Paris, France. You forget how it feels, how good it smells, how lovely each neighborhood is.
We arrived today by the very prompt, but very crowded Eurostar, which is feeling more and more like a cattle car with all the security and passport control lines. But at least it does plop you down into the center of Paris.
Our apartment for the week couldn’t be more different than our home in London. We’ve gone from Ikea-land to Grandmama’s apartment, and it’s just lovely. The building was built by a student of Le Corbusier, and it is quite chic. Our apartment is just above the front door on the first floor and it is huge – by our standards. Our hostess was here to greet us and show us all the idiosyncracies of each room.
We are already quite at home. I have tested reading on the couch, Don foraged for food for the larder, and we had a lovely dinner at our local bistrôt, Aux Artistes.
Perfect. Now I’m off to test the bed for a few hours. Paris is waiting for us tomorrow.