I learned something new about myself in Paris.
For fresh baguette and pain chocolate for breakfast I’m willing to do five flights of stairs (each way) every morning…Well at least at the crack of 10am anyway.
I guess there are some things worth doing cardio for. Mmmmm, cardio.
Paris is officially not that bad.
Everywhere I go in Europe there seems to be some sort of tradition that promises happiness or true love. I’m usually game. I mean, true love for a Euro or two tossed into a fountain seems like a deal. But I’m not that great at researching the tradition. I usually just copy what the other tourists are doing.
Like, I’m not sure what touching the statue’s hand in Notre Dam is supposed to do for me, but other people were touching it, so I touched it (just in case). But then later I wondered if that was a good idea. I mean what if the statue had a history of granting wishes or something and at the moment I touched the statue I let my mind wander and accidentally wished to be able to do all the stuff in the Bourne flicks, or grow a tail like a monkey… Sure they seem like good wishes, but all those people with the cursed monkey paw thought they had good wishes too…