Days three and four: Brittany.

Rennes was everything I had hoped Paris would be: French and beautiful, populated but not overcrowded, vibrant yet personable.

Brittany is known for its crêpes, not pancakes! Baken on Demand!

The town of Dinan was even more compelling in the morning light.

The coffee that accompanied this sugar tube cost 6 euros. Talk about a Freudian slip!

And then we went home.

Day two: castles and parapets and unicorns

Japanese tourists at Château Chenonceau, where lived Henri II, Catherine de Médicis, and some other people too. I photographed myself in their mirrors, I did! The drizzle got me grumpy as we ran through the maze escaping the Queen of Hearts screaming, off with their heads! Living in France has given me new insight into Alice's adventures in Wonderland: English girl crosses channel (hello, long dark tunnel?) and finds herself in a land filled with beautiful gardens where everything is just a little bit off and doesn't always make sense...

At the end of the day, we spotted another castle from the highway and drove towards it for a wonderful dusk themed photo opportunity. Mary Timony would have dug it.

Roadtrip: day one

We had fully intended for an early start, believe me, but an angry squeegee man threw us off track causing us to spin around a plethora of roundabouts as we tried to make sense of some of the most flawed maps of Paris ever created. Lost in the 16th, Paris can be a difficult city to escape! We spent the night in Tours, which is said to be the town with the most neutral, international French accent there is. We only spoke to a few people, but why yes, their accents were most pleasant! Kindergarten teacher TV French, voilà quoi!

Friday the Thirteenth!

Friday the thirteenth comes but twice a year! My friends and I celebrated with a roadtrip to the north west French coast visiting tiny old towns along the way. More photos soon!

Whole Foods Dreaming...

I was just browsing old photos (along with some new) and came across this mouthwatering piece of Whole Foods goodness from the past. Oh Doc, can I PLEASE go back to the future?

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...

Jeudi Noir

"La France est un pays de contestation perpétuelle," I was once told. The French are always striking about something. Sarkozy even went so far as to state that the French protest so much, it has become an ineffectual act that goes unnoticed most every time. But now that the man is threatening to cut jobs and funding from various sectors due to the economic crisis, half-assed picketing just will not do! The SNCF got involved, the national library, the Opera! What, May Day in January? Why, no! It's Black Thursday! While the Media predicted mayhem in the streets and on the metro, I found commuting to Bastille from Montmartre surprisingly easy today. How come? Well, it would seem that by the time I reached my destination, 2 million other people had already arrived...

Want to read more? Here is an article from The Telegraph.

Obamarama

Despite not being American, and despite being halfway across the world, in FRANCE of all places, my friend Katherine and I had a little Obama inauguration party right at home, in my hovel. Here is a photo of an excited Canadian taking a photo of Bush flying out of DC in his shiny green helicopter. Bon voyage, Dubya!

We shifted back and forth between CNN's coverage of the event and the French version we were able to capt on the airwaves. Image and sound quality were, hands down, better on the TV than on the broadband, but we are only human, and there's only so much interpretation of one's own language that one can take before losing it and renouncing said second language altogether.

Our celebration of Obama's inauguration meal, made possible by the countertop in my new hovel.

In other news, remember hypercolour? I do. But hypercolour tables? WTF!?!

Only in France, my friends. Viva Obama!

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!