Greetings earthlings. It is I Gentry, scribbling sweet nothings to you from the depths of Le Pari de France. I have been stuck on this island now with my pet Tiger for 3 nights and 4 days, and I gotta say I have never loved chocolate croissants more. The language is quick and lovely, the beings all look like little ratatoullies running around and I got to ice skate to Too $hort (Shake dat Monkey) until 2am on Christmas Day… Hallelujah, HOLY SHIT.
Our flat is perfection, but if you weigh more than 180 pounds you would not fit into the shower. I bow down to the amazing man who invented the removable shower head. An extremely nice African-American-Canadian woman informed us we are staying in what is called the “7th arrondissement.” OUIE! We are litrally directly across the shit brown river from the Musee du Louvre (if this is amateur hour it is the museum that is home to the hideous yet widely acclaimed, Mr. Bean referenced Mona Lisa ORIGINAL painting). The museum withholds some of the most incredible paintings and sculptures my little beady eyes have ever been lucky enough to witness. And just a heads up, every asian I saw had extremely nice, expensive camera equipment…so don’t be surprised if asian documentary numbers are on the rise this upcoming year (I am already predicting a world take-over).
Like the true American ass holes we are, we got drunk and ventured to the Eiffel Tower our first night here, but little did we realize the adventure we were about to have. We did crazy-eights on our route back and Josh sprained his ankle trying to pose perfectly in a “jumping picture.” Rather than offer to carry him home, we just walked slow and drank in the wondrous city one step at a time. We dove through a Christmas market and sniffed out good amounts of delicious greasy food and precious Blair Waldorf hats before coming across something truly spectacular…
LE GRAND PALAIS! At first all I could hear were the sweet bass beatings of some Swedish House Mafia jingle, but when we drew closer my jaw dropped in awe. There were magnificent lights soaring across the roof, the biggest disco ball I ever dun seen, and best of all, little ese’s pounding champagne and ice skating beneath the light show to the tunes.
The next day was Chrithmuth Eve, and before the sun rose (around noonish) we were wide awake and off to Notre Dame. Glorious and spiritual and inviting, period. The jet lag still sort of had me by the nickers so the morning was a wee bit blurry, yet we shall not dwell on the past. After our visit and a bit of shopping, we ventured to the most supple, pleasant cafe I could find to have a spritzer. A spritzer turned into a few spritzers and before we knew it we were Jamiroquai’ing around in shops and art studios oo’ing and awe’ing. You know when you are young and you see a morbidly expensive piece of art that you know one day will be hanging behind the head of the table in your mansion dining room? I saw a few of those, so it was exciting and inspiring all at once.
Needless to say, the greatest part about this Parisian adventure is having no agenda. With 0 plans or expectations, results can only sky rocket. Yesterday morning I got offered frog legs and bone marrow with toast for breakfast, and the kids next to me were in Burberry sweatervests gobbling snails down like they were McDonalds fries, so I understand foreign delicacy. Luckily there are two McDonalds facilities nearby I have found so far, unluckily none that are open 24-7.
Since our arrival we have seen the Eiffel Tower multiple times, ventured into pleasant Parisian cafe’s all over town (for both cafe’s and spritzers), hit the Notre Dame, the Musee du Louvre, a few other monuments I currently know not the names of, sauntered through the Christmas Markets of beautiful Champs Elysees, ice skated at Le Grand Palais, and hit up the Cafe Oz for a little late night table dancing (aussie/raging/epic bar).
Thats all I can brew up for now. It’s 5 o’clock in the morning and my eyes have grown weary. Au revoir ese’s!