London: "Don't cross Euston Road at night!"

We took the train to London on Friday afternoon to meet Nancy and Stephen, who'd flown in over night. From Paddington, the four of us decided to go straight to the hotel, the Thistle Euston, so Tea and I could discard our packs -- while the specially purchased 40-odd-litre backpacks were working out well, we saw no need to push our endurance right out of the gate.

That accomplished, it was supper time. After picking up our Eurostar tickets for the morning, the reality of the pop-in on a Friday night in London smacked us square in the face: we struck out a number of times before happening upon a sign pointing us to Thai food. Nancy and Stephen were a bit skeptical -- not of the cuisine, I should point out, though it would be Stephen's first taste of Thai -- standing outside the Dolphin, but once we assured them that our favourite Thai back home was also served in a well-worn pub -- specifically, at the Suffolk Arms -- they warmed up to the idea.

Aside: the funny thing was, later that night, at the Skinners Arms -- great pub, incidentally -- Nancy got talking to this American journalist now based in London, pretty much spitting distance from the Dolphin. He waxed lyrical about a number of subjects, including, importantly, how rough the Dolphin is -- like the Tooth Fairy lost a night's spoils out front come any given Saturday morning, apparently -- and, get this, how we should never cross Euston Road at night. He made to bless us when we squeaked how we'd have to do that very thing to get back to our hotel. Small wonder it was such a steal!

However, never fear, dear reader: we had a fantastic meal at the Dolphin -- so good, in fact, that that was Stephen's meal of choice at the end of the trip as well, back in Cheltenham, although from Thai Emerald (also excellent), as the Suffolk Arms doesn't serve it on Sundays -- enjoyed a few pints at the Skinners Arms and then at the lovely Bree Louise -- they were hosting a Disney themed fancy dress party, and us with tickets for Disneyland Paris the next day; you can't make this stuff up -- and made it back to the hotel safe 'n' sound.

For you real ale fans, highlights of the evening included:

• Titanic's Anchor: lovely gold, with a big kick of bitter hops
• Facers' Landslide (gravity fed!)
• Ascot Ales' Winter Reserve (also gravity fed)
• Otley's O8: first time I'd tried this "deceptively smooth" beauty

Up next: Disneyland, French style!

Mom in London

[Kept a few notes from our weekend in London with Mom.]

September 3, 2011

On the train to Paddington this morning for a weekend in London with Mom. Got the tube to Victoria Station and checked in at Topham's. After lunch at the Victoria, it was off to the London Eye, tops on Mom's To Do list. (Passed Buckingham Palace on the way, moseyed through St. James's Park.) The line for the Eye was out of sight, so we opted for Fast Track tickets. They let us use them straight away, despite their being for a few hours' time, meaning that the wait to get on wasn't much longer than the ten minutes it took to get tickets. Win!

After a stop for refreshments at St. Stephen's Tavern, we picked up our tickets for Billy Elliot at the Victoria Palace Theatre and went back to the hotel to get ready. The Palace Theatre was so ornate, with lush reds and velvets anywhere it wasn't. Before the curtain rose, the production manager was on stage telling us that tonight was a special night: it was Scott McKenzie's hundredth, and last, performance as Billy. He'd been away from his folks -- who just happened to be sat right behind us, we soon found out -- for 22 months, and performing the role for the last year.

What a send off they gave him!

I found the material was supercharged that evening: what I imagine as Scott's own experiences mirrored in this slice of Billy's life. Any scene about Billy's leaving home gave rise to fresh sniffles and clearing of throats behind us, and ended with thunderous roars and applause. (The Scots and Geordies -- for there were lots of the latter in attendance, let me tell you -- really know how to show their appreciation!)

The show ends with Billy leaving up the centre aisle, only to run back for the curtain call. They'd moved Scott's mom up to the front during the intermission, and he stopped mid run to give her a big kiss and hug -- Pretty sure the whole theatre melted.

We all really enjoyed the show. It was almost like, for those few hours, we all had a small hand in raising this talented young boy, bearing witness to this momentous time in his life... Or maybe I just got caught up in great theatre.

I think Mom was the most surprised, though: she'd hoped to see Les Misérables (which is booked up well out), and, I suspect, thought little else would measure up. Tea's (rightfully) lookin' pretty good about now: daughter in law extraordinaire!

