When the wealthy tax-payers of Paris leave town to enjoy lengthy summer holidays along the Cote d'Azur, the city government whimsically spends their money to subsidize a trip to the beach for those who can't afford a vacation. They bring the beach to Paris in the form of 3000 tons of sand and enough activities to tire out even Erin Combs.
Enjoy our irony-free video pastiche of Paris Plages:
p.s. this is desi's first foray into shooting & editing video for mass consumption...
Sunday, July 22
Friday, July 20
Wednesday, July 18
L'Americain à Ses Raisons Que la Raison Ignore
In this week's episode we take on the Parks of...
Yes, Desi still holds out hope that for fleeting moments we are capable of passing as native Frenchfolk. Then she goes and does something like this in the Bagatelle Gardens:
For his part, Sean is comfortable with his inherent "otherness." Here, he earns pocket change by performing an interpretive dance known as "Not All Americans Are A**holes, But We Sure Dance Like Ones:"
Ain't nothin' right about any'a dat.
Gotta say though, there is a certain amount of nuttiness in the air out there in the Bois de Boulogne... as evidenced by this really weird woman taking pictures of an action figure!
Bizarro! Houdini was like "These Frogs are freaks!"
We must, however, amend our friend's impolitic assertion by voicing our profound appreciation for the legality of public wine consumption. It made our 9-month-wedding- anniversary picnic feel all the more special:
Nine months! Woah. Check us out.
Now, our favorite urban green space is just a few blocks away from home, and has been featured in these pages before: the classically beauteous Place des Voges. Last Sunday Sean spotted a famous face among the sunbathers there, and it weren't no marmot this time...
Our other close brush with actors proved even more titillating, when Julia Roth and friend Marushka (both matriculating into NYU acting programs in the fall) celebrated Bastille Day by brunching with us on their last day in Paris. Our sunglasses insisted we Never Hide, and we obeyed:
That night, we got all patriotic-like and walked five miles round trip to have another wine-spiked picnic under the Independence Day (Quatorze Juillet) fireworks on the Seine. We passed bridge after bridge teeming with Parisians...
(Pont des Arts)
...before Desi spotted the ideal perch on the Pont de La Concorde, right beside a family of eight Sri Lankans who shrieked with delight every single time this happened:
But back to the parks, if you insist. On the east side of town, we made an incursion into the Bois de Vincennes, and flaunted our touristic essence by playing frisbee all along the Grand Alee some ancient monarch once cut through the heart of his giant woodland.
Tiny in the background there you can just make out the medieval castle and cathedral that we're ignoring in favor of a spinning piece of plastic.
And this is the last image we have of Desi, seconds before she got her face gobbled off by a 4 foot tall Van Til-vorous water lily. Close observers will notice her shoulders smoking from the sunburn she's getting. A resultant fun adventure involved trying to explain to a French pharmacist why Desi desperately needed Aloe Vera gel.
Haven't you heard? After Bastille Day, they did away with that austere metal Tour Eiffel and remodeled it in bungee cord for the digital age. Here, Sean conquers it. At night, he sparkles on the hour.
Our landlord Barnabe noticed the sparkling, so he dropped in on us for a "mail pick-up and bavarder" visit. We like him and admire his life-long devotion to the yogic practice. He just spent two straight days and nights in a tree to regain his mental focus and balance, and now is off to West Africa for the month of August. (He's still looking for a sub-letter for the apartment for the month! Get on board everyone!) We theorize that if we lived here, we would befriend him and attend his classes.
We'd probably also go to the farmers' market every weekend...
But buying flowers makes Desi soooo sleepy.
Now that you mention it, here's more evidence that we aren't dining out every single night:
You may not want to be made aware of the fact that we are consistently documenting the other end of the alimentary process as well... We'd post the pics, but the faces we make are not as cute in those shots.
One meal on the town well worth documenting was had at the north African resto "404" in the Beaubourg District... Thanks for the suggestion monsieur Fred Berger. We inhaled several kilos of couscous in your honor, while admiring the decor and magical lighting:
The value of the dollar ain't the only thing plunging around here!..
And finally, a few more store-fronts that we think need to be franchised in the States:
You made it all the way through! Your reward will come in heaven.
