything I’ve seen so far. Immediately exiting the metro, I surmised that it was an entirely different breed of people. All business people in snazzy suits. The entire area was full of marvelous modern buildings with amazing architectural design. Just as promised. The main building of the center aligns perfectly with the Arc de Triumph. One of the buildings CNIT, if I remember correctly, housed a beautifully designed mall. An extra awesome dome lite tramway lead back to the metro. It alternated colors. A sight most definitely worth seeing. 

Having a bit of time left and equipped with my handy Louvre speed pass, I was able to get right in. Today the museum was slam packed. Crazy that it would be busier today than on Sunday. I spent the entire time enjoying 2 stories of Greek and Egyptian art and sculptures. My cousin Gianni inspired the journey.  The star today was the Venus de Milo. The crowds formed for her just as big as the Mona Lisa. I was glad to see that Mona wasn’t the only broad getting all the credit. 

At lunch time I head to the mecca of groceries, Monoprix. It was like a Macy’s, Whole foods and CVS all in one. Like the fanciest Target you’ve ever seen. It was here that I realized exactly why the French are soooo skinny. Food is wicked expensive!! 2 oranges…$3, 1/2 lb of turkey…$7….all the meat came in containers no larger than 1 lb and all at top dollar. About the only thing that is inexpensive is cheese, bread and wine, hence my latest diet. Pretty much there are no overweight people because in order to be you would have to be rich! 

There are no gyms because in order to intake enough food to run a mile you’d have to take a second mortgage and we all know they aren’t give any of those out these days. I also here that getting your license costs $2,000 and that’s assuming that you have enough money to park it. No one has parking. So pretty much they walk everywhere, hardly eat and smoke cigs. That’ll get you svelte in a minute. Not to mention the fact that only the ritzy buildings have elevators which will also keep you from loading up at the grocer and keep your buns in line. Skinny is in for sure in. Most of the people on television seem to be a meal away from an IV. I’m not complaining…we all want to be slender and the Frenchie’s have figured out exactly how.

In case you all are wondering, I am in fact here, since I have not snapped a single photo of myself. I’ve had a couple complaints. Truth is, I hate to ask strangers to take my picture and I have a person problem with the arm out self portrait. And so….here is my proof of life photo. More live action pics to come, promise.

Sweet Dreams  :)

Day 5 of 30: Marriage Proposal...Check! Gelato...Check!

Finally over the jet lag!! I woke at 8 am sharp to head to Montmarte. The trip was recommended by no less than a dozen people. It took me two metros to get there. Other than the name I had no clue what I was going for or what I would find. I was told the Amelie was filmed here but I didn’t recognize a thing. Wikipedia says this was where Dali, Monet, Picasso and Van Gogh. had their studio’s, which makes it plenty good enough for me. Right of the metro I was greeted by a band of three playing base and guitar. I’m so amused by all the music randomly encountered in this town. 

The cobblestone streets of Montmarte wind entirely off a grid which makes it a maze for the unfamiliar and those like myself with a linear affinity. After a good 10 minutes in the street with my handy map and clueless face, I find my way to the Basilica of the Sacré Cœur. It’s gorgeous upon sight but the endless stairs make my feet terrified. The foot of the hill is lined with men selling friendship bracelets. They are merciless grabbing at tourists left and right. Twice they grab my arm and twice I shrug them off. One gets so pissed at me he yells “You ugly American!” I chuckle and keep on.

Upon reaching the top, a harpist and a view of the entire city. The city seems  so much larger than I had imagined but not looking so gorgeous on this hazy morning. The exterior and the location of the Basilica are very impressive but the inside of the church is nothing that any neighborhood church in Spain can’t compete with. Having just been there, I can’t honestly imagine a more beautiful church than those to be seen on every corner. 

Back home to sample what promises to be the best falafel in town, Yelp attested. Did I mention they have YELP here!! I’m a yelpette to the core! L’As du Fallafel.  I wait in line for 30 minutes for this jem. It absolutely delivered. Fresh, moist falafels and a spicy sauce to die for. Of course, I came home to give my input, the 116^th to do so. 

