I’ve never really considered myself much of a francophile. I can’t really speak any French beyond “Bonjour. Parlez vous anglais?” As lovely as it is, cheese makes me break out in a rash. I’d rather have a piece of cake than a macaroon (don’t get me wrong I still delight in them and all their candy coloured goodness). And a classic striped breton top just doesn’t look any good on my curves.
But man o man, I love Paris. Every time I visit there, it reminds why it really does live up to all those clichés and romantic notions. I understand the urge that many have to just pack up their normal life and embrace the city of love and lights.
We spent a wonderful four days in Paris last weekend. We walked everywhere, photographed everything and ate more bread than you could shake a baguette at. We rented a small studio recommended by friends in the villagey area of Batignolles. And oh my goodness, what a lovely little area it is. It felt far from the swarms of tourists in nearby Montmartre, friendly enough to try to converse with the locals, and central enough to walk just about everywhere. There are not one, not two but three boulangerie on Rue des Batignolles where we stayed which made the Mr a very happy chap indeed. Gorgeous florists brimming with roses, wine bars and all the other things that the French do the best lined the little streets.
Le baguette. My waistline isn’t thanking me.
You know this one, right?