I Love Paris

I've just attempted a coq au vin that wasn't bad, but wasn't great either, and I've had a bottle of wine, and I'm eying my bed suspiciously, so I should probably reconsider this blog post, but in the current state I'll probalby go through with it.

I love Paris. No, I LOVE Paris. I desire Paris. I have an abnormal need for Paris. I want to be Paris.

I really, really, really like Parirs. I like to imagine that Paris has the same magnetic draw to me that I feel to it, even though I can also picture myself being the sucker going in for the kill. Regardless, the rest of my trip--I have exactly 23 days--will be devoted to figuring out how I can never, ever have to leave.

I arrived last night, via the Chunnel/Eurostar from London. A comfortable train ride and minimal problems getting to the apartment. I went to the grocery store and had cheese (sadly, it was kind of bad cheese) and bread (actually it was bad, too) and wine (no comment) for dinner (I bought it all at a nearby grocery store and now know where I can find the really good stuff) and then fell asleep.

My apartment is amazing. I'm renting one in the Montmarte, basically across the street from the ninth arrondissment. It has absolutely everything I need and ever want. I am, again, duly spoiled. Pictures:


The "Villa."


The parlour, with the kitchen behind.


The bedroom.

Today I explored the neighborhood, realizing that I'm a five minute hike from the Basilique Sacre-Couer, which offers amazing views of the city, and other sights in the 18th arrondissement, the Cemetiere de Montmarte, the Moulin Rouge, and other food attractions, etc. I got a wide range of propositions from the various sex shops, only bits of which I understood. I decided at some point late in the afternoon to make coq au vin for dinner, and I bought all my ingredients at a nearby open market.

As soon as I start taking pictures I will post them. Bonsoir!