Wait, what, I'm in Paris...? What if this is a big mistake? Why did I decide to do this on my own? Why doesn't it feel like Paris? Is that person looking at my bags? Okay I'm in Paris... somebody pinch me? But what's that gross smell? Oh god, I can't read a word of French. Showerrrrr.
After our super exhausting 24 hour plane ride, I'm about ready to burst into tears at the Denfert-Rochereau metro station. However, with a firm grip on all our bags, we make it to our hotel and collapse on the bed. Our hotel is in Montparnasse, which is a pretty quiet area. By the time we shower (the bathroom is tiny), the stomach starts hollering, so we leave to find our first Parisian dinner. This we find at a little creperie, not very far from our hotel. Our waitress is very patient (and vegetarian!), and helps us understand the menu. My galette contains a strange mixture of goats cheese, lettuce, walnuts, tomatoes and. . . honey! It is very odd, but in a good way (and cheap). Courtesy of an Indian chef, no less.
Giddy with food coma, we walk back to the hotel and I promptly fall asleep. Libby is jetlagged, poor thing!
p.s.: I've this little obsession with checking out grocery stores in new cities I visit. I'd searched up Monoprix, and went to a few different ones while in Paris. It's kind of like Countdown in New Zealand, except the Champs-Élysées one also sold clothes.
After our super exhausting 24 hour plane ride, I'm about ready to burst into tears at the Denfert-Rochereau metro station. However, with a firm grip on all our bags, we make it to our hotel and collapse on the bed. Our hotel is in Montparnasse, which is a pretty quiet area. By the time we shower (the bathroom is tiny), the stomach starts hollering, so we leave to find our first Parisian dinner. This we find at a little creperie, not very far from our hotel. Our waitress is very patient (and vegetarian!), and helps us understand the menu. My galette contains a strange mixture of goats cheese, lettuce, walnuts, tomatoes and. . . honey! It is very odd, but in a good way (and cheap). Courtesy of an Indian chef, no less.
Giddy with food coma, we walk back to the hotel and I promptly fall asleep. Libby is jetlagged, poor thing!
p.s.: I've this little obsession with checking out grocery stores in new cities I visit. I'd searched up Monoprix, and went to a few different ones while in Paris. It's kind of like Countdown in New Zealand, except the Champs-Élysées one also sold clothes.
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