En route... again

Our last morning in Paris began with a headache and the recycling of wine bottles.  We walked to the Gare du Nord and boarded the RER-B for the airport.  Carl and I were flying from different terminals, and to different locations.

We said our goodbyes and I headed off for Scandinavia.  

After a layover in Denmark and a panicky busride, I finally arrived in Stockholm, Sweden.  My home for the next two weeks.

I looked forward to finding some Tylenol in my suitcase (worst headache EVER), some dinner, and sleep.  So much sleep.  The first two things on my list were easily accomplished.  After locating a Lidl, my Tylenol was washed down with a Coke and chased with spaghetti (cheapest meal).  Sleep was harder to accomplish.

Remember how Sweden is pretty far north in the grand scheme of things?  In Minnesota we think we live in the "North."  We are wrong.  Remember how, in winter, Sweden is all but consumed in neverending darkness?  Well...  What does that mean, in summer?  It means the sun never really sets.  Twilight kicks in for a few hours each night, with sunrise starting around 3:30 am!  Ahhhhh.

Saying the sunset is at 10:08pm is generous.  Trust me when I say it never actually goes all the way down.  Anyway-
Pair that with the fact that I arrived on the summer solstace (midsommar!), aka the longest day of the year.

Yes, I did not sleep so well at first.  Eventually I got used to it, but those first couple of nights were awful.

Ayway, that first night I eventually slept, waking every few hours to check the clock.

The next day I woke up early.  I had a mission:  I had to buy my course books. 
(SPOILER ALERT: I bought them, took the class, and finished about a month ago. Sorry I suck at updating)

Paris, part 4

The last two things we did in Paris:

The first thing:

Head over to the Pont des Arts.  Almost three years ago I put a lock on that bridge.  It said CH+DZ.  HOW ROMANTIC.  I chucked the key in the river.  I put it on a relatively empty spot on the bridge.  It wasn't very crowded at this point in time.  

When we went back there was no hope in finding it again.  The bridge is so full of locks that several panels collapsed under the weight earlier this year.  Our lock is buried somewhere on that bridge, so we abandoned all hope of locating it, and just enjoyed the view.  

It was at this point in time, on the way to The Second Thing, that we saw Shaq.  Yes, that Shaq.  He is very large.  What a weird thing to have happen.

The second thing:

Walk past the Louvre.  It's crowded and you'll never have enough time to explore it if you start in the late afternoon.

Walk, walk, walk.  To the Jardin du Luxembourg.

The second thing we did that day was my favorite thing we did that day.  We got ourselves a couple of chairs at the octagonal pool (better than the round pool), I opened my Marie Claire, and was in heaven.

If I lived in Paris, I am sure I would go there every nice day there was.

Carl and I had a picnic lunch, and I enjoyed the warm sun.  I was feeling positively one with the universe... until some damn teenagers started having a water fight.  As soon as I felt a cold spray of water on my back the spell was broken, I resisted the urge to scream at them ("MAIS QU'EST-CE QUE VOUS FETES LA?!"), declared I was "done," and walked away.

Damn kids, get off my lawn, etc.

My wrap-up:  Paris has so much beauty, I can't begin to imagine living in such a place.  Do you think it would just fade into the background as it became the norm?  Would you ever get used to the smell of pee?

Questions to be answered, perhaps, at a later time.

Paris, part 3

Paris in the sunshine is wonderful, though I always picture it overcast.  Luckily, we had a good deal of sun while we were visiting.  Here is a post mostly full of obligatory and stereotypical photos!

Do you see these beautiful gates, dear readers?  They were on the Champs Elysées... and they lead to an Abercrombie.  No joke.  Ha.

Paris, part 2

St Germain de Prés is one of my favorite spots in Paris.  It is expensive and "chic," but often less touristy and crowded.  I love the big, wide boulevards (merci, Haussman) and classically French façades.

