You imagine that it is the big things like going up the Eiffel tower that you’ll remember, but in reality, it is the goofy stuff. Like every night, when we’d get back home to our tiny, sweaty apartment and compare the photos we took, and mock each other mercilessly in our fake French accents about all the times we took pictures of our thumbs and feet. Or the time we decided on a whim to buy some warm chocolate crepes in paper cones to share on our evening walk and they tasted so amazing that we all briefly turned into wild animals with long talons and huge spikey teeth, making ravenous sounds like the Tasmanian devil as we circled around each other and devoured them right there in the street where we bought them. (Sorry, no pictures of that – too busy eating.) Or the beautiful walk we took in the Tuileries gardens on our last night, when after a day full of rain the sun finally came out just in time to set, and we felt like we were the only people in Paris, and Steve told us who all the statues in the park were meant to be, and I offered my marginally less sophisticated interpretations. (Steve: “That’s Abraham sacrificing his son.” Me: “No girls, that’s just a big guy smelling his armpit to see if his deodorant is working, cause he kind of likes that girl statue over there.” Or Steve: “That’s Cain, he’s hiding his face because he’s ashamed he killed his brother.” Me: “I personally think he’s hiding his face because he’s embarrassed that he’s not wearing pants.”)
How can this blog not evolve, or perhaps devolve, into being mostly about photos? We have so many beautiful ones. Here’s a few collages of my favourite parts of Paris:
And now we are in Rome. Check out the view from our apartment. (This is the spoiled bitch part.)
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