The Inaccurate Tourist

42. Camellogue (Guest Writer: KD)

I spent ten glorious days in Paris and easily could have spent more. My list of things I still haven't seen is constantly growing.

During the week I was there I saw the Latin Quartier, I had an amazing french birthday feast, spent three days in the Louvre and didn't finish it, was constantly annoyed by American tourists who didn't get it, saw Notre Dame and the flying buttresses, went to the Pompidou where I'd like to see my own artwork one day, visited the Cluny where I'd like to ransack all their great medieval stuff, had crepes and real cider, met Ryan's really sweet landlady, steamed off the labels of all the wine bottles in Ryan's house, went to the mono-prix by myself, was treated rudely at the baguette shop, saw the famous lights of Pigalle, ate fabulous cheese, got hit on by old French men on my way to the metro, avoided stepping in le bombe du chien, and got to hang out with Ryan watching Futurama episodes but not in French.

My last full day there Ryan and I went to L'Institut du Monde Arabe (Institute of the Arab World). We walked through the Montparnasse cementary where I left a Canadian penny on Simone de Beauvoir's grave.

We also walked through a Saturday farm market where I saw freshly killed chickens have their feather's removed with a blow torch. As bizarre as that sounds, it was very hard for me not to want to buy a bunch of stuff and go back to Ryan's apartment and cook a feast on his hotplate. There was a lot of tasty looking supplies there and I love markets. But we carried on as we had a mission! On our way there, we stopped for a Croque Monsieur, the melted cheese sandwich which tastes infinitely better than our Kraft singles version in Canada. Or perhaps, it could have been the glass of wine I had with it...

We ate in a cool little family-run restaurant overrun with drunk little kids and all the owner's family members tucking in hardily to a bucket of mussels.

On our way to the Institute we passed a great lighting store. French lamp fixtures, though infinitely more expensive than those found here, are really cool illuminated pieces of art. Thankfully, Ryan shares my wonder of interior design and throughout my trip we stopped many times to window shop for lighting. I hope he brings several pieces back with him besides the Eiffel tower lamp.

The Institute for the Arab World is really a very cool place. It isn't mentioned in the Rick Steve's handbook and it really should be. Not only because the world could benefit from a little more knowledge and understanding of the arab world, but because architecturally it is a very cool place - much better than the achaeological crypt across from Notre Dame. The sides of the Institute are computerised irises that open and shut throughout the day with the sunlight. They are very beautiful and arab looking and I'd love to have windows like that. They would never build such an awesome building here.

Ryan and I had ventured to the Arab Institute because of an art show that seemed to be advertized all over the metro and the billboards Chevaux et Cavaliers Arabes (The Arab Horses and Knights).

There was a line up to get through the metal detector. Not surprizing given the tenor of the world of late. But it didn't take long to get though. Inside it was very crowded - mostly by Parisians and not tourists which was very refreshing. The exhibition showed images of horses and knights throughout the arab world and through history. Considering that very fundamental Islam is against literal images, it was amazing to see how much beautiful art they were able to assemble. Unfortunately, we were unable to take pictures due to security measures. I have to admit that I'm a little biased towards Arabian horses. I myself lived for six years in Saudi Arabia and owned an Arabian named Miss T, so I was getting very nostalgic.

After getting out of the very crowded exhibition downstairs, we went up in the scary glass bottomed elevators to the museum upstairs. They have archaeological items from all over the middle east. The museum is quite a good size and filled with many beautiful and interesting things including a goodly selection of carpets. My arabic is only slightly better than my French so really I have no idea what we were looking at but they were very cool. After wandering through three levels of arabic artifacts, we once again took the scary elevators to the main floor. They have an awesome gift shop there filled with all sorts of books and images. I was really tempted to buy a book in arabic but my suitcase was quickly becoming full of museum guides. I did buy a small French guide to the horse show since we couldn't take any pictures.

We then crossed the very cool courtyard to the Souk (shop). The courtyard has little embedded lights that morph color in the tiles.

As it was twilight when we finished in the Institute it was really funky looking.

The souk is filled with all sort of Arabic items like brass coffee pots, fabric, hubbly-bubblies (hookas), camel saddles and all sorts of items that I was familiar with growing up. The funny part was they are 4 times as expensive as they would be in a souk in Saudi. And it didn't look like they would haggle with you at the till. The other side of the souk is a tea bar where you can sit on poufs and drink very sweet Morrocan tea. Ryan and I tossed around the idea of staying but it was very crowded and we opted to go off in search of Mountain food.

We took the metro over to St. Germain des Pres.

This is a very vibrant area of town that reminded me very much of Robson street, though it is named after a cathedral.

Lots of high end shops, people cruising the streets, little cafes with people sitting outside. One of the cool things we discovered here while searching for Ryan's exact mountain food restaurant was a Taschen bookstore. Taschen publishes high-end art books. The color reproduction is pretty much unparalleled. They tend to be very pricey books in Canada. In France, they are very reasonable. Taschen also publishes a large selection of illustrated erotica. I was very tempted to buy a book full of erotic robots but was worried what Ryan would think of his crazy artist friend. I did buy a book for 3 euros of eccentric homes. I could easily have spent thousands of dollars here.

