Fourth Form of Madness

I’m sitting here, in bed, with my head hovering dangerously close to the ceiling trying to balance my husband’s mac (I want one too now) on my oversized belly. We are post dinner and well stuffed if you will excuse the expression. Today has been a day of eating in Paris. We rose earlier (my husband two hours than me, what can I say something in the air makes me sleep over here) and went out to breakfast. After careful consideration of the menu we went with what we were originally shown at the beginning of the transaction – the standard breakfast. This consisted of an oj, half a baguette and jam/butter, a croissant and a coffee (the french sure do make good coffee, I have converted from a die hard tea drinker to a coffee drinker in one day!) I think it is fair to say that I have never had a croissant until today. It was amazing, as I tore strips of it and held it in my hand it was so light that I felt like I was holding nothing at all, and then I put it in my mouth and it melted away whilst managing to leave a comforting buttery film. I now understand the “unbearable lightless of being”.

After exiting the cafe we spied a beautiful big building and decided to go an investigate. It turned out to be the Louvre. We weren’t the only ones with the idea of visiting it today. After we watched half of the world pile out of tourist buses and into the queue we joined them mumbling to ourselves about bloody tourists until we had to concede that we were ones too. Strapped with talking tour recorders we set off on the Masterpiece tour that had us ducking and weaving some of the most heavily congested parts of the Louvre. We squeezed ourselves past masses of picture taking tourists to get a glimpse of the Mona Lisa, we wedged ourselves between camera wielding Japanese tour groups to view the Venus de Milo’s milky form.

This is just an observation, but when I squeezed myself out of the crowds and stood quietly back to admire the art and also do some sneaky people watching, I was struck by the fact that most people weren’t viewing the pieces with their eyes but through the lens of a camera. I was intrigued by this. Photos are great but there is nothing like spending some time with a piece of art and seeing it through your own eyes. Seeing how the light falls on it, seeing all the cracks and imperfections, the angles that makes it look different. Seeing with your eyes the way the artist saw the piece or at least how the artist saw the world that he brought this piece into. And yet here I was watching people approach the Venus de Milo at break neck speed with a digital camera in front of the eyes pausing only briefly to knock the grandma to their right out of their way so they could get a better shot. My husband spotted a guy that must have been trying to do the Louvre in 10 minutes or less. This guy practically was sprinting through the Louvre holding up his camera to all the pictures, snapping off a shot and then running off to the next one. We, overcome by his efforts, were forced to follow him for at least two galleries so we could enjoy his stupidity. After that we couldn’t endure his pace and dropped back to enjoy the art.

We then took ourselves to lunch and wonderful husband managed to order two plate du jours and more importantly wine! It was a gorgeous hole in the wall kind of restaurant, which was packed with serious lunchers. My husband became all adventurous and ordered steak tar tar. To his credit he ate all of it even the raw egg in the middle even though it did look like just raw mince with a raw egg in the middle. After pointing randomly at the menu I ended up getting some very delicious chicken dish. Three courses and two wines is enough to be send me into a coma. I proceeded to sleep for 2 hours when we returned to the flat. After which I awoke to my husband doing this 10 min intensive exercise routine which involved him hanging for the loft’s railing doing chin ups and grunting alot. What will the neighbours think of us. After he had finished with the downstairs space, I converted into my yoga studio and did a relaxing post “I eaten way to much food” session. I now appreciate why they say never do yoga on a full stomach. Twists are not your friend when you have a citron tarte trying to digest in your gullet!

I finished my yoga session just in time for a nice stroll to Notre Dame followed by dinner! How do the french women stay thin. I spent the whole dinner watching a french rake with very nice hair devouring a three course meal including crepes for dessert. I was watching to see if she hid her food in her handbag but she appeared to eat every bite and then casually help her partner with his chocolates at coffee. Perhaps this was her one meal for the year but I have this haunting feeling that she eats like this every day. Oh to be french. Meanwhile I was cursing myself for not packing my black stretch tights which are far more forgiving than my jeans. I guess I will have to take up jogging or my husband’s intensive 10 exercise programme but I don’t fancy myself hanging from the loft railing doing chin ups!