The sun sets not at nine

Early may, and dusk has been lasting till almost 10pm! Here is the view from my window the last time the moon was (almost) full. Paris, like a piece of art you can't touch.

Oh, I also finally braved the crowds of people often gathered in front of the sparse counter of the Rose Bakery on Rue Des Martyrs to sample a soy latté at the only place in Paris you can get soy in your coffee other than Starbucks! Verdict? Totally decent. Provamel soymilk over the 'bucks watery Bjorg brand anyday, yes please. The staff were perplexed about my request not being on the menu, though. Amateurs be warned: ordering a "soy mocha hold, the mocha" might alleviate the potential complicatedness of your transaction. And because it took me months to track this place down, I will post it on the Internet one more time in hopes of helping lactose intolerant and vegan guests of Paris from around the world: you can get a soy latté in Paris, France, at the Rose Bakery! It even boasts two locations: 30, Rue Debelleyme in the Marais, and 46 Rue Des Martyrs in the 9th. Enjoy!

Marching Band

I live on a pretty small street. Nevertheless, I was awoken one weekend afternoon by the bang of a marching band drum or two or ten. The only half decent photo produced from the event turned out blurry if anything, but after a little tweaking, I think it came out sort of cool...

Photo of the day

Before leaving for the great land of France, I went to a few meetings mostly hosted by older men whose task it was to inform me about what to anticipate during my big year abroad. At one of these meetings, the OFQJ handed me a pamphlet informing me that I should expect to pay 0.80 euros for a baguette. Ladies and gentlemen, I have never seen a baguette listed for such a low price... until today! So surprised was I that I felt compelled to take a photo of this very reasonable list of prices posted on the door. The little girl's priceless facial expression at her obvious awareness of being photographed by a creepy stranger was simply an unexpected perk. Way to steal the show, little girl! I don't even think I could tell you the exact location of this bakery if I tried. Montmartre. West of the Sacré Coeur. Au bas de la butte. Hell, I don't even know if it's any good... But it is open on Sunday. A rarity worthy of being noted indeed!

Hovel Sweet Hovel

I have moved! New 'hood, new hovel. It's modern. It's IKEA. It's dominated by the most gaudy shade of blue, which I've been trying to offset with various splashes of pink. It's no castle but everything works (which is nice), although the cashier at "La Maison Collignon" seems to want to marry me despite his being old enough to be my grandfather. I may have to seek out a new corner store. Oh, did I fail to mention that the new hovel is located on a famous street? Rue des Trois Frères, just a few doors over from Amélie Poulain's fictional abode, which I didn't even gather until after I moved in, go figure! The neighbourhood's cobblestone streets are windy and hilly, everything is too cute for words, and the sidewalks are a tad less crowded than the Marais. The garret itself doesn't look anything like a Jean-Pierre Jeunet film, but I've prepared a little tour nonetheless. Please, do come in!

The view.

The kitchen

The lord of the land claims that the eyesore that hangs above the bed was painted by a famous artist, and I'm under strict orders to "take care" of it. Does that mean I can't prop it upside-down against the window? Sigh.

I probably hit my head on the suspended TV about once every other day.

These glass bricks provide the much needed illusion of daily sunlight for my clothes, which is just wonderful. Who wants SAD affected clothing anyway? Not me!

Ha! That bed thinks it's a couch!

The west side of the hot plate doubles as a tea house.

The saddest fruit bowl in the world.

Thank you, MTV. Now that you've seen my crib, get out!