* * *

Late last night, Tea booked us the 1230 slot to visit Buckingham Palace -- the only one still available; after a hearty hotel breakfast, we made our way to the National Gallery for the hours leading up to it. Favourites of this (short) visit were:

• Rembrandt | Portrait of Aechje Claesdr | NG775
• Willem Kalf | Still Life with Drinking-Horn | NG6444
• Joseph Wright 'of Derby' | An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump | NG725

The Palace had changed since our last tour, flush with all things Kate: the dress, the cake, and the pictures. They'd also replaced the exhibit of the Queen's dresses with Royal Fabergé, much to Tea's disappointment.

From there, we dodged raindrops to Cask, West London's CAMRA Pub of the Year 2011. I cannot say enough about this spot; loved it to bits. They have a jaw-dropping selection of beers, good food, and genuinely friendly staff. (My only complaint is that they don't serve hot drinks; how am I supposed to sample all your wonderful delights if I can't keep Tea in the tea?)

It was an adventure of firsts for me; I was new to all these breweries, sampling:

1. Rooster's Hot Shot
2. Dark Star's Hophead: nice 'n' hoppy; not much to choose between these first two excellent beers
3. Mikkeller's Beer Geek Breakfast: lovely full body, coffee roast throughout
4. Magic Rock Brewing's Double IPA, Human Cannonball: dangerously drinkable, with a pine nose very reminiscent of the legendary Black Ops

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

Cologne: all in sight of the Dom

Our drive to London was surprisingly painless. We had plenty of time to relax in St. Pancras Station before our train to Brussels, and then comfortably made our connection to Cologne. After a warm welcome at the Excelsior Hotel Ernst, we made our way to the Christmas market in the shadow of the 'Dom' -- Weihnachtsmarkt am Kölner Dom.

What an amazing market! We started with these slab o' ham sandwiches that were so good, quickly followed by glühwein; our first of many that evening. After a once-over of the stalls, we made our way to the famous Früh am Dom, just beyond. We weren't standing at the tables outside for more than a moment, wondering what to do, when a man in a blue vest came by with this caddy of 0.2 L glasses of beautifully clear, Früh Kolsch. Fruity, with a nutty finish -- and served by gravity, out of huge barrels -- in a word, delish!

Back at the market, more glühwein found its way to our mugs, and then there was tasty pomme frites, followed by the best crepes Tea's ever had! (And, as she says, she's had some crepes in her life.) These came with a healthy helping of Nutella, and I could tell she was on cloud nine.

Sunday, December 12

We started the day with a lie-in, safe in the knowledge that we'd still easily make the Excelsior's breakfast, on 'til 11 a.m. and very high calibre. Then it was out for a walk along the Rhine. Walking over the Hohenzollern bridge was a bit moving, if I'm honest: the impressive current under us, so many symbols of commitment locked to the railing beside us, built to a tangible energy in the air.

Our first pub of the day was Brauhaus zur Malzmühle, a brewpub in the style of the Hofbrauhaus (is the way I think of them, it being my first) and beautifully decorated for the season. Warmed by some fantastic goulash and their Kolsch, we made our way to the old town market, Alter Markt/Altstadt. "Hyper German" is the phrase that popped from my mouth, surrounded by those familiar stalls, but also under the gaze of gnomes, a bonneted matron's music box filling my ears, quickly followed by the squeals of delighted children as the tune reached its crescendo.

At times I was aware that I had the biggest grin just plastered on. The celebration was so infectious. Every stall held fresh memories from Tea's childhood. Afternoon became evening, and we made our way to another pub on the list, Pfaffen brewpub. Our beer guide commented on the beautiful stained glass above its doorway; combined with the extraordinary wood carvings along much of its interior, it was a lovely, if cosy, spot to spend a few hours.

When our waiter found out we were from Canada, his face lit up, "Ah, I've been there! Toronto! Beautiful city! I was on a very famous street..." His brow knit as he struggled to draw out the name. By this time, another waiter, the self-proclaimed "Psycho" -- little wonder why we aren't supposed to pick our own nicknames; you get a room of Mr. Blacks -- has joined in the conversation, proclaiming that more Macedonians live in Toronto than do at 'home'. "Danforth!" saved us from committing either way to this proclamation.