It's the neighborhood where you'll find La Durée, along with countless other delicious patisseries and cafes.  It is also where you'll find two famous cafés (especially for the literary types): Les Deux Magots and Café Flore.

In my experience, Les Deux Magots has better service and is much more visually appealing than Café Flore next door.  We sat at table right next to a photo of Hemingway.  Carl passed the time writing a little something inspired by the experience (he loves Hemingway) and I passed the time eating coffee dipped whipped cream with a tiny spoon.  SHUSH!  If I'm going to buy an eight dollar coffee, I will consume it in the way of my choosing.

A tip from a Parisienne:  Get there early, buy a pot of coffee, bring a paper or magazine, and make sure to sit inside.  You can stay for hours.  

The people watching is great, as well.  My tip: get a café viennois and focus more on the whipped cream than the coffee.

Mmm...

Paris, part 1

Carl and I said our goodbyes to Cécile and her family and made our way North, to Paris (on the OuiGo, of course).  We stayed right next to the canal St Martin.  The area is very hip right now.  Très bobo.

Carl and I have both visited Paris before, so we mostly just wandered around, ate, drank, and visited some old favorites.

We did make a stop at La Durée for the best macorons in existance.  And, obviously, I got them carefully nestled inside that cat box.

Flavors we sampled included: rose, raspberry, pistachio, lime-basil, and lemon.  If you have the means, I highly recommend picking some up. (harhar)

Pézenas, Montpellier

It is comforting to know that some places never really change...

After being away for two years, when we returned to Pézenas (the very old and very small town that I lived and worked in from September 2011 to June 2012) the differences were minute.  They put in a weird fountain, they finished their work on the sidewalks, the store that once sold weird dragon and sword things now sells spices to tourists.  

The pigeons still shit in the same concentrated spots, the market is still on Saturdays, the Café des arts is still the placce to be, the same grumpy Southerner still drives the 103 bus to Montpellier, and Jean-Charles still buys his fish on Tuesdays.

Imagine his surprise upon seeing me after two years down by the market in town.  Priceless.

Speaking of the 103, we hopped on the bus and headed off to Montpelliier for the afternoon.

Things are pretty much the same there, too.

Carl and I had a lovely lunch of galettes and crêpes, followed by the most perfect café noisette (espresso with a dollop of foam).

Voilà:

Dang, that's pretty.

I think I'll always love it in the South of France.  I'll be back before too long, I suspect.

Hérault!

I thought that pulling into the good ol' Gare St Roch and stepping on to the platform in a familiar train station would feel so good after being away for two years...  But I had no idea that they were in the process of renovating the whole station.  The old station was completely blocked off since they were working on it, and they had redone the entire second floor.  Cécile was waiting for us in her car and I had no idea which way to go.  Stressful.

Obviously, we found her and had a very pleasant drive to Nezignan l'éveque while catching up and chatting about what we would do for the next couple of days while in the area.  After arriving at her house, the first thing I did was go up to the terrace.  It was raining all around the little village, but we never saw a drop.

Carl and I watched the clouds roll by out on the terrace as Cécile prepared a delicious dinner, and her 4 kids ran around inside the house.

I missed that view.

Cécile's four-year-old, Héloïse (who was in her terrible twos last time I was there) said she remembered me.  She followed me around the entirety our stay, and always asked to sit by me at the table.  My favorite interaction with her this time was when she whispered in my ear that the town you can see very far away is Pézenas and you can see it from the terrace.  She told me that if they lived in a house in Pézenas, she would be able to look very hard and see this house in Nezignan from far away.  But they don't live in Pézenas, she said, and that was a good thing because she liked her house there in Nezignan.

I love this tiny village.

Carl and I took a walk before dinner.  We strolled aimlessly through the winding streets of the old town surrounding an old church and (the remnants of) a small castle until we happene upon a cemetary.  Carl couldn't resist, so we walke amongst the graves and took note of interesting names and graves. 

I hope that I can return to Cécile and Olivier's house soon.  No more than two years between visits.  I promised.