Paris
We’re in Paris.
Or we were in Paris for the weekend.
Karen had never been before, and it was valentines.
Flew in Friday morning, dropped our bag off at the hotel, and went straight to the Eiffel tower.
1hr queue to get to the top, but well worth it.
Fantastic views from the top, took a photo looking straight down, I'll upload that later, and actually I'll upload them all to www.strangetearituals.co.uk check tem out there.
Wandered around Paris, had lunch, wandered some more, returned to the hotel to settle into the room, went out for dinner. Found a nice place called Hippopotamus just off the Champs Elysees. Nice food, but the wine was awful. Karen decided 1 glass was enough, so I had to finish the rest of the bottle, and I had a cold. The combination of the two made for some interesting conversation for the rest of the night. Fortunately that was only after we got back to the hotel suite.
Oh yes, and it was a suite not a room. The lounge was about the same size as our homes lounge, the bedroom was bigger and the bathroom was enormous! Huge big bath, but I'll skip over that bit if you don't mind.
So I'm apparently ranting about world in-equality, and how if I'm not able to walk tomorrow its all karens fault for making me drink all the wine when I have a cold, and how we need to devise a system as strong and self sustaining as capitalism, but has equality instead of scarcity as its foundation, etc.
That evening the aircon as a little warm and we both became a little dehydrated. In my sleepy state I went to the bathroom and downed several large glasses of water.
Their was a mini bar, but at £7 for a 33ml bottle of water... even in my sleepy, unfocused frame of mind I knew better than that. So I prayed and swallowed.
The next day, I'm fine. Karens been up and out and bought breakie and a couple of bottles of water.
We... o.k. I get up and we head off to visit the Musee de Orsay, lots of impressionist art, very nice, more photos.
Luvre, Mona Lisa is a postage stamp with a 45 minute queue. Still nice, but not entirely sure what all the fuss is about.
Stop at a cafe, chez Paul, who served the most perfect hot chocolate in the world ever.
Not the feeble powder stuff you get here, but chocolate grated off a bar and melted, real hot chocolate, chocolate which is hot.
Arc du Triomphe, glad we stopped for the chocolate, walked a lot today and all those steps would have killed me otherwise. My hips, knees and feet are complaining, I'm feeling old. Wonder if I'm getting too far over the hill for Muay Thai, maybe I should demote myself down to one of those silly pyjama arts where you don't have to do anything physically demanding. Perhaps kung fu, all flouncy and posy, you don't even have to be properly fit and the trainings so soft and sparring so lightweight I wouldn't have to worry about any more dislocated limbs... but now I'm getting side tracked.
More good views from the top of the Arc de Triomphe, got a great one of Karen holding the Eiffel tower.
Inside was a slightly biased history of Napoleon, and how all the bad stuff was actually England’s fault, and Napoleon only lost because he was unlucky, yada yada yada, but I was wearing my kilt so all the locals were liking me.
Oh yeah, another aside.
Friday, walking around in trousers, locals assume we're English, act all snobbish and short.
Saturday, walking around in kilt, locals assume we're Scottish and are far more polite.
Also learned that French girls are just as curious about what a Scotsman wears beneath his kilt as British girls are, and in tourist areas their armed with cameras.
Met up with John and Deb from our homegroup, who just happened to be in Paris the same weekend, for dinner in the evening.
I had sent out a text inviting the usual Southampton based guest list to meet up for drinks but for some reason all the replies I got were sarcastic. Can't understand it >;-)
Then the four of us went for a walk along the Rein.
Sunday’s weather became drizzly so Karen and I spent it hopping from cafe to cafe. Visited Mont Martre, but with the weather being poor there weren't any of the street artists about. We bought a few cakes as thanks for people who had given us a lift to the airport Friday, were visiting to feed the cat Saturday, and were picking us up Monday morning, we have nice friends. Karen was worried that the light drizzle would get into the plastic laminated cardboard carrier, and refused to accept my assurances it wouldn't, and insisted that the carefully crafter carrier be refolded so it could be squeezed into her bag, on its side, to protect the cakes. Nor would she wait till we got to a cafe where I could attempt this with some degree of ease. No, instead we're half way up a hill, she's emptied the bag into my arms and I'm trying to arrange and refold the box while also juggling biscuits in big, full, paper bags, books, and passes while Karen holds her bag open. The inevitable happens, one of the precariously piled bags of biscuits begins to slip, I shift to try and catch it, the cakes flip, and the box and cakes slip out of my hand and are rearranged into chocolate goo in a box as they hit the floor.