We'd been noticing how wet and bedraggled many of the newcomers appeared; luckily the next pub on our list was just a few doors down. The party was in full swing in the Brauhaus Sünner im Walfisch, with an L-shaped table across from us sharing what we soon found out was a five-litre tower of Sünner Kolsch. On the dubious logic that you can wait some time for refills of those tiny 0.2 L glasses, we quickly found ourselves in the shadow of our very own three-litre tower of Cologne's nectar.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this is where the evening begins to take on a sort of glowing haze. Full of delicious pork, potatoes and Kolsch -- although, not the whole three litres, I hasten to add: no, we shared some with the others at our table, and received many thanks and shots of some sort in return -- we made our way, first, to the so-called medieval market, where we enjoyed more glühwein from heavily cowled folk in the light of open flames, and then to the Christmas market on a boat moored in the Rhine, not far from the Hohenzollern bridge. We had our portraits done there, Tea undoubtedly drumming up more business for the artist, such was her enthusiasm for the enterprise.

Monday

Thankfully, the day started very peacefully, the hotel now well below capacity. After breakfast, we made our way to the first of the two remaining Christmas markets -- if you haven't been counting, that's six in walking distance of our hotel and the Dom! -- Cologne's oldest, in Neumarkt. The weather had been steadily improving over the weekend, and we enjoyed the sunny breaks sipping glühwein and munching on kartoffelplätzchen (fried potato cakes).

Then it was off to the Christmas market on Rudolfplatz, in the shadow of the Hahnentorburg, one of the original twelve gates in the medieval city walls of Cologne. Our first stop was for more mulled wine, of course. Something I've failed to mention is that you're typically drinking out of mugs that are unique to that market; you pay a deposit and can then go from stall to stall, refilling as required. However, most markets won't accept mugs from other markets, which was fine with us: we had quite a collection by this point. The Rudolfplatz market's mugs were especially neat because two of them, side by side, formed a miniature replica of the Hahnentorburg.

After a bit of shopping -- Tea added to her Christmas village, and we picked up biscuits for the work crowd -- we stopped at another brewpub on the list, Päffgen Brauhaus, for an early supper. Again, I just love the feel of these places: the smell of the... unfinished pine, I suppose, of the tables, and then the deep, rich wood of the booths and panelling; this brauhaus had some fabulous stained glass as well; and it's rare that you aren't sitting near a group of older men, swapping stories or debating as they've done many times before, over a good many Kolsch. Oh, and to give you an idea of how easy that is, the waiter just keeps coming with those 0.2 L glasses, marking a stroke for each new arrival on your beermat; put your beermat on top of your glass when you're done, and he or she will tally it up. Easy-peasy!

A kip at the hotel was then in order, and as we got ready to head out again that evening, a beautiful, light snow started to fall. I don't think it could've felt more Christmas-y, as we again walked the Alter Markt and the am Kölner Dom. The crowds had hardly dipped from the weekend, and no one seemed to mind the snow -- for my Canadian readers, that may sound strange, but trust me, there are certain folks (not naming names or... nationalities) that just seem to carry on as always, shivering and muttering in their trainers and light coats, hoping this strange white stuff will simply go away.

In addition to sampling many of the old standbys, Tea also tried some käsespätzle, which looked amazing and put the biggest smile on her face.

Tuesday

Since our hotel was right beside the train station, and the train to Brussels didn't leave 'til 3 p.m., we still had lots of time to wander Cologne, even after our lie-in. We decided to forego the hotel breakfast for slab o' ham sandwiches, pomme frites and crepes (marmalade in mine) -- ah, there's a start to your day!

We toured the Dom and its crypt -- all free! -- and then relaxed in the Gaffel am Dom brewhouse with a few Kolsch before grabbing our bags and heading to the station. We had talked about leaving earlier and spending some time in Brussels, but decided to leave that for another trip.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Day 2: Munich!

Up very early this morning. Don't expect the houseboat residents appreciated our luggage clattering along the cobblestones at 5 a.m. Took the Heathrow Express from Paddington, then the quick flight to Munich.

Navigating the ring road in our hire car was fun, particularly when we started hitting cul-de-sacs courtesy of metal barriers that our sat-nav knew nothing of. [Aside: we later learned that one of the 'avoidances' we always leave on -- toll roads -- was unnecessarily complicating our routes; apparently most of the autobahns are marked as toll roads on our 2009 maps.] Eventually we made it to the hotel, though, and then took the U-Bahn to Marienplatz.

