Yesterday I went on a day trip to Paris with my beau. Just typing that makes me feel like a very lucky duck that such a wonderful city is a viable daytrip destination, a place that is so far away for some that to visit once in a lifetime would be a dream fulfilled.
It rained, Lord did it rain. I wish I could say that the day was made all the more charming because of it but that wouldn’t have been entirely truthful. Paris is stunning in the rain; the city fades away in the misty distance, everything that isn’t grey appears to pop with colour and there is a certain type of magic suspended in the air that I am sure would make millions if bottled, but soggy feet, soaked skirt hems and cold noses are things that can’t be ignored for too long.
We took a break from the downpour to eat Marie Antoinette-esque rose cream filled pastries, drink sweet scented tea and dry our soggy soles and souls at Ladurée Bonaparte. When we left the rain had stopped, we took a long walk around St. Germain, over the Pont des Arts, and to the metro back to Gare du Nord.
When I got home I was the kind of exhausted that prevents you from moving, speaking or even thinking. I flopped into bed with glazed eyes, tired but happy, and had macarons for breakfast the next day.