Yes, Desi still holds out hope that for fleeting moments we are capable of passing as native Frenchfolk. Then she goes and does something like this in the Bagatelle Gardens:
For his part, Sean is comfortable with his inherent "otherness." Here, he earns pocket change by performing an interpretive dance known as "Not All Americans Are A**holes, But We Sure Dance Like Ones:"
Ain't nothin' right about any'a dat.Gotta say though, there is a certain amount of nuttiness in the air out there in the Bois de Boulogne... as evidenced by this really weird woman taking pictures of an action figure!
Bizarro! Houdini was like "These Frogs are freaks!"
We must, however, amend our friend's impolitic assertion by voicing our profound appreciation for the legality of public wine consumption. It made our 9-month-wedding- anniversary picnic feel all the more special:
Nine months! Woah. Check us out.Now, our favorite urban green space is just a few blocks away from home, and has been featured in these pages before: the classically beauteous Place des Voges. Last Sunday Sean spotted a famous face among the sunbathers there, and it weren't no marmot this time...
Our other close brush with actors proved even more titillating, when Julia Roth and friend Marushka (both matriculating into NYU acting programs in the fall) celebrated Bastille Day by brunching with us on their last day in Paris. Our sunglasses insisted we Never Hide, and we obeyed:
That night, we got all patriotic-like and walked five miles round trip to have another wine-spiked picnic under the Independence Day (Quatorze Juillet) fireworks on the Seine. We passed bridge after bridge teeming with Parisians...
(Pont des Arts)
...before Desi spotted the ideal perch on the Pont de La Concorde, right beside a family of eight Sri Lankans who shrieked with delight every single time this happened:
But back to the parks, if you insist. On the east side of town, we made an incursion into the Bois de Vincennes, and flaunted our touristic essence by playing frisbee all along the Grand Alee some ancient monarch once cut through the heart of his giant woodland.
Tiny in the background there you can just make out the medieval castle and cathedral that we're ignoring in favor of a spinning piece of plastic.
And this is the last image we have of Desi, seconds before she got her face gobbled off by a 4 foot tall Van Til-vorous water lily. Close observers will notice her shoulders smoking from the sunburn she's getting. A resultant fun adventure involved trying to explain to a French pharmacist why Desi desperately needed Aloe Vera gel.
Haven't you heard? After Bastille Day, they did away with that austere metal Tour Eiffel and remodeled it in bungee cord for the digital age. Here, Sean conquers it. At night, he sparkles on the hour.
Our landlord Barnabe noticed the sparkling, so he dropped in on us for a "mail pick-up and bavarder" visit. We like him and admire his life-long devotion to the yogic practice. He just spent two straight days and nights in a tree to regain his mental focus and balance, and now is off to West Africa for the month of August. (He's still looking for a sub-letter for the apartment for the month! Get on board everyone!) We theorize that if we lived here, we would befriend him and attend his classes.We'd probably also go to the farmers' market every weekend...
But buying flowers makes Desi soooo sleepy.
Now that you mention it, here's more evidence that we aren't dining out every single night:
You may not want to be made aware of the fact that we are consistently documenting the other end of the alimentary process as well... We'd post the pics, but the faces we make are not as cute in those shots.One meal on the town well worth documenting was had at the north African resto "404" in the Beaubourg District... Thanks for the suggestion monsieur Fred Berger. We inhaled several kilos of couscous in your honor, while admiring the decor and magical lighting:
The value of the dollar ain't the only thing plunging around here!..And finally, a few more store-fronts that we think need to be franchised in the States:
You made it all the way through! Your reward will come in heaven.
Saturday, July 14
MONTREUX: The Vacation from our Vacation
Walking around Paris, eating divine meals, picnicking in gardens...well, frankly, it all gets so tiring. We needed to take a break from that relentless beauty and hedonism, and where else to go for a two-day jaunt but Montreux, Swizterland. A four hour train ride* delivered us like newborns to this most mythic and picturesque village along Lake Geneva, which heretofore we will refer to by its name en Suisse: Lac Leman. Pardon our plethoric documentation, but the Alps are like towering, gorgeous supermodels begging to be photographed.
*A four hour train ride which became more pleasant when a girl in plain sight in our car's hallway casually stripped naked, and slowly dressed again one languorous item at a time. We don't know if this is routinely done in Switzerland or if it was just our good fortune, but the presence of a butt-naked young lady certainly helped the rest of our train ride just fly by.