As we emerged from the subway, raised voices and music could be heard. Initially, we laughed off Tea's guess of protests, only to have it confirmed by a local shortly thereafter. Hundreds, if not thousands, of folks carrying and wearing "Atomkraft? Nein danke!" lined streets and pathways. [Now that I'm connected again, I'll let this Deutsche Welle story tell the tale:

A focus of the protest was the formation of a human chain, about 10 kilometers long, through the center of the city... Organizers said that some 50,000 people in all took part in the day's events, while police put the number at around 25,000.

...

Social Democratic Party (SPD) leader Sigmar Gabriel said that the turnout revealed the level of opposition to a planned extension to the operating lifespans of Germany's nuclear power plants...]

Tea successfully navigated around that excitement, bringing us to the decidedly more jovial bustle of the Hofbräuhaus am Platzl.

Well, I have to say, the Hofbräuhaus franchise in Las Vegas is excellent. Much as there, music, laughter and the general buzz of good cheer washed over us as we explored the many rooms of the former royal brewery.

A friendly British couple who are living in Munich invited us to sit at a Stammtisch or local table, where we enjoyed pork knuckle, cabbage rolls and schnitzel, as well as the house original and dunkel (or dark beer) and radlers (or shandies). [Funnily enough, the direct translation of radler is cyclist; h'm...]

The whole atmosphere of the Hofbräuhaus is fantastic. That such a tourist attraction still reserves over a hundred tables for locals, and lets them lock up their steins in the entryway between visits, just strikes me as so... right.

From there, we made our way to the beautiful Neues Rathaus, or New Town Hall, where they seemed to be setting up for a concert of sorts. We stayed in the plaza for the hourly Rathaus-Glockenspiel show, and then made our way to a local grocery store. An hour or so later, ladened with many tasty biscuits, peanut-butter 'cheezies', and a jug of Neuschwansteiner beer -- literally, and a beautiful vessel it is -- we headed back to our rooms at the K+K hotel on the crowded subway.

Up next: Schloss Nymphenburg and Dachau

[Also, don't forget that all these pictures and more are available in my Picasa album.]

München trip: Day 1: London

I forgot how mad London is.

As we left home this morning, a light breeze tugged leaves from the trees across our lane. It was peaceful, watching them spiral down toward us as we walked to the train station, mingling with the Friday morning commuters. That seemed continents away as we crammed on the Piccadilly Line this evening.

Apparently the crowds were worse than usual because they'd decided to shut down the line upon discovering an unclaimed bag. That said, as Tea quickly pointed out, colliding with any London evening commute is more excitement than any of us are used to. (I wonder if they are more alert after the recent American announcements, that, happily, warn about travel both to here and our destination of Germany.)

Aside: it's hard to believe that the newspaper is dead after taking a trip like that: well over half the commuters had their noses buried in the printed word. And, when you think about it, it makes sense: with all the jostling that goes on, I'd surely drop a hand-held device. Plus, you can fold it in all sorts of ways to improve your grip. And when you're done, in the bin with it. But maybe that's just me, only truly comfortable with my devices when I'm on the couch or at the kitchen table.

Just outside Paddington Station

Staying at the Novotel near Paddington is neat: the houseboats lining the canal right outside the station seem so European; in a way much of the rest of the city doesn't strike me. That said, however, I wouldn't cover our next stop, Covent Garden, with that broad brush: it's so vibrant; a melting pot of language and cuisine. Speaking of which, the Jamie's Italian close by didn't disappoint.

Nancy and Stephen had met us at Paddington fresh from their overnight Atlantic crossing -- which is to say, excited, but far from rested -- but thoughts of napping were quickly dispelled by those of lunch at Jamie's; they're loyal readers of this blog, and were eager to experience the subject of such fuss.

The service at this location, always an unknown variable with any chain, was excellent: our waitress answered all of Stephen's (many) questions, and even brought us samples of a few dishes -- something he probably loves even more than quizzing folks. Our old standbys made yet another appearance, but I had a special of braised lamb this time; exquisite! We ended the meal with the lemon polenta cake -- again, possibly the best dessert on the planet.

Up next: Munich! "Hoi! Hoi! Hoi!"

