Feels like we’ve ‘come home’… is this due to settling into one lovely apartment and spreading ourselves out for seven whole days? Do we put it down to familiarity for this is the third visit for Fifi, forth for Pixi? Or is it simply because this most beautiful of cities – the city of lights – is again casting her spell?
It’s been a long journey this past five weeks…5,200k, three countries, three different
languages, so much to see, yet we’ve seen so much…saying goodbye to our beloved Poppy car a poignant experience, revisiting our Blog affording us opportunity to differentiate between primacy and recency.
Philosophsing aside, practicalities call…it’s time to regroup… four weeks worth of washing, admire the big bunch of Peonies our kind host has provided, sip the delectable Burgundy she has left, stroke the crisp French linen on our king size beds, a little Angus and Julia Stone on the IPod dock, feet up, plan the coming days. Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Conveniently located on the left bank, bustling, lively and chic. Paris requires a week all to her self for exploration…plus a fine constitution for managing the 65 stairs up to our apartment!!
Reliving initial wonderment through Dickie’s eyes for this is his first time in Paris? Moving beyond the obvious and into the culture and heartbeat of the city? Perhaps a little of both…
Friendly people who chuckle at our attempts to grasp this new language and quickly adjust to fluent English to make us comfortable, the city clean, so clean, the traffic calm…and then there’s the Reuss river…crystal clear, icy blue in hue thanks to the water flowing directly from alps to lake.
those in Prague and Vienna yet displaying a uniqueness all their own..quite special actually.
service sandwich and French X Factor on the Bang and Olufsen telly, snuggled under the perfectly fluffy Swiss doonah, nestled between perfectly feathered Swiss pillows. Fifi’s legs need recuperating from all that walking and as this country appears to be the most expensive in Europe, may have had to do Swiss dishes for a week to pay for that chunk of melted Swiss cheese. Instead think of waistlines. Oh wait…waistlines??
Dicky has become the Gordon Ramsay of the Italian highway; Ducky never, ever wants to drive cliff side again…he holds up the traffic doing 20 km around those cliffs you see, and he’s not fond of the impatient drivers tooting, flashing their lights and signaling abuse behind him. Bella, Fifi and Pixi have each perfected the semi silent scream, discreet white knuckling and grabbing just the right amount of change from the car kitty within seconds for the endless tolls. Driving Italian roads is definitely not for the faint of heart.
first courses arrive before second and not all at once; never to change your mind for the original dish will always turn up…or nothing at all; never to expect butter…or plates, salt or ground pepper…but a great deal of bread (a symbol of welcome) and always a very, very large bottle of olive oil, along with ‘gas’ or ‘non gas’ water. Ordering a liqueur coffee is definately worth it though… just to watch the look of incredulity cross their faces.