We arrived in the rain, but the clouds parted and bathed us in Swiss Sunlight. We did a small photo shoot and proceeded to have the most peculiar Mexican Meal ever eaten. It involved porc, it involved guacamole, and it also involved the slowest waiter ever. When we asked him, approximately an hour into our meal, if any food was going to come, he responded that he needed to go detruire le porc.
The local Freddie Mercury statue gives a Rebel Yell to Lac Leman.
Desi bows before Her Highness, and learns from the plaque that Mercury recorded and lived in Montreux for years, "enjoying his neighbors' discretion," among other Swiss pleasures.
Though most might think this is a green screen or that Sean futzed with the color settings, indeed the lake is that aqua-marine, the sky that blue, Desi's teeth that white.
Free breakfast of sausage, granola and nutella in a palatial Victorian parlor on the water front: the only reason Sean and Desi have seen the 8:00 am hour since their arrival in Europe.
The view from our hotel room...are you kidding? But a great view from our hotel hallway no less.
An image of the lively, Euro-youth-infested street fair associated with the 15 day long, famed Montreux Jazz Festival. And no, we did not dine on fondue or raclettes ... rather, it was Thai, Vietnamese, and Italian all the way. Speaking of the Montreux Jazz Festival, we owe a shout out to the artist who brought us to Switzerland to begin with, the inimitable Rufus Wainwright who gave an incredible concert Thursday night. Thanks to Sean's height (although, his 2 metres were par for the course in Tall-Man Nation), we finagled our way to the foot of the stage and watched Rufus sing his heart out to us in lederhosen (see below), less than 12 feet away.
www.rufuswainwright.com
For those of you who don't know him, Rufus is a musical genius whose latest self-produced album Release the Stars, is magnifique.
Sean gives a casual, "I'm a handsome man" pose before another of the wonders of the world. Switzerland is the country responsible for the elopement of Roy and Linda Van Til, where just over those mountain ranges in the chalet-intensive town of Zermatt, under the Matterhorn, in 1972, le Van Til dynasty began.
We decided to elope too: Mom, Dad - we got married! We registered at www.theeuroisreallystrongrightnow.com
Desi, dressed kinkily as an Air France stewardess, offers Sean some coffee with that view.
A photo of Desi's great great grandmother in Montreux, circa 1844.
Les Dents du Midi shrouded in mystery, aka, white puffy clouds.
Whee! Thursday, July 12th was such a spectacular day that the universe seemed to demand we rent a motorboat and zip across the face of Lac Leman. And to be completely honest, we'd been inspired by our pals Darin and Robin Mark, who sent us some awesome shots of a recent fearless jetski foray (below). Granted, we were laughed out of the rental shack when we asked for life-jackets, since our motorboat pushed a max speed of 1 demi-knot per hour, as opposed to the Marks' mobile:
Bad to the bone, kids. We eat your spritz.
Our hotel : Eden Palace au Lac, seen from the lac.
The medieval Chillon Castle, which captured the imaginations of Byron, Dumas, Shelly and others too ancient to name. Give a sh*t? Learn more at www.chillon.ch/en/
On the train ride home from our micro-adventure, we got a flabbergasting email from friend Jen Heath, whose husband Bo has recently become a Maine celebrity. It is with much joy that we share this gritty tale of Bo, handling things well:
www.bangornews.com/news/t/news.aspx?articleid=151996&zoneid=500
And if that didn't turn your stomach, maybe this will:
It's a video! Click on it! Enjoy! Eat more veggies and do your crunches!!
*A four hour train ride which became more pleasant when a girl in plain sight in our car's hallway casually stripped naked, and slowly dressed again one languorous item at a time. We don't know if this is routinely done in Switzerland or if it was just our good fortune, but the presence of a butt-naked young lady certainly helped the rest of our train ride just fly by.
We arrived in the rain, but the clouds parted and bathed us in Swiss Sunlight. We did a small photo shoot and proceeded to have the most peculiar Mexican Meal ever eaten. It involved porc, it involved guacamole, and it also involved the slowest waiter ever. When we asked him, approximately an hour into our meal, if any food was going to come, he responded that he needed to go detruire le porc.
The local Freddie Mercury statue gives a Rebel Yell to Lac Leman.
Desi bows before Her Highness, and learns from the plaque that Mercury recorded and lived in Montreux for years, "enjoying his neighbors' discretion," among other Swiss pleasures.
Though most might think this is a green screen or that Sean futzed with the color settings, indeed the lake is that aqua-marine, the sky that blue, Desi's teeth that white.