Vacation: Day 1: Barcelona, via London and Paris

Note: Due to technical difficulties, it will be some time before I'll have access to the pictures from the first part of our cruise. Over the coming days, I'll blog about our stops, and then (hopefully) update these posts with pictures at a later date.

What a posh title, eh? I feel slightly more important for writing it, I must say. I kept a journal during our two-week cruise of the Mediterranean, and I'll be posting the entries as they are dated there, with some additional exposition, as appropriate. For example, this post is about our overnight train to Barcelona, which might strike you as an odd choice of transportation. However, what I don't mention in my journal is that we booked this cruise right around the time that volcanic ash from Eyjafjallajökull was messing up most of Europe's airspace, and we had visions of missing the ship as it left Barcelona. Oh, the irony, as you'll soon learn.

Saturday, June 19, 9:45 a.m.

We're still at least an hour outside Barcelona. The train seems to pause often; don't know whether that's normal.

In one of those funny coincidences, I've just heard a conversation outside our compartment (in English, amazingly enough) about what has happened: we hit a car at some point in the night, dragged it for 200 metres, and are now on our way back to meet another locomotive, I believe. All told, we will be between six and seven hours late. Tea's managed to fall asleep again; I don't think I'll wake her to give her the bad news. Apparently that staff member has never heard of this happening before. Oh well, this is why you don't plan to travel on the day you sail.

It's really exotic: this mix of French, English and Spanish (with both the soft 'c' that I'm used to, and the heavy 'th' of the north that sounds like yet another language to my ears). The staff really manage very well. I guess the list of destinations contribute to that exotic feeling as well: London, Paris, Barcelona... and all in less than 24 hours. (Well, according to the original plan.)

I still find it hard to believe that we hit a car! We're far back in the train, but I'd still expect to feel something. Thankfully it seems like no one was hurt too badly, otherwise I can't see the police allowing us to continue so quickly. Tea's awake now, and commented that that's probably the horrible diesel smell that filled the cabin (briefly, again, thankfully) in the middle of the night.

2:30 p.m.

The green continues to roll by. I pause as a tunnel blacks out the world. The chaos of the countryside is interrupted every so often by the perfect lines of groves and vineyards. My mobile tells me we still haven't hit the border yet. A few minutes later we stop in Cerbère.

4:20 p.m.

We're still in Cerbère. Apparently our conductor has left. There are rumours that he took some heat about the crash, and by leaving us at this border town at the end of his shift, a mere ten minutes from another station with plenty of drivers, he's really fixed us. It's difficult to get here by road, although the remaining crew assure us that we will be in Barcelona in three hours.

As the other passengers mill about out on the platform, with no one around and plenty of rusty old trains, I find myself speculating on our chances, were we the last humans on the continent.

I may come to regret my fascination with dystopian fiction and movies, particularly if we end up spending the night here; there are some really creepy tunnels just a few hundred yards down the tracks.

* * * * *

Epilogue

My journal skips ahead to our first stop, Villefranche-sur-Mer, at this point, but I won't leave you hanging: we made it to Barcelona; eight hours late. Still, we had time to walk along La Rambla -- stopping for some fantastic seafood paella along the way -- and down by the port with Nancy and Stephen before getting on the Brilliance the next day.

Up next: the French Riviera

A last hurrah in Londinium

For Kae's last weekend here, we decided to spend it in London – a day or so beforehand. Thank goodness for lastminute.com: you can book a bunch of stuff there, and with hotels, you can get a great deal; the catch is you won't know exactly where you're staying until you pay.

It worked better than we could've imagined, giving us a great discount at this really posh hotel, The Grange St. Paul's, in the shadow of the beautiful St. Paul's Cathedral. I mean, I don't think we'll ever stay at a place like that in London again: you get your own plush slippers and robe, every room has this amazing spa bathroom, the smoked salmon in their continental breakfast just melts in your mouth, there's a great pool, etc. Suffice to say that our expectations were exceeded by a country mile.

Inside the Twinings shop

We were hungry when we got in, so we stopped at this gourmet burger restaurant – Gourmet Burger Kitchen – around the corner. They didn't have the selection of The Works, but it was in the same vein. It's amazing how many languages you hear in London, when you don't have loud American geeks behind you joking about poorly formed SQL queries, that is. We had to laugh. I had a tasty boar burger with a real ale from the same farm – Laverstoke Park Farm. Tea and Kae had some frosty milkshakes to go with their burgers.