Once work is finished I head straight out the door to see the Eiffel Tower light show, every hour on the hour in the evening. I follow the south bank of the Seine for 45 minutes until I realize that I’m no more than half way there. I give up and turn back since it’s getting late. Oooo well, another day. On the way back I find myself once again in the Latin Quarter. I drown my sorrows in an Ecuadorian chocolate and Hazelnut Gelato craft fully shaped into flower petals. (FYI- Hazelnut is called Nocciola)

Right back to my casita to rest up for another adventure tomorrow but not before a friendly French man proposes marriage. Lol…He walks with me for about a quarter mile telling me how he’s madly in love. He then get’s down on one knee over the Seine, promising eternal fidelity and admiration. Just as a crowd starts to form, I thank him for the flattery and tell him that I'm already married. He sighs and walks away defeated.

Terribly interesting ending to another impromptu day.

Day 4 of 30: Pinch me!

I have to get this off my chest…NO PANDORA!!! Apparently…”We are deeply, deeply sorry to say that due to licensing constraints, we can no longer allow access to Pandora for listeners located outside of the U.S.” Which lead me to check my Netflix account and…“Unfortunately your account is restricted to streaming only within the 50 United States and its territories.” I was crushed. No Netflix or Pandora for 30 days, now that may leave a scar. I’m left to console myself with yet another stroll in Paris. 

Being Monday, I had to take the most of my lunch break…6pm my time, noon Miami. And Boy did I!! It was a short 10 minute walk across the Seine to Notre Dame. I won’t fib, I had the hunchback on my mind since conception of the trek…it made me feel like I was about to discover the secrets of a fairytale. Gargoyles and all it most definitely succeeded. I’ve seen Gothic but nothing like this.  It’s a good thing I had not planned on having time to hang out because the lines were outrages . 

The best part was not in fact in the front but in the gorgeous back end of the building where there was a small park with street performers to boot. I’ll have to make my way back to make the line…there must be wonders inside.

From there I head back to my hood to wonder about the streets until it’s time to go home. No expectations here. Just a couple blocks in and I discover a terribly interesting building. A modern art museum...Centre d'Art Contemporain Georges Pompidou. On the back end it is completely different. With tubular exterior walkways ( for those of you not prive...check out my photo feed!)

All around the museum courtyard are people just hanging out and enjoying yet more street performers and the coolest water fountains I’ve ever seen, skull heads and all. There is a man in the park singing alone to his guitar Tom Petty’s Heartbreaker….Uhhhh!! I love that song. I can’t help but think that everything is exactly as it should be.

I finish up work and head right to the Latin Quarter. Narrow, cobblestone streets slammed packed with people. Every nationality! Italian, Greek, Vietnamese, Thai, Tibetan, Tunisian…I could go on and on….all these restaurants side by side. You know how you see a list of food categories and you wonder where the hell is there a Himalayan restaurant in your neighborhood?!? Well, every one of those exists and they exist here. It’s a true melting pot where everyone maintains their identity. The only real thing melding is the smells and they are playing perfectly. I could be here all night just sniffing. I wonder about, winding road after winding road. So much youth and so much life. It’s wonderful! I’ve not left and I want to be back already! On the way home, there is a string quartet playing in the plaza. Is this even real?!?

Day 3 of 30: Royale Deluxe. Check!

Made my way all the way to the Eiffel tower and it was worth every bit of the trek. I do love it much better in the day. No need for fancy strobes and lights for me. It’s industrial but still so sexy. It’s curves and bends make it as sensual as the city. Tourists stare in awe, grins ear to ear. Undeniably a bucket list for most. They stand in lines for hours to make their way to the top. I sit and stare for a good while…mainly to rest my aching dogs, 3 miles and they were a bit pissed at me. There is no stopping now. Off to the Champs Elysees. 

The streets are a roar as it seems as if the entire world has arrived to get a glimpse of the Tour de France finale. From end to end the Champs Elysees is lined with onlookers. Parade’s go on seemingly for hours. The street food does not entice me one bit and so the sight of the good old golden arches calls. Those of you that know me well understand this is not my repertoire but something about it screams comfort and home. I hoped I’d never utter those words. I’m redeemed at the op to try my first Royale Deluxe. I imagine that there are others in this very room channeling Travolta as they slowly chomp away, taking advantage of the welcomed rest from the bustling streets. The true movie buff that I am, I mark it as a true accomplishment. 

