They Call Me a Francophile, At Least They Know I Know Where France Is
Our Paris trip earlier this summer is quickly fading into memory, and I didn't even write about it all that much. I did not tell you about the joys of walking to the same patisserie each morning for a pan au chocolat and hot, strong coffee, and being recognized by the counter girls. I did not tell you about making a new friend and walking the rainy cobbles of Montmartre. I did not tell you about the sun setting oh-so-late, so you stop at a sidewalk cafe bustling with people long after dark for wine and chocolate mousse and revel in all being up late. I did not tell you about champagne with Rosy in a square with fountains in the middle. I did not tell you about the light on Notre Dame. I did not tell you about the wonder in Patrick and Beatrix's eyes when they first saw Saint Chapelle, and the Orangerie. I did not tell you about the mix of the old and the new with new art installations placed into Versailles. Or the Pont des Arts. I did not tell you about a Seine...