First Tango, Then Paris!

Paris. The city of dreams, and of love, and of dreaming of love. an agglomeration of artists, architecture and arrondissements. The French maybe out to get us, I believe, with their baguettes, bistros, boardwalks and bisous bisous. The well known Bordeaux brigade. where every road is a runway, and every glass is a Chardonnay. Who cares if they didn't invent the French Toast, or the French fry. because in the end, Slap me, I would rather be French. :O

lone lampost, in a lone city square.I wasn't alone though.

light, wall and sky.

In Paris, do what the Parisians do.

ah. macarons.

The Moulin Rouge, and the famous windmill.

everything looks better in Black and white; The Sacre Couer.

living the poster life.

I read signs. this tells me that you need to exercise to stay in a good shape till you are 30.

catacombs, call out to me. I hesitate, and walk in. they are a farce, and I am a fake.

The Louvre. it was crowded, but I tried and I tried till I got a picture without any people in it. twenty wasteful minutes, and an irate cousin later, this was it.

some people hang their clothes out to dry. and some people do this.

books, glorious books. In France, read like the French. but alas, In french.

Gargoyles everywhere, all dead, all stone.

serenity, at its fullest and best.

The Eiffel tower. Need I say anything more?

Breaks the conventional point of the stereotype, this one.

The Pompidou centre, the service side.

Shoe inside a cage. Probably one of Cinderella's evil stepmother's ideas. :O

A part of a flea market in the Bastille area.

some bread, and some is sometimes all what you need. and then some ice cream helps too. when things look good enough to eat, they usually are.

and then, the end of the glorious food, and a glorious trip. Porquoi? Precisely.