I head towards the ladies room to freshen up only to find a crowd of at least 50 with the same idea. A couple blocks away is the most ingenious business a snobby gal could dream of, a “Luxury Restroom”. It’s a store that consists of all things potty, decorative tp, tp holders, toilet seats and of course toilets for use. Just 2 euros per person gets you a spot in one of these lovely rooms, complete with reading material and a choice of toilets; tiny one’s for the kiddo’s. I’m in love! There are full time attendants whipping down and scenting every room after each use. Why don’t we have these at home? Sporting events, malls, gas stations. I would gladly pay for this level of “luxury” potty time and sanitation. 

It’s time! I secure a spot by luck alone within eye shot of the coming event. The crowd goes wild! I manage to record the 1^st pack. The winner Australia's Cadel Evans - although anyone who can bike for 2,200 miles deserves tremendous recognition. I can’t go for more than an hour without wanting to soak my entire body in a vat of anesthetic - now try 3 weeks! 

All and all a wonderful day on the town. Time to go home and dream up the next one. 

Night…Night

Day 2 of 30: It's all about good Peops

Started off a tad bit late. Apparently my body was not tricked and I slept until 8am Miami time…2pm. Slept straight through but I felt like a champ upon waking. An alarm may have been helpful. 

Of to Le Louvre. Just a 15 minute walk. I see it in the distance and It’s so large that I’m almost scarred. It looks like a palace. It’s probably the biggest building I’ve ever seen with the exception of a New York scrapper. Finally make my way in and OOOoooo dear God!! It’s as if I’ve never even been to a museum before. Thank goodness I have because if all that other art had to come live here too then this place would explode at the seams. It’s absolutely amazing. I immediately surmise that I could never see this all in 1 day or even 1 month. A day pass is 10 euro and a year is 30 if you ask the information desk and make your way to a small membership office. Got it and off to the museum corridors to find drowns of people. Some totally confused and others with a glare of confidence and glee, like they were born to be here. I find myself in the former category until I acquire my membership card complete with a photo. I flash it about like it’s my business, did I mention you get to cut lines with it. That’s right, instant rock star. 

The walls are packed with masterpiece after masterpiece. I see crowds snapping photo’s like the paparazzi. The celebrity sighting is the Mona Lisa herself. It’s so much smaller than I imaged and not nearly as impressive as the wonders all about her. Please forgive me Mona. Did you know that Mona used to live in Napoleon’s bedroom? 

After a hefty dose of history in art, I make my way down the Champs-Elysees. The streets are a bustle as the city gears up for tomorrows finally of the Tour de France. For a few yards I decide that this place smells just like the mall until I realize that I’m a block from Abercrombie. There is a velvet rope and lines waiting to get in. I had no idea they were so admired? Or are they putting something in that scent to drive people crazy? I continue to the end, high end shop after café after beggar all the way to the Arc de Triumph. I feel like it was built for me having almost entirely crossed the city on foot. 

I make it back just in time to meet a lovely couple for dinner Eleanor and Xavier. I will be staying at their home the 2^nd leg of my journey. Eleanor is an English professor and Xavier a software Engineer. Her English is perfect and she is as beautiful and elegant as her name. Xavier tries his best in English but is a bit shy. We force some sentences out of him and he proves to be just as friendly and warm as his smile. We chat nonstop for 5 hours about everything; our lives, our journey’s and our past. What luck to come across such wonderful and interesting people by chance. We make plans to do it all over again and part for the night. Another perfect ending. 

Night…Night….

Day 1 of 30: Getting to day 1

What a mission to get here. Miami International is a disgrace to our country. It’s not nearly as bad as Detroit but getting up there in a hurry. I check in after an hour and 15 in the line behind a 3 year old that said “mommy…mommy…mommy” about once every 30 seconds. No wonder they let him wonder around without even looking back. 

