Paris Part 4: The day my wallet suffered

Sidenote: So June happened. It was filled with work and work and more work and a bit where I flew home and surprised my dad on his birthday and spent five wonderful days hanging out with my family. So now I am back and settled and can finally finish posting the rest of my Paris photos. Onward!

Towards the end of our first day in Paris, we stumbled into the Marais, home to the most amazing door ever.

By that point, we were too tired to explore the area with any diligence so over beers and potato chips, we decided to come back the following day and give the historical area a closer look.

I don't remember much after stepping through the doors of this glorious stationary store. I vaguely recall pulling items off the shelves and then handing over my credit card...probably not the most responsible of moments but I care not. Because, after four years of searching, I finally found an awesome portfolio.

Refueling is highly necessary during shopping excursions.

Wine at lunch - only on vacation.

Before moving here, I was not a huge fan of beef. I liked it, but never craved it. Now, however I can't get enough of it...the rarer the better. I've also been smuggling jars of Boar's Head Horseradish Sauce in from the states - it is a perfect complement to beef carpaccio

(meanwhile, Italians the world over feel a twinge in their hearts...I can't help it, I love horseradish. On everything. I do not discriminate.).

This is me doing my very best pensive orphan* impression.

Anthony bought a pair of amazing vintage sunglasses that I tried unsuccessfully to steal. Here he is looking debonair in them.

After dinner we decided to stroll down to see the Eiffel Tower.

We passed by this schmancy caviar and vodka emporium. I love the red and teal outside.

"Why don't we take a ride to the top?" We asked each other. "It's 10 PM, the line probably isn't too long."

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh the folly of innocence. Had we decided to wait in line for the elevator to the top, we would still probably be there, over a month later, no closer to the front.

So we did the quicker option: walk across the river and take in the view from afar. Totally worth it.

*The Pensive Orphans is the name of my someday hipster band. The uniform will be vests and mustaches and we will sing songs with titles like 'St. John's Eco-velocipede' and 'Miss Mary upset the Soup Tureen...again'. It will be pretty underground, so if you never hear about it, it's probably because you're too mainstream. Or because I am all talk. One of the two.

Paris Part 3: What we saw in between meals

We spent our first morning wandering around Saint-Germain looking for a spot to have breakfast.

This place had a glassed-in outside porch (I am a delicate flower and needed shelter from the elements) that provided optimal people watching to croissant eating ratios.

And appropriate amounts of legal stimulants.

And butter.

After breakfast we wandered through the little streets, gazing into little shop windows and speculating on the average rent in this fancy area

(is the desire to know average rent for a particular area more a product of adulthood or urban living? I never used to care, but now it's like I have real-estate-specific verbal tic.)

Heaven.

We strolled over to Notre Dame and in the main plaza in front of the cathedral was a giant tent with a sign celebrating BREAD. Say no more we had to check it out.

This was right before lunch. By the way.

So we took full advantage of the plentiful samples.

Sidenote: Have you ever seen Kings of Pastry? It is the most incredible documentary about four French pastry chefs participating in the MOF pastry competition. It's streaming on Netflix and if you haven't seen it, you should do so immediately. You will laugh, cry, gasp in suspense - it's just a wonderful way to spend a couple hours of your life. While I often prefer a much humbler dessert than sugar sculptures and cream puffs, I was still in awe of the craftsmanship and pride in perfection that these chefs strive for.

After expanding our appreciation of the bread world, we set off to quell the hunger not quite satisfied by our numerous bread samples.

We wandered around for about an hour looking for a place to eat. The goal was to find something tucked away with a menu not in English. At last we stumbled upon Quai-Quai, a tiny wonderful restaurant with fantastic food and a great atmosphere.

And walls made out of old doors. And cool vintage lamps and chairs decorating the interior. 

We didn't get dessert there but after a few more hours of walking, I started glazing over every time we passed a fruit stand.

Or candy stores. We tried some of the macaroons above and they did not disappoint.

Wanderings.

After spending the day exploring everywhere from the Louvre to the Marais, we had a late dinner at La Fontaine De Mars which is near the Eiffel Tower. Anthony found this restaurant on a shoot a few years ago and was excited to go back.

The night was chilly so we opted to wait for a table indoors (see Delicate Flower reference above). We hung out by the register, our bodies literally pressed into the bar to allow the staff to maintain their hurried pace.

They gave us a plate of meat to snack on though, which totally appeased my rumbling stomach. The food was absolutely incredible. So incredible we went back again two days later. So incredible that even now, weeks later I am thinking about the roast chicken I had and wishing I was eating it right now  for breakfast.

Paris Part 1: More Marble Bodies than a Twilight Novel

I am prefacing this post by saying that these Paris posts are not in chronological order...I edited all the museum photos first, so I decided to post them first. 

Wanting to be cultured folk, we decided to spend a day at the Louvre, completely forgetting that sheer act of trying to view the art is a battle that takes, perseverance, skill and the patience of...well, much more patient people than we happen to be. The whole establishment is so beautiful though, that even after seeing the monstrous line we chose to press on. 

