I long for Paris. What a silly thing to think and say but really sometimes I dream that I am there, walking and writing and eating. On my honeymoon I spent less than 24 hours in Paris. Guy and I went on a day trip leaving for Paris at 5am and returning to London around midnight. I didn’t want to leave even though I loved nearly everything about London (except for the food, meh) I wanted to set up a little book shop and bakery in the heart of Paris on one of those windy back streets that all run into each other. I have three dogs, who better to live in a city where the dogs outnumber the people? I can just imagine walking Sadie (our only truly people, other dog friendly animal) along the Seine river. Not that I think it to be perfect. Actually there were a couple of things I didn’t like about it. One: I had to pay an entire Euro to use a public bathroom. Two: The train station smelled like pee. Three: I have never been on any sort of mode of transportation that was as crowded as the underground metro. But I think that’s why I liked it there. Not because I thought it was perfect but more because I thought it was so beautifully flawed. Plus there is the fact you could get lost in the Louvre for possibly a lifetime and never see everything.
We are planning on taking Harper (aka Le Guppy) to Disneyland in Paris for her 5th birthday. We already have two accounts started. One for her education and one for her first big trip. I hope she loves it as much as I do. I’m thinking of getting an Eiffel Tower shaped piggy bank to save our pennies in until we put them into an account.
For now, I watch Ratatouille and find myself jealous of the view from Alfredo Linguini’s dumpy little apartment and dream of moving to a Parisian suburb with my lovely husband, our little girl and our three dogs (although the thought of being without them as they passed through the required quarantine makes me terribly sad).