Perhaps a rephrase since I'm wondering more about what remains of the love I once had for Paris. Or if I even had all that much amour for that glittering City of Lights.
Time was all I could dream about was walking by the banks of the Seine hand-in-hand with my lover while feeding each other sweet chouquettes. Of course having an awful break-up right before my first trip there dashed any such sickly sentimental fantasies of mine. Arriving in the wretched tail end of storm at the Gare du Nord with my burdensome luggage only to be greeted with dismal grey nondescript office buildings rather than the elegant splendour of a Haussman Paris. Perhaps a little coloured by my troubled emotions. So what little I could recall about my brief time in Paris were dreary rainy evenings tromping through the crooked cobblestoned walks of Montmartre while giving clingy couples the dirty eyed little stare.
And staying as far as possible from any would-be snatch thieves that infamously abound in the dark alleys of Paris.
Not exactly the kinda cheery stuff you write home about.
So with our annual trip coming up soon enough, I have been trying to work up some enthusiasm - or at least present a passably ecstatic expression when the subject matter comes up. After all Charming Calvin - who is far more of a Francophile than I could ever be - has probably fancied himself donning a chic beret on the way out to purchase a fresh baguette at the neighbourhood boulangerie.
Me, I've actually had to refrain from kicking the irresponsible pet owners who frequently allow their animal friends to litter the sidewalks of Paris. The infamous les crottes de chien.
Paul : Paris. Yay.
Calvin : You're still dreading it?
Paul : Never did see the fascination. Perhaps this time I will.
Calvin : Surely it's not that bad? Lots of people dream of seeing Paris.
Paul : *cough* Addlepated fools.
Calvin : What?
Paul : Paris. Yay.
And no, the fast falling value of our money doesn't help lift my flagging spirits in the least. Guess I will always wonder - 'Que reste-t-il de nos amours?'
Time was all I could dream about was walking by the banks of the Seine hand-in-hand with my lover while feeding each other sweet chouquettes. Of course having an awful break-up right before my first trip there dashed any such sickly sentimental fantasies of mine. Arriving in the wretched tail end of storm at the Gare du Nord with my burdensome luggage only to be greeted with dismal grey nondescript office buildings rather than the elegant splendour of a Haussman Paris. Perhaps a little coloured by my troubled emotions. So what little I could recall about my brief time in Paris were dreary rainy evenings tromping through the crooked cobblestoned walks of Montmartre while giving clingy couples the dirty eyed little stare.
And staying as far as possible from any would-be snatch thieves that infamously abound in the dark alleys of Paris.
 |
| Seriously? Midnight strolls in Paris would have been one mugging after the next. |
Not exactly the kinda cheery stuff you write home about.
So with our annual trip coming up soon enough, I have been trying to work up some enthusiasm - or at least present a passably ecstatic expression when the subject matter comes up. After all Charming Calvin - who is far more of a Francophile than I could ever be - has probably fancied himself donning a chic beret on the way out to purchase a fresh baguette at the neighbourhood boulangerie.
Me, I've actually had to refrain from kicking the irresponsible pet owners who frequently allow their animal friends to litter the sidewalks of Paris. The infamous les crottes de chien.
Paul : Paris. Yay.
Calvin : You're still dreading it?
Paul : Never did see the fascination. Perhaps this time I will.
Calvin : Surely it's not that bad? Lots of people dream of seeing Paris.
Paul : *cough* Addlepated fools.
Calvin : What?
Paul : Paris. Yay.
And no, the fast falling value of our money doesn't help lift my flagging spirits in the least. Guess I will always wonder - 'Que reste-t-il de nos amours?'
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