Somerset House

Then it was time for some shopping. We spent some time in the oldest shop in London, the Twinings tea shop in the shadow of the impressive Courts of Justice, before making our way to Covent Garden; they have some really talented buskers performing there. Actually, before we got there, in one of those incredible coincidences, we ran into a Canadian we'd met on the tube in from Paddington earlier that day: we just standing there, admiring all that is Somerset House – with kids playing in the water, just like that scene in Last Chance Harvey – when we heard this, “Hey! I know you guys!” It's such a small world sometimes.

The girls' ultimate destination was Bravissimo near Oxford Circus, so I left them near the distinctive spire of All Souls Church in search of a pub. Before long, I'd found the Argyll Arms, and had a pint of the Landlord in one hand and William Gibson's Neuromancer in the other – Heaven for me, in other words.

At Ping Pong

Later, we met up and headed back to the hotel for a swim. Well, it turned into a nap for me, but the girls enjoyed the pool. Then it was out in search of Chinese dumplings at Ping Pong on Bread Street. Everything about the place, right down to their slogan – "little steamed parcels of deliciousness" – was so Tea (and Kae :-) ). And they were true to that delicious statement, from the martinis to the dozen or so selections we ordered.

Camden markets was on the docket for Saturday. The tube filled up as we got closer to our stop; initially, I'd thought the tattooed and pierced travellers were the ones heading there – I'd watched a few videos on the markets the night before – but, as we exited like a tide of people flowing out of the station, I realized that the Camden markets has something for everyone. Yes, there are plenty of places to get tattoos and T-shirts of the most irreverent variety, but there are also pottery shops, shops selling beautiful old luggage, guys wandering around with live kangaroos in their shirts, Hare Krishnas beside kids with pink spiked mohawks, and food.

Oh, the food. At times you felt like you were running a gauntlet – an aromatic, mouth-watering one – with Chinese, Thai, Mexican, Japanese, Indian (the list goes on) food vendors lining the lanes, holding out free samples. You could eat a meal's worth of samples easily, and I'm sure some of the people we saw were doing just that. We had a snack of something called a 'chipstix', where they cut and cooked a potato to yumminess right in front of you, on a stick, followed by Mexican for Tea and me, and Chinese for Kae.

Tea with a 'chipstix'

Next was some shopping – we picked up a fantastic old cribbage board, an old collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and a bunch of comic books from Mega City Comics, nestled right in the middle of the markets – and people watching. We saw this guy who was the spitting image of Duckie – I'm sure he wasn't even born when that movie came out, but he must've seen it, he was that spot on. Then it was down the road for a pint at The Monarch. They had chairs set up on the stage, so we sat where there was no doubt live music later that night.

At YO! Sushi

Finally, it was back to the hotel for a swim – I joined the girls this time – followed by some YO! Sushi before bed. It was our first time there, and I have to say, as tired as I was, it was all really exciting: it's part game, part extra in some futuristic movie, and all tasty.

Sunday meant that it was time to say goodbye to Kae – we preferred au revoir – so we hired a car (at a flat rate that ended up saving us money – to say nothing of our backs) to take us to Heathrow, saw Kae off, and took the bus home from there. We all agreed it was a fantastic weekend. London's amazing for that: I think you could go there 52 weekends in a row and never retrace your steps or do the same thing twice.

Tea and Jae... and Kae! in the city of lights

If Dublin has a pulse, Paris has grace; and such grace. At no time have my thoughts and words felt less adequate, or A Moveable Feast more impressive.

She is a lady: in the young woman standing outside her shop, "un café" in one hand, a cigarette in the other; in the older man in a tweed coat hopping on his bicycle, his thin scarf flapping in the breeze.

Chillin' at our apartment

We got an afternoon train to London, and the Eurostar to Paris, arriving in the early evening. We spent a few hours exploring the neighbourhood around our apartment that first morning. Our arms full of warm bread, and delicious meats and cheeses, we congratulated ourselves on this breakfast fit for any Parisian. One point on the local grocery store: the milk that doesn't need to be refrigerated seems to be very popular in Paris; it was all we could find in our neighbourhood. And I was pleasantly surprised to learn that it's all "facile à digérer." With the sheep's milk cheese, I was good to go!