An hour later and I’m past security. I have a 90% hit ratio on TSA feel ups. At least they didn’t take me to the back room and put their hands down my pants like last month to JFK. I walked a good 15 minutes to the gate. No trolly or tram in sight. What if I was 60 or just finished off a one pounder at B&B? I’ll leave it for them to worry. As luck would have it, the same exact gate that Claudio and I used in March to Madrid. FML. I get in the terminal walkway and there are drug dogs and about 15 undercover police randomly selecting the lucky ones. I get picked right off the bat by the first guy. He’s a good 250 plus lb 6 foot 5ish gentleman. Checks my passports and asked me everything about my life, my job, my intentions, and financials. Even asks “What are you going to do if you loose your credit cards?” Ummm….”Call my Dad?” He laughs and lets me go. Five more personnel later and I get pulled over again. I’m finally in the plane. Strapped in and waiting to take flight. I have the stomach pains and heart palp’s of a little girl on the first day of a new school. I'm strangely enjoying the anxiety.

Sleep…Sleep…Sleep.

I’m here! Bags came in less than 10 minutes and customs was less than 5, line and all! What a dream. It took me 8 times as long to leave my own country. I arrive at my destination without any hiccups. I’m to meet a man across the street from my apartment. Knock…Knock…Knock…Knock…nope! 2 hours later on the floor in the hallway wondering if it’s time to get a hotel. A nice gentleman from the building offers to take me for a coffee after having seen my stranded coming in and out of his place. Or perhaps the neighbors were starting to complain. 

Alexander is a friendly man in his late 50’s, retired and leaving for Tunisia tomorrow on a vacation. His English is very bad but he is trying so hard. I ask “How long”. Him, “Ten years.” I don’t correct him but chuckle on the inside. He introduces me to his young daughter who is visiting from Marina Del Rey where she lives with his ex-wife and “A Man”, he mention’s with disdain. She can’t be more than 14 and acts polite but looks a bit bothered that her father is taking a young woman out for coffee that he picked up in the hallway. He take’s me for a stroll around the block, introducing me to his neighborhood pals and restaurateurs. They give him high fives when they think I’m not looking. He tells her in French that he wants to invite me to lunch with them. They argue for a moment and then she gives me the directions, trying her hardest to not let on that they were discussing it. Poor thing. She’s totally freaked out by it all. I tell them that I have to work but may stop by afterwards. He gives her a stare down. 

4 flights of slanted stares later, I’m at my new home. It’s gorgeous! There is so much love and character.  Little bits of art all about obviously picked over time with much taste. No mass produced tchotchke or stark white wall’s in sight. Beautiful flowers on the window sill and a bottle of wine with my name on it.  It’s more than I dreamed of. I wish you could feel it in the pictures. 

Right next door is a grocer. I go in at Miami lunch hour, 6pm here. Waiting in line to pay and all of a sudden, all of the checkout ladies  are speaking to me at once. I’m sorry. “I don’t speak French” I say in English. BIG MISTAKE! I know better but I freaked. It was instinct. I’ve never been anywhere where I had to be ashamed to speak my language. It's like the moment they know I don't speak French, they speak even faster, chuckle and roll their eyes. I figure out what they are asking in less than a minute but that doesn’t matter. They were saying you can only come to this line if you are paying with a card. I had both. They act like I’m not standing there and continue the giggles. I come home to immediately put on music TV. The only thing almost guaranteed to be in my language. It worked! I feel better. No worries, I’ll try another grocer tomorrow. Gianni – You were right. I had my freak out, “What the heck am I doing here” moment but breakdown averted, thanks to a little Brittney and Bruno Mars on the tube.

Work is done, big gulp of wine and I’m out the door for a stroll. There is a huge concert in the Plaza Hotel-de-Ville 2 blocks from home. There are thousands in the streets. After a couple strange men encounters I opt for a stroll down the Seine. I want to take pics but it’s hard enough to not talk and let my English out, revealing my vulnerable tourist self. Safety it is. My first glance of the Eiffel Tower! What the hell is that awful spot light on the top? I consider getting all the way there but I peaked at 5 approaches by strange men and decide I’ve pushed it far enough. One of which offered me cocaine and a date - charming. Back to my casita to rest up for the morning and enjoy a movie. 

Night…Night…