I sometimes wonder if I'm crazy and really enjoy Paris as much as I think I do... one of those 'memories make the heart fonder' kind of things.  Well, it's not.  I truly love it here and am not the least bit disappointed to be spending the next week of my life living in our creaky floored apartment with no less than 3 different types of locked doors we need to get through to find our little oasis.

We had a bit of excitement (a relative term) getting to our apartment as there are a zillion miniature one way streets around here that our taxi driver couldn't seem to figure out.  He dropped us off and we circled around a bit before finding the way to our place after a few short and sweaty blocks.  (Rolling suitcases were not meant for cobblestone streets.)  We completely unpacked, changed our rumpled clothes and set out in search of supplies.  Only a block away is a great supermarket with everything we need so we grabbed essentials (like wine, baguettes, cheese - oh shoot - just remembered we forgot olives!) and then headed out for dinner.  Directly across the street from our massive black front door is a great little place and we ate like royalty with their house specialty 'Poule au pot Henry IV'.  Never heard of it?  Neither had we, but we dug in to a giant cast iron pot filled with chicken, vegetables, and various other things that we didn't recognize but enjoyed immensely.  It was served alongside a crock of dijon mustard and another crock of the craziest pickles I have ever tasted!  Our eyes watered and faces contorted but we ate them anyway.  Yowzers.

The rain started dropping on our delightful sidewalk table right as we were paying our bill... simple perfection.  Time to get to bed and try and get our internal clocks set for Parisian time.

Happy, contented sighs from all.