The last night of any holiday …

I sent this twitter as I was closing down safari:

ohdarling: Going to head to bed and have myself a little pity party.
Ugh. The last night of a holiday is always pout-y.

When I had finally convinced it to close, I saw that this photo had become my desktop picture:

It’s set to change every 5 minutes.

Looking across to Sacré Couer
It’s better when it’s bigger*

And, I don’t know. But the clouds (they’re my favourite kind. Where you can see the different layers of atmosphere like we live in an actual bubble!) and the soft hues and and and the light on Sacré Couer? It made me feel very calm.
Bedfordshire will be a little less pouty tonight.

* That’s what she said! I’m SO SORRY. I HAD to do it. For Craig! I swear.

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Remember that we went to Paris?

Our trip in Photos:

Love the light

The light in this photo reminds me of plimsolls & tanned ankles.

Paris, je t'aime aussi!

Not entirely certain what this building is

Déjeuner

Lunch. Baguettes & panini. Du coca.

Heart you Notre Dame!

Statuary looking over the Seine

Ornate Building

Pont Neuf through the trees

Pont Neuf!

Seine-side stall Seine-side stall

View from our Hotel Room

We stayed at the Hotel du Beaune. On the sixth floor of a narrow rickety building overlooking rooftops. The elevator was tiny. Wearing our backpacks (tiny! carry on size!) we were squashed inside. But it was clean and less than 10 minutes walking distance from the Louvre & the Seine.

Cracking Door beaune door decay

Eiffel Tower! Maman by Louise Bourgeois!

The Eiffel Tower! and Maman by Louise Bouregeois hiding in the tree.

Les Nympheas

I remember this from when I was 11

Waterlilies Wide Angle

I lovelovelove that you can take photos in galleries as long as you don’t use flash.

Obelisk, Place de la Concorde

Ave des Champs-Élysées

Arc de Triomphe

Look Up More. Arc de Triomphe.

Arc de Triomphe. Detail.

So. Many. Stairs. 284 of them. No pause.

So. Many. Stairs. 284 of them. No pause.

There were no gaps and there were people behind me alllll of the way.
I almost made it. About 7 before the end I had to stop. Then at the top, my throat tasted like blood. I didn’t think it was a good sign but I’m still alive so what do I know?

And the view was worth it.

Looking across to Sacré Couer

L'etoile, Arc de Triomphe

Wide Angle

Craig at the Royal Opera

Pyramid & the Louvre

Looking back at the Louvre, at night.

Tomorrow, the Louvre!

(This post was brought to you by 500mL of Pinot Grigio Blush. Love. A couple of hours ago. Which is why I’m ending it now)

Post Paris Malaise

Time: Sunday Night. About 9:45pm
Place: Dining Room, the Campanile Hotel, Roissypole, outside of Paris

Sarah: You know what would suck?
Craig: mm?
Sarah: Discovering you were allergic to something while you were in a foreign country.
Craig: mm.
Sarah: My lips are all tingly.

5 minutes later.

Sarah: Seriously! I don’t know what this is! the only word I could make our was Fillet & now my lips are really really tingly. And you don’t seem to care!
Craig: I didn’t respond because I knew you’d just freak out. I knew the moment that you mentioned finding out you were allergic to something. Just don’t eat anymore of it.
Sarah: oh. okay.

He really is the calm one.

We are back from Paris. Finally. We got to the airport at 6pm on Sunday to find out that our flight was Annulé. Cancelled. We had panicked & crossed our fingers so much about actually getting to Paris but forgot that we were flying back into terminal 5 as well.
So we stood & sat & complained in line for two hours. There were no flights left that day but if we didn’t mind going to London City airport instead of Heathrow then they could get us on a flight at 7:30 the next morning.
Didn’t mind? Didn’t mind? we loved the idea. It’s much easier to get to Southwark from Greenwich than Heathrow. And it meant no Terminal 5.

We collected our flight ticket & our hotel & meal vouchers and Craig stood outside to wait for the shuttle. It started snowing! the weather that had derailed the flights in London that morning had reached Paris. We crossed our fingers.
We were shuttled around to an anonymous, bland hotel in the area outside of Paris known as Roissypole. All airport hotels & highways. No personality, no real life.

The hotel staff were stretched to breaking. They all of a sudden had a hundred or so people show up for rooms & dinner & it was late and they were not prepared (nor could they have been!) so when we finally got dinner, it was an almost empty buffet. Hence the strange fish food which made my lips tingle.

We had to wake up at 4 the next morning in time for breakfast & shuttle & check in etcetera etcetera. I lay on the bed in agony with the worst exhaustion-enduced nausea I’ve ever had (super fun! turned out to be some kind of stomach bug! I’m still sick!) but after breakfast (blech) we stood, waiting for the shuttle, and realised that outside it was still snowing! proper snow! stuff that sticks on the ground & trees & cars and is a couple of inches thick. Unlike the London snow we’ve seen which hits the ground and melts. It was lovely. And the cold air made me feel a little better.

Our trip to Paris in general was lovely. The whole time that we were supposed to be there, I loved it. It was only once we were due to be gone that it was hellish.

We ate crepes & chocolat chaud, we walked and walked and walked and walked. We walked the Champs Elysée & took the stairs to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. We went to the top of the Eiffel tower & climbed the hill to Sacré Coeur. We went to the Louvre & the Orangerie & the Musée d’Orsay.
Our hotel was little & tall and had a lift that Craig & I could barely fit in. Seriously, my shoulders touched the sides & Craig’s were a little squashed in! Amazing.

But right now I am sick and while I have yet another day off work (planned on one. Today makes three) I feel too sick to edit, organise & upload photos. Perhaps this weekend?
I want to show you all! Paris is magical.

Also, this has taken me a long long time to write. I can’t exactly type properly at the moment. My hands feel all weak and weird.