I really wanted to see the sculpture gallery. And not just because that wing is usually much quieter with tour groups buzzing through only occasionally in a very quiet and efficient manner.

The summer after I graduated high school, I saved up my money for a study abroad trip to Paris with a local community college. Since I was not about to use precious summer hours to do anything remotely resembling work, I signed up for poetry and watercolor classes. During that summer I cranked out some of the worst poetry ever written in the English language including but not limited to a poem told from the perspective of the stones of Notre Dame. Yes, that was just as awful as you might imagine.

While my skills at watercolor probably rivaled my (lack of) skills in poetry writing,  I did enjoy it and would escape the loud, drunk college student hostel we were staying in by coming to the Louvre and splitting my time between the Dutch masters and the sculpture wing. There are plenty of little nooks there to curl up in and think and try again and again to figure out how to draw hands correctly. 

I still can't get them right.

Okay, enough reminiscing. The sculptures were still as lovely and serene as ever. This statue of Artemis is one of my favorites.

One of the many things I love about the Louvre is that the palace is just as astounding as the art contained within. Every ceiling, door, stairwell and window frame is a testament to the thousands of craftsmen that helped build it.

Excellence in marble ruffs.

My dad is pretty hard to please in the art department, but he LOVES the Winged Victory. So I tried to do it justice in photos. This is one of several that I am really happy with. In the next post I will share more of the things that caught my eye during our time here.

It's. Almost. Friday. Huzzah.

Creepy Baby Hands

Work, life and oddly spaced holidays have kept me away from this blog for the past week or so. To make up for it, I present you with the following: one magnificent facepalm and three photos in which people are being touched by creepy baby hands. View, enjoy, ponder the unimaginable hours of human labor that went into sculpting these creepy babies and then tomorrow we will begin again with this photo posting business.

And it shall be called: I Thought I Told You I Like My Sweaters Air Dried. Also Where Are the Organic Strawberries I asked For?

And it shall be called: Nah Steve, I Got This Round. Nancy Will Text You...I Hope...Because You're Kind Of A Downer When Women Don't Call You Back.

And it shall be called: Nothing...I just have...nothing. But I had to post it just so others could bear witness to the fact that this is a disembodied baby hand on a naked woman's back. Are we all in agreement that that is what we are looking at right now? Yes? Good.

Happy Tuesday!

A trip to the land of cheese

These photos are from a few weeks back. The day after we picked up our car we got drunk with the freedom to go anywhere we wanted without having to wait for a train or a bus. I've lived without a car for four years, Anthony for over six, so acquiring personal mobility is a pretty big deal. I am using the royal "we" here, as the car is a manual transmission so I am going to need some lessons before I can tackle the giant hill that is Lausanne. So far I can put the car into first gear, reverse and pull into a parking space. In the parking garage. When it's empty. I consider this outstanding progress.

We decided to head out to Gruyere. On the way we discovered the awesomeness of driving through mountains. Literally. If Anthony has gotten tired of me shouting "the miiiiinneeeesss of Moooorrriaaaa" every time we pass through a tunnel, he has not shown it. And that, internet, is why I'm marrying him.

Gruyere is pretty incredible from a distance. It sits atop a hill flanked by mountains on all sides. 

The town was lovely. Lots of little stores selling cheese. Lots of little restaurants serving cheese. The whole place smelled faintly of fondue, aka melted pots of cheese. Do you see where I am going with this?

The Search for Delicious Cheese.

(Note to self, file this away for future biography title)

We wandered up to the castle and spent some time enjoying the view. Along the way we passed really traditional Swiss things like the Tibet museum and the H.R. Giger museum. Just to make sure you are up to speed on the setting, let me break it down for you. We've got a quaint old town with waitresses dressed like Heidi serving fondue to customers in the shadow of a building resembling a real, live cuckoo clock. Mere steps away we have a museum run by Tibetan monks complete with robes and prayer flags. RIGHT next door to that we've got a museum filled with stuff like this and paintings titled things like Birth Machine Baby.

All in the shadow of a castle. Switzer-land-of-enigmas. 

Opposite the Giger museum is a bar where all the furniture and decor are modeled after spinal cords and whale pelvises and whatnot (do whales have pelvises? I dropped out of pre-med prior to any sort of useful biology course so I'm operating under the Ignoramus Clause right now, allowing me to make sweeping generalizations on the internet after doing zero research.)

 Having been too big a wuss to ever see Alien, I was freaked out at the time but now I'm desperately curious and want nothing more than to go back and sip a cappuccino in the shadow of a futuristic shark jaw.

Back to pastoral scenery and the requisite "we were here" photo.

The whole time we were exploring, there was a glider drifting around the sky. It was a perfect day for it and the view from up there must be phenomenal.

After we had seen what there was to see, we headed back to the car determined to continue exploring the area.

But that's another post entirely.