And somehow I'm the one who ends up apologising for dropping the box.
How the hell does THAT work!
One cake has survived intact though, so I finish the reconfiguring the box, slip it into karens bag, put the biscuits into a plastic bag, which also has to be squeezed into the fabric bag 'just in case the drizzle manages to seep through the plastic', and we make our way to the next cafe to try and sort out the mess.
The next cafe is only 5 minutes walk away, when we get there I order a large bier, more about that in a bit, and we assess the damage.
The one undamaged cake is now also goo because cakes aren't meant to be carried on their sides.
Karen decides we may as well carry them in the box now so there's room for the biscuits with no worry about them being broken or wet.
We get back that night and not a single drop of water penetrated the waterproof laminated coating of the cardboard carrier, and the biscuits are broken.
I decide I'm going to have to be more firm with Karen.
Back to the Bier in Mont Martre, France is fully metricated. They don't serve pints. A large bier is a Litre.
We found some bagged specialist chocolates to give as thank-you's
Had dinner that evening in a nice Italian. Was distracted during dinner by the life size mermaid painted onto backlit glass just over Karens shoulder.
Their very casual about breasts in France, they have them out everywhere. Advertising for perfumes, woman’s magazines, men’s shaving products, just because!
The Mermaid was quite artistic and stylised, except for her breasts which were photorealistic.
Have an early night due to having to get up at 5.15 ready for the 5.30 pick up for the flight home Monday morning. Went to bed early and lay awake for ages waiting to go to sleep.
Nearly missed the taxi in the morning because the receptionist at the hotel insisted on the delusion that I was Peter Karen, and refused to believe the taxi drivers insistence that he was here to collect a Peter AND Karen.
Fortunately had a window open for some air so heard the taxis arrival.
Everyone in Paris seems to be trying to get to Charles De Gaulle airport at 6am.
Arrive back in Soton in time to iron clothes and get to work.
Spend Monday feeling tired.
Or we were in Paris for the weekend.
Karen had never been before, and it was valentines.
Flew in Friday morning, dropped our bag off at the hotel, and went straight to the Eiffel tower.
1hr queue to get to the top, but well worth it.
Fantastic views from the top, took a photo looking straight down, I'll upload that later, and actually I'll upload them all to www.strangetearituals.co.uk check tem out there.
Wandered around Paris, had lunch, wandered some more, returned to the hotel to settle into the room, went out for dinner. Found a nice place called Hippopotamus just off the Champs Elysees. Nice food, but the wine was awful. Karen decided 1 glass was enough, so I had to finish the rest of the bottle, and I had a cold. The combination of the two made for some interesting conversation for the rest of the night. Fortunately that was only after we got back to the hotel suite.
Oh yes, and it was a suite not a room. The lounge was about the same size as our homes lounge, the bedroom was bigger and the bathroom was enormous! Huge big bath, but I'll skip over that bit if you don't mind.
So I'm apparently ranting about world in-equality, and how if I'm not able to walk tomorrow its all karens fault for making me drink all the wine when I have a cold, and how we need to devise a system as strong and self sustaining as capitalism, but has equality instead of scarcity as its foundation, etc.
That evening the aircon as a little warm and we both became a little dehydrated. In my sleepy state I went to the bathroom and downed several large glasses of water.
Their was a mini bar, but at £7 for a 33ml bottle of water... even in my sleepy, unfocused frame of mind I knew better than that. So I prayed and swallowed.
The next day, I'm fine. Karens been up and out and bought breakie and a couple of bottles of water.
We... o.k. I get up and we head off to visit the Musee de Orsay, lots of impressionist art, very nice, more photos.
Luvre, Mona Lisa is a postage stamp with a 45 minute queue. Still nice, but not entirely sure what all the fuss is about.
Stop at a cafe, chez Paul, who served the most perfect hot chocolate in the world ever.
Not the feeble powder stuff you get here, but chocolate grated off a bar and melted, real hot chocolate, chocolate which is hot.