Free breakfast of sausage, granola and nutella in a palatial Victorian parlor on the water front: the only reason Sean and Desi have seen the 8:00 am hour since their arrival in Europe.
The view from our hotel room...are you kidding? But a great view from our hotel hallway no less.
An image of the lively, Euro-youth-infested street fair associated with the 15 day long, famed Montreux Jazz Festival. And no, we did not dine on fondue or raclettes ... rather, it was Thai, Vietnamese, and Italian all the way. Speaking of the Montreux Jazz Festival, we owe a shout out to the artist who brought us to Switzerland to begin with, the inimitable Rufus Wainwright who gave an incredible concert Thursday night. Thanks to Sean's height (although, his 2 metres were par for the course in Tall-Man Nation), we finagled our way to the foot of the stage and watched Rufus sing his heart out to us in lederhosen (see below), less than 12 feet away.
www.rufuswainwright.comFor those of you who don't know him, Rufus is a musical genius whose latest self-produced album Release the Stars, is magnifique.
Sean gives a casual, "I'm a handsome man" pose before another of the wonders of the world. Switzerland is the country responsible for the elopement of Roy and Linda Van Til, where just over those mountain ranges in the chalet-intensive town of Zermatt, under the Matterhorn, in 1972, le Van Til dynasty began.
We decided to elope too: Mom, Dad - we got married! We registered at www.theeuroisreallystrongrightnow.com
Desi, dressed kinkily as an Air France stewardess, offers Sean some coffee with that view.
A photo of Desi's great great grandmother in Montreux, circa 1844.
Les Dents du Midi shrouded in mystery, aka, white puffy clouds.
Whee! Thursday, July 12th was such a spectacular day that the universe seemed to demand we rent a motorboat and zip across the face of Lac Leman. And to be completely honest, we'd been inspired by our pals Darin and Robin Mark, who sent us some awesome shots of a recent fearless jetski foray (below). Granted, we were laughed out of the rental shack when we asked for life-jackets, since our motorboat pushed a max speed of 1 demi-knot per hour, as opposed to the Marks' mobile:
Bad to the bone, kids. We eat your spritz.
Our hotel : Eden Palace au Lac, seen from the lac.
The medieval Chillon Castle, which captured the imaginations of Byron, Dumas, Shelly and others too ancient to name. Give a sh*t? Learn more at www.chillon.ch/en/On the train ride home from our micro-adventure, we got a flabbergasting email from friend Jen Heath, whose husband Bo has recently become a Maine celebrity. It is with much joy that we share this gritty tale of Bo, handling things well:
www.bangornews.com/news/t/news.aspx?articleid=151996
And if that didn't turn your stomach, maybe this will:
It's a video! Click on it! Enjoy! Eat more veggies and do your crunches!!
Monday, July 9
The Revolution Will Be Bloggerized
All this video, and what to do with it? All this free time, and only the task of writing to breathe down my neck? Nay! But a random collage shall be wrought! May the Marmite be with you.
Sunday, July 8
Helping us help you
A few of our more appreciative subscribers have informed us the ol' blog is taking forever to load these days. Und zo, we've begun archiving old posts, innovative webmasters that we be... Only the most recent three will sit on the front page from this day forth, and you'll have to dig into the post listings in the sidebar if you need a blast from the more distant past. Thank you again for your patronage, go outside and play now!
Saturday, July 7
La Deuxieme Semaine a Paris... La Vie Insiste a Etre Toujours Belle!
Okay. Everything's gonna be just fine. We're settling into the vibe now. Let us talk you through it. Firstly, we're gonna bust it for ya on the straight-up touristic tip...
We spent our July 4th doing something patriotic - visiting the Arc de Triomphe. Figured the flame burning there for le soldat inconnu made it an appropriate venue regardless of nationality.
Even more patriotic was Desi paying homage to her father's fervent obsession with le Lion de Lyon, Peugot. There were some sporty new Euro Tiny Cars in that there showroom, and we would have driven one home for Roy if it weren't for the darned puddle in the way.
Sacre bleu! C'est le Sacre Coeur!.. Linda Van Til's favorite structure in Paris! (Or so claimed a plaque around back.)
The Phantom of the Opera, or at least The Guy With the Cowboy Shirt of the Opera.
We discovered an alien craft that landed just down the street. The French are taking it rather well, considering the hole it ripped in the sky above.
