Avignon, France
Taken on the very first day of 2012,
as the bridge celebrated 827 years of life.
Broken, but beautiful.
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Showing posts with label France. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The French and the Spanish being so very...French and Spanish.
Did I mention that we saw a big nativity scene in Paris?
It looked slightly different than the ones here.
Behold the French nativity: chic, elegant, highly stylized, minimalist.
And the Spanish belén: full of people, activities and snark.
Sounds about right.
Gosh I love this country.
It looked slightly different than the ones here.
Behold the French nativity: chic, elegant, highly stylized, minimalist.
And the Spanish belén: full of people, activities and snark.
Sounds about right.
Gosh I love this country.
Monday, January 10, 2011
I'm back and I'm talking about Par-EE
Oh gosh, you guys. I was gone from this blog for a whole week and would you believe me if I say I missed it? I did. I'm glad to be back.
First stop was the land of guillotines, existentialism, and really wicked good baguettes. Le France.
Paris was freezing. Seriously, two-pairs-of-spandex-under-your-jeans-and-still-have-a-numb-culo freezing. There was a blanket of snow when we first got there, which I felt was a generous gesture from France, sort of conciliatory, like "hey sorry about the butt hypothermia, I'll give you some pretty snow-covered vistas though, okay?". And I said "throw in a hot crepe drizzled in honey and we will call it even."
Highlights:
And, as promised: the most quintessentially French thing I've ever seen. The last morning we were there, The Mister and I were taking the Metro to the airport when a man got on who was obviously in the midst of some hard times. He was an accordion player, and he brought his accordion along, playing jaunty tunes for our listening pleasure. When he was done, he walked around and passed around a hat to gather up some spare change. And some delightful French person, on the Paris Metro on a cold Thursday morning, dug around in their pockets and decided that there was a gift better than cash - and produced, out of nowhere, a half-eaten baguette. The accordion man's eyes lit up like the Eiffel Tower at night. He took it gratefully and hid it somewhere in the folds of his clothing until it was invisible to the naked eye. My conclusion is twofold: 1.) That only in France can bakery bread substitute as currency in a pinch, and 2.) that both men, and by extension all French citizens, sew secret pockets in their clothing for the transportation and safe transfer of baguettes.
First stop was the land of guillotines, existentialism, and really wicked good baguettes. Le France.
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| Paris, city of love and light |
Paris was freezing. Seriously, two-pairs-of-spandex-under-your-jeans-and-still-have-a-numb-culo freezing. There was a blanket of snow when we first got there, which I felt was a generous gesture from France, sort of conciliatory, like "hey sorry about the butt hypothermia, I'll give you some pretty snow-covered vistas though, okay?". And I said "throw in a hot crepe drizzled in honey and we will call it even."
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| France and I reconciled. |
Highlights:
- After years of being told that the real-life Mona Lisa is disappointing because it's totally smaller than everyone thinks it will be, I am proud to report that it was just exactly the size I thought it would be. I am pretty sure that this can be extrapolated into a life lesson: the key to satisfaction is in low expectations.
- We went behind the scenes at the oldest bakery in Paris, and a guy who's been making bread for 40 years showed us how he works his magic. And then he let us eat some bread straight out of the oven. Heaven with a cherry on top.
- Getting completely confused by these futuristic pod-like street bathrooms Paris has. It's got a rotating door, more lights and buttons than a cockpit, and speaks to you in this disembodied female voice while you are trying to simultaneously do your business and not accidentally push the "open door" button.
- Hanging out with our Jordanian friend Raa'fat, who was vacationing there the same time we were, and musing that we've now hung out in Phoenix, in Amman, Jordan, and in Paris - an unlikely trio.
- Eating snails. Lowlight. It tasted like...eating snails. Like slurping an earthworm.
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| Not recommended. |
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| The city of light was...lit up. |
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| Notre Dame |
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| The Mister and his mom |
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| I had to walk up a half-mile of steps to get this picture so you'd better like it, dangit |
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| Classique |
And, as promised: the most quintessentially French thing I've ever seen. The last morning we were there, The Mister and I were taking the Metro to the airport when a man got on who was obviously in the midst of some hard times. He was an accordion player, and he brought his accordion along, playing jaunty tunes for our listening pleasure. When he was done, he walked around and passed around a hat to gather up some spare change. And some delightful French person, on the Paris Metro on a cold Thursday morning, dug around in their pockets and decided that there was a gift better than cash - and produced, out of nowhere, a half-eaten baguette. The accordion man's eyes lit up like the Eiffel Tower at night. He took it gratefully and hid it somewhere in the folds of his clothing until it was invisible to the naked eye. My conclusion is twofold: 1.) That only in France can bakery bread substitute as currency in a pinch, and 2.) that both men, and by extension all French citizens, sew secret pockets in their clothing for the transportation and safe transfer of baguettes.
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