Arc du Triomphe, glad we stopped for the chocolate, walked a lot today and all those steps would have killed me otherwise. My hips, knees and feet are complaining, I'm feeling old. Wonder if I'm getting too far over the hill for Muay Thai, maybe I should demote myself down to one of those silly pyjama arts where you don't have to do anything physically demanding. Perhaps kung fu, all flouncy and posy, you don't even have to be properly fit and the trainings so soft and sparring so lightweight I wouldn't have to worry about any more dislocated limbs... but now I'm getting side tracked.
More good views from the top of the Arc de Triomphe, got a great one of Karen holding the Eiffel tower.
Inside was a slightly biased history of Napoleon, and how all the bad stuff was actually England’s fault, and Napoleon only lost because he was unlucky, yada yada yada, but I was wearing my kilt so all the locals were liking me.
Oh yeah, another aside.
Friday, walking around in trousers, locals assume we're English, act all snobbish and short.
Saturday, walking around in kilt, locals assume we're Scottish and are far more polite.
Also learned that French girls are just as curious about what a Scotsman wears beneath his kilt as British girls are, and in tourist areas their armed with cameras.
Met up with John and Deb from our homegroup, who just happened to be in Paris the same weekend, for dinner in the evening.
I had sent out a text inviting the usual Southampton based guest list to meet up for drinks but for some reason all the replies I got were sarcastic. Can't understand it >;-)
Then the four of us went for a walk along the Rein.
Sunday’s weather became drizzly so Karen and I spent it hopping from cafe to cafe. Visited Mont Martre, but with the weather being poor there weren't any of the street artists about. We bought a few cakes as thanks for people who had given us a lift to the airport Friday, were visiting to feed the cat Saturday, and were picking us up Monday morning, we have nice friends. Karen was worried that the light drizzle would get into the plastic laminated cardboard carrier, and refused to accept my assurances it wouldn't, and insisted that the carefully crafter carrier be refolded so it could be squeezed into her bag, on its side, to protect the cakes. Nor would she wait till we got to a cafe where I could attempt this with some degree of ease. No, instead we're half way up a hill, she's emptied the bag into my arms and I'm trying to arrange and refold the box while also juggling biscuits in big, full, paper bags, books, and passes while Karen holds her bag open. The inevitable happens, one of the precariously piled bags of biscuits begins to slip, I shift to try and catch it, the cakes flip, and the box and cakes slip out of my hand and are rearranged into chocolate goo in a box as they hit the floor.
And somehow I'm the one who ends up apologising for dropping the box.
How the hell does THAT work!
One cake has survived intact though, so I finish the reconfiguring the box, slip it into karens bag, put the biscuits into a plastic bag, which also has to be squeezed into the fabric bag 'just in case the drizzle manages to seep through the plastic', and we make our way to the next cafe to try and sort out the mess.
The next cafe is only 5 minutes walk away, when we get there I order a large bier, more about that in a bit, and we assess the damage.
The one undamaged cake is now also goo because cakes aren't meant to be carried on their sides.
Karen decides we may as well carry them in the box now so there's room for the biscuits with no worry about them being broken or wet.
We get back that night and not a single drop of water penetrated the waterproof laminated coating of the cardboard carrier, and the biscuits are broken.
I decide I'm going to have to be more firm with Karen.
Back to the Bier in Mont Martre, France is fully metricated. They don't serve pints. A large bier is a Litre.
We found some bagged specialist chocolates to give as thank-you's
Had dinner that evening in a nice Italian. Was distracted during dinner by the life size mermaid painted onto backlit glass just over Karens shoulder.
Their very casual about breasts in France, they have them out everywhere. Advertising for perfumes, woman’s magazines, men’s shaving products, just because!
The Mermaid was quite artistic and stylised, except for her breasts which were photorealistic.
Have an early night due to having to get up at 5.15 ready for the 5.30 pick up for the flight home Monday morning. Went to bed early and lay awake for ages waiting to go to sleep.
Nearly missed the taxi in the morning because the receptionist at the hotel insisted on the delusion that I was Peter Karen, and refused to believe the taxi drivers insistence that he was here to collect a Peter AND Karen.
Fortunately had a window open for some air so heard the taxis arrival.
Everyone in Paris seems to be trying to get to Charles De Gaulle airport at 6am.
Arrive back in Soton in time to iron clothes and get to work.
Spend Monday feeling tired.