As we crossed la Seine (literally translated, "The Boob") to scope out Julia Roth's rental apartment, we admired the lovely art nouveau church on l'Isle St. Louis which the day before we could barely pass by as it was teeming with citoyen and flics gathered to interr the recently expired Madame Pompidou.
Doozie's all smiles at the Place Des Vosges. Happy because she's finally off her feet.
Sean taking a load of his own off, in the courtyard of our building. A visit by our landlord Barnabe Fillion this week served to educate us about the history of our Parisian pad. And we shall now inflict that knowlege on you. Apparently, 'twas inhabited in the 17th century by a psychopath poisoner woman who slowly and effectively sapped the life of every member of her family - husband, children, and lover included. Then, to wipe away the residual bad karma, monks under a vow of silence inhabited the building for the next 200 years. And at some point in the 1980s, the karma of capitalism took over and individual units were sold - lucky for Barnabe and for us aussi! Incidentally, Barnabe is a yoga instructor and freelance photographer, so the vibe in his pad is flexible, aesthetic and voyeuristic. Sexy, n'est-ce pas?
Our attic apartment may be designed for the midgets servants, but the entrance was built for divas. Desi isn't too shy to belt out an impromptu aria or two late at night upon returning home to this marble cavern.
Or this one, for that matter: the basement laundry room at our place.
Or, wait, is this the picture of St. Severin? If so, we should letcha' know it's said to be the oldest church in Paris, and features a single dementedly twisted column right in the middle of its apse, pardon the expression. (The bright one on the right side of the photo above.)
But, all that tourism and the historical digs aside, we must confess to you that we've adopted quite the rockstar lifestyle of late.
On the left is the immortal John Fogerty (of C.C.R. fame) jammin' his antique a$$ off at the Olympia theater, right beside our really good friend who thinks we're cool, Hunter Perrin! We were lucky enough to get tickets up in the balcony at the last minute so we could be there when they tore the hinges off that muhve, playing every single classic rock hit known to man. A little taste of the evening for you:
After the show, we totally hung out with the band, at a bar!!
The awesome crew included Hunter's Rad Mother in Law Susan Baker, Aunt in Law Klinka, Billy the legendary guitarist after whom "Rockabilly" is allegedly named (white jacket), Matt the sweet keyboardist (torn jeans), and friends-from-way-back Savannah and Jay. We all blow kisses to the camera, cuz that's what you do when you are a rock star in Paris.
Thanks for such an awesome show Hunter! Fogerty is lucky to have you and your moves!
Only a couple nights after that, we returned to the Olympia once more, this time taking a standing place downstairs to sing along to a beautiful show by Damien Rice.
Right, so, no offense intended to JF and HP, but this was one of the most breathtaking concerts we've ever chanced to attend, only rivaled by Radiohead at the Greek Theater in ye old LA. He may be only a miniature Irishman but he oozes with soul, and can sling some pretty good French, which the audience lapped up like des chats aved un bol de lait.
Damien at the piano, his satanic orchestra patiently awaiting a chance to join in. In the foreground, a ubiquitous cell-phone camera, capturing low-res video of the show... Does one really go home and watch it again on one's phone, I ask you?
After Damien made us shiver, we felt so cool that we had to hit up the Buddha Bar for some overpriced and long overdue sushi. Katsuya it wasn't, but then again, Katsuya isn't graced by a two-story-tall golden buddha, or a phat tarte au citron caremelisee for dessert.
The next night, keeping the string of terrific dinners alive, we headed into the heart of the Latin Quarter and feasted at longtime Mewshavian pal Ted Stanger's home.
Voila the celestial view from Ted's rue de l'Estrapade apartment... It's a view you must earn however - six story walk up!
French folk in their natural environment: eating and discussing things avec passion. Desi appears to be a normal human being, but she's actually cranking on all brain cylinders to keep up with hyper-speed French conversation after the meal whipped up by Aoui Stanger.
Mmmmmm, Ancient Tissues - here in Paris it's like the Cabbage Patch craze all over again!
We spent our July 4th doing something patriotic - visiting the Arc de Triomphe. Figured the flame burning there for le soldat inconnu made it an appropriate venue regardless of nationality.
Even more patriotic was Desi paying homage to her father's fervent obsession with le Lion de Lyon, Peugot. There were some sporty new Euro Tiny Cars in that there showroom, and we would have driven one home for Roy if it weren't for the darned puddle in the way.
