I dreamt of eating my fill in the months leading up to our few days in Paris.
I awoke at 3am on our second day with strange gut cramps and spend the next 4 hours on the toilette shitting and puking until the sun was up.
I could barely eat a thing all day. Which upset me more than the sickness itself.
The Louvre was a hothouse. Swarming with people taking selfies with phones mounted on sticks. A Magnificent palace full of centuries of art. That barely got a second glance from my self pitying arse.
And in the afternoon we climbed the steps to the Sac re Cur. We went inside and a placid looking 50 foot tall Jesus greeted us with open arms and a kind smile. Nuns started singing and it was kinda magic.
We bought a coolish Heineken on the steps of the church and looked out over the rows of alleyways hills leading to the guts of the city as the sun dipped.
I ate a piece of stale baguette for dinner and slept well knowing I’d make up for it tomorrow.
Shit. We Walked a lot on that first day. Just cruising about, taking it in.
Coming from Aus, its a pleasure just to walk the streets of a city with such insane architecture and history.
We could have stayed for weeks and just walked and ate and walked and drank and walked and ate then drank then walked some more and so on…