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Time to slay your own dragons, ladies.

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My first kiss was an unwanted one. I was seven years old when a boy named David pushed me up against the wall outside our apartment building. Forcing his mouth on mine, his breath, hot and fusty, something sickly sweet like apple juice and milk gone sour in his gut that made me squirm. I don’t remember seeing him as I ran with my brother and the other neighborhood kids through the empty lot next door, scrabbling over the toppled trees, slick with moss, tripping over the bramble of twigs and woodsy decay, but he must have been there, his knees as scratched and muddied as ours, before he caught up with me in the driveway that ran alongside and behind the apartment building. 
As usual I’d tagged along in my older brother’s shadow. Tag, hide and seek, cowboys and indians, the games kids used to play. Outdoors, up and down the streets, no watchful mommies on red alert. Ignoring our mothers’ warnings—don’t go into the woods, don’t go into the woods—we went into the woods, woods that in fact …

Dreaming of France: Evening in Paris

When we were in Paris this past May we stayed in the Saint Germain des Pris at the weirdly named Welcome Hotel. Despite the generic moniker—which to my mind sounds like a youth hostel with cots, bathrooms in the hall and community rooms with pingpong tables and tvs—the hotel was charming, clean & comfortable. 

It was small but super affordable and in an fantastic location, just a couple of blocks from Les Deux Magots, Cafe Flore and Brasserie Lipp, the places Hemingway and all the other expatriot glitteratis hung out, along with artists like Picasso and intellectuals like Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de Bouvoir and Camus. John Dos Passos, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein. All the folks we saw in Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris.

We could have taken the metro which was also just two blocks from our hotel but since we were a ten minute walk from the Seine, we decided to spend our first night taking a nice long walk along the river, all the way to the Eiffel Tower. It took about an hour but every stunning vista was worth each and every step. Here are some of my favorite pictures from that evening in Paris. I know I'm gushing but I really can't think of a place more extraordinarily beautiful, especially after the sun goes down.




This week I'm joining Paulita's Dreaming of France meme

Comments

  1. You know you're preaching to the choir with me. I'm entranced by Paris too. We ate dinner at a restaurant where Hemingway hung out and it was included in the movie Midnight in Paris. We also passed by the laundry mat which was featured when he Gil tried to return to the bar. And we waited on the Pont Alexandre for the sun to go down so we could see the bridge's lights flicker on. Thanks for playing along with Dreaming of France. Here’s my Dreaming of France meme

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    1. Was it the Rotunde? Or Maxims? I didn't get to either so I definitely have to go back. Drat!

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  2. Simply beautiful. Thank you for sharing. I never get tired of beautiful photographs and I love cities

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    1. Thanks! So glad you stopped by.

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