Sacre bleu! C'est le Sacre Coeur!.. Linda Van Til's favorite structure in Paris! (Or so claimed a plaque around back.)
The Phantom of the Opera, or at least The Guy With the Cowboy Shirt of the Opera.
We discovered an alien craft that landed just down the street. The French are taking it rather well, considering the hole it ripped in the sky above.
As we crossed la Seine (literally translated, "The Boob") to scope out Julia Roth's rental apartment, we admired the lovely art nouveau church on l'Isle St. Louis which the day before we could barely pass by as it was teeming with citoyen and flics gathered to interr the recently expired Madame Pompidou.
Doozie's all smiles at the Place Des Vosges. Happy because she's finally off her feet.
Sean taking a load of his own off, in the courtyard of our building. A visit by our landlord Barnabe Fillion this week served to educate us about the history of our Parisian pad. And we shall now inflict that knowlege on you. Apparently, 'twas inhabited in the 17th century by a psychopath poisoner woman who slowly and effectively sapped the life of every member of her family - husband, children, and lover included. Then, to wipe away the residual bad karma, monks under a vow of silence inhabited the building for the next 200 years. And at some point in the 1980s, the karma of capitalism took over and individual units were sold - lucky for Barnabe and for us aussi! Incidentally, Barnabe is a yoga instructor and freelance photographer, so the vibe in his pad is flexible, aesthetic and voyeuristic. Sexy, n'est-ce pas?
Our attic apartment may be designed for the midgets servants, but the entrance was built for divas. Desi isn't too shy to belt out an impromptu aria or two late at night upon returning home to this marble cavern.
Or this one, for that matter: the basement laundry room at our place.Or, wait, is this the picture of St. Severin? If so, we should letcha' know it's said to be the oldest church in Paris, and features a single dementedly twisted column right in the middle of its apse, pardon the expression. (The bright one on the right side of the photo above.)
But, all that tourism and the historical digs aside, we must confess to you that we've adopted quite the rockstar lifestyle of late.
On the left is the immortal John Fogerty (of C.C.R. fame) jammin' his antique a$$ off at the Olympia theater, right beside our really good friend who thinks we're cool, Hunter Perrin! We were lucky enough to get tickets up in the balcony at the last minute so we could be there when they tore the hinges off that muhve, playing every single classic rock hit known to man. A little taste of the evening for you:After the show, we totally hung out with the band, at a bar!!
The awesome crew included Hunter's Rad Mother in Law Susan Baker, Aunt in Law Klinka, Billy the legendary guitarist after whom "Rockabilly" is allegedly named (white jacket), Matt the sweet keyboardist (torn jeans), and friends-from-way-back Savannah and Jay. We all blow kisses to the camera, cuz that's what you do when you are a rock star in Paris.
Thanks for such an awesome show Hunter! Fogerty is lucky to have you and your moves!
Only a couple nights after that, we returned to the Olympia once more, this time taking a standing place downstairs to sing along to a beautiful show by Damien Rice.
Right, so, no offense intended to JF and HP, but this was one of the most breathtaking concerts we've ever chanced to attend, only rivaled by Radiohead at the Greek Theater in ye old LA. He may be only a miniature Irishman but he oozes with soul, and can sling some pretty good French, which the audience lapped up like des chats aved un bol de lait.
Damien at the piano, his satanic orchestra patiently awaiting a chance to join in. In the foreground, a ubiquitous cell-phone camera, capturing low-res video of the show... Does one really go home and watch it again on one's phone, I ask you?
After Damien made us shiver, we felt so cool that we had to hit up the Buddha Bar for some overpriced and long overdue sushi. Katsuya it wasn't, but then again, Katsuya isn't graced by a two-story-tall golden buddha, or a phat tarte au citron caremelisee for dessert.The next night, keeping the string of terrific dinners alive, we headed into the heart of the Latin Quarter and feasted at longtime Mewshavian pal Ted Stanger's home.
Voila the celestial view from Ted's rue de l'Estrapade apartment... It's a view you must earn however - six story walk up!
French folk in their natural environment: eating and discussing things avec passion. Desi appears to be a normal human being, but she's actually cranking on all brain cylinders to keep up with hyper-speed French conversation after the meal whipped up by Aoui Stanger.
Mmmmmm, Ancient Tissues - here in Paris it's like the Cabbage Patch craze all over again!
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