The Sully wing of the Louvre

Fortune smiled on us as we ducked in and out of the rain that first day. One of our favourite ways to begin a trip is a city tour, to get our bearings and change our itinerary as sights grab our eyes. This trip was no different, and we had excellent (sheltered) seats on the double-decker bus for most of the tour. That done, it was time to see a bit of Louvre – with kilometres of galleries, we didn't kid ourselves about seeing more.

Looking down on the Sully courtyard

We'd planned to take one of the tour boats on the Seine that evening, presuming the weather cooperated. The rain was light as we left the Louvre, so we decided to have a bite to eat near the Pont Neuf quays and catch the last tour of the evening, around 10 p.m. The restaurant of the same name was warm and quaint, as were our hosts. Up to this point, Kae had been a bit self-conscious about her French – which Tea and I took as perfect, incidentally, and a life-saver on more than one occasion. At the end of our meal, Kae admitted as much to our hostess, who assured her that she expressed herself very well. I think that left her tickled for hours afterwards.

The next day we caught the Metro to Montmartre, in the eighteenth arrondissement. The view from the steps of the Sacré-Cœur was wonderful. Walking around the cobblestoned plazas, past cafe seats facing out on artists sketching folks and cutting their silhouettes out of paper, was more than a little surreal; similar to other experiences I've had – in Quebec City, for example – in that I could now understand what they were imitating. It was so natural here; like drawing breath, for them, I'm sure.

In Montmartre Cemetary

We stumbled upon the Montmartre Cemetary; literally an awesome sight: above-ground tombs and mausoleums, most more elaborate than I'd ever seen, stretching out to the horizon. The avenues through it are named, and compost bins for the many, many flowers sit at every corner.

Moulin Rouge was our next stop, in the heart of the 'red light' district. Obligatory photos taken, we decided to find some sustenance to get us through to the evening's entertainment: a fondue house that Tea had read about. Tea had onion soup – yes, Stephen, they drop the French part here :-) – and Kae enjoyed a cheese plate, as we took in the foot traffic; Paris really has some of the best people watching I've seen: everyone is so different, from their dress – formal or casual, it is always deliberate – and mannerisms, to their features; I could've been imagining things, but it seemed that I'd never seen such a variety of noses, chins, skin tones, facial hair... tall and lanky folks beside others so small you could only think 'miniature.' Silly, I know, but it's true!

The fondue house was fully booked, but the owner assured Kae that he would find a spot for us a bit later. We consoled ourselves with more wine at yet another brasserie, and by the time we returned, there was a significant queue. Thankfully, Kae is very memorable – as we all know! – and we were seated without too much fuss. Well, what a restaurant! I barely had time to take in the raucous atmosphere in what really amounted to a narrow room before a baby bottle of the vin rouge was thrust into my hand. Ah, hold on to your hat, I thought to myself.

I lost time that night.

I figure it's important that a writer acknowledge that up front. I remember moments right up to my head hitting the pillow, but many of them seem more like last grasps at dreams as I write this. I'm told I was very happy throughout, managing against all odds to avoid making a fool of myself. Thank goodness I had two lovely ladies looking after me, otherwise I surely would've left all my belongings behind as I hopelessly wandered the streets of Paris.

The next day was a bit rough.

I turned a year older, and felt all of those 365 days over the course of that morning. Then it was off to the Latin quarter, walking around the old haunts of Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Orwell. The market streets were just as Hemingway described them so many years ago: narrow and chock full of carts offering fruit, cheese and seafood, with amazing pâtisseries and book shops in between. Oh, and a rack of rotisserie chicken, with the potatoes roasting away in the drippings tray at the bottom. (It smelled amazing!) And the vendors warmly greeting their regulars with a kiss on either cheek, and such joyful expressions that you'd swear they'd been years apart.

The Panthéon

We then made our way to the Panthéon and the Sorbonne, through streets full of young life. It was at that moment that the last of the austre grace that had marked my first day in the city melted away: yes, the city of lights can be elegant, but no one who walks through Montmartre or the clusters of students around the Sorbonne could fail to feel its warmth.

With our train scheduled to depart at 3 p.m., we spent our last morning shopping in the Galeries Lafayette, taking in the stained glass of that amazing ceiling to the main building, and ladies' accessories worth the GDP of small nations.

No, Tea, our luggage isn't that big. ;-)