We passed several truffle stores. I was very strong. I didn't go running in and throw myself into a chocolate orgy. We went into a stationary store filled with very awesome stuff and once again I was controlled and didn't buy anything more than a postcard with my last name on it. What does the verb deviner mean? There was a giant silver store filled with what looked like pirate treasure that was very cool looking too. Also there was a store that sold Opera clothes, cloaks and masks that was lots of fun to look at. I could have easily maxed my visa card in St. Germain des Pres.

While continuing to wander around looking for the exact Mountain Food restaurant, we came across St. Sulpice which had very tall gothis columns out front.

I never get tired of seeing churches which is funny considering what a crazy pagan I am. But the church really was the center of the community in many centuries and I feel closer to the people who used to wander the streets of Paris when I am in a church.

Due to hunger, we eventually gave up trying to find the exact mountain food restaurant that Ryan had been to before. What is this mysterious mountain food? Fondue - Though the French think they invented it and not the Swiss!!! They probably did! Giant melting pots of Cheese - yum! We were escorted upstairs where Ryan had trouble standing lest he bump his head and got a nice little table by the window. We had a Kir to start and then we each ordered a giant pot of gooey cheese which I'm sure caused the waiter to laugh at us. Mine had Apple cider in it and Ryan's had Roquefort. They were served with bread, pickles and thin slices of parma ham. Fondue was always an ubiquitous part of my childhood. Cheese fondue was a regular at my birthday parties as January seems a good time to have it. These rolling, bubbling pots of melty goodness brought back a lot of pleasant memories. (I bought a fondue pot the moment I got home). We also had chocolatey desserts which is amazing considering how much cheese we ate but we conquered!

After dinner we headed back to Ryan's apartment for Futurama and some night cap Pims.

I was feeling very full and not really wanting to get up the next day and leave Paris. Despite the massive amounts of wine, cheese and Pims, I had managed to lose 15 pounds but I also had gained the tiny heart of a closet Parisian. I didn't want to leave this cultural paradise, full of very interesting and rarely rude people, exceedingly interesting visual history and the most tasty cheese ever. I constantly ask, "Why can't Langley be more like Paris?" But people just look at me funny and mention cows. Though you can buy clocks shaped like the eiffle tower cheaper in Langley than you can in Paris. I have asked for one for Christmas.

41. First Impressions (Guest Writer: KD)

As a birthday gift to myself, I sent myself to Paris. I don't think I could have picked a better way to start a new decade then by getting off the american continent and expanding my world a little further.

Now a lot of people questioned coming to Paris in January but I really can't think of a better time to go. I spent a ton of time in the Louvre and once I had walked the three blocks to the Metro station from Ryan's, I didn't breathe real outside air until I got back to his station. The weather isn't all that different from Vancouver, it's cheaper to fly off season and supposedly there are less tourists this time of year.

I flew the red eye from Vancouver to London. I arrived there at 5am PST but it was 1:00pm London time and I had a three hour lay over so I went to the pub and had a pint of beer and a packet of crisps for breakfast. Probably the worst choice of food I could have made but I was in London and I knew the boys would be proud. It certainly didn't wake me up. But getting on the little plane between Heathrow and CdG, the real eye opener was that my french was worse than bad it was awful. Four years of high school french and a cupboard full of bilingual packaging and I couldn't understand a word being said around me.

Charles de Gaulle aeroport reminds me of a 1970's sci-film. It has escalators and moving sidewalks moving at odd angles everywhere. Nothing makes much sense as to where you are supposed to go. And when I went through passport control, they looked at my passport with a glance and waved me through. No stamp, no questions, no nothing. This is an odd feeling compared to the border between Canada and the US right now, where you are treated like a criminal going across the line to get gas. I really wanted the stamp though. My poor naked little passport book.

Ryan met me at the aeroport and we voyaged back to Montparnasse via a shuttle bus, the RER, and a few metro switches. Thank goodness he met me as I don't think I could have done it on my own. We went back to his apartment, visited and ate cheese. I turned in early as the pint of beer really had done me in even though it was still early afternoon Vancouver time.

My first full day in Paris, we went to the Musee d'Orsay as Ryan had never been before and it had been heavily reccommended by co-workers. The Orsay museum takes up where the Louvre leaves off at about 1850 and covers roughly about 65 years of painting and sculpture and then the Centre Pompidou takes over. This period covers Neo-classicism, Romanticism, Impressionism and Post-Impressionism. Art was going through a golden era and artists were like rock stars and work was shocking then as it could cause riots and swooning. Granted none of this is shocking now but then it was revolutionary.

The Orsay is located in an old train station (Gare) beside the Seine. It has two giant clocks on it's side >insert picture of clock< and is beside the assemble du nationale. Across the Seine you can see the Denon wing of the Louvre. The museum is currently renovating even though it is one of the newest museums in town and the second floor is closed to visitors until the summer of 2003. You can visit this much of the Orsay in about 3/4's of a day or less if you don't actually look at anything. Also of all the museums in Paris, the Orsay feels the least French. Perhaps, this is due to the fact that North Americains love Impressionism and the museum was full of them. I heard very little French being spoken. If you have not had the luxury of sleeping through a college level art history class, pick up a pocket guide to the Orsay, this will help place the paintings in a historical context and give you a little more info than the existing signage.

As you come into the central area of the main floor, you are presented with a giant painting by Thomas Couture, 'Romans of the Decadence.' It's very large and grand but it's basically a giant picture of an orgy. >insert picture< It's supposed to be a criticism of the decadence of the day but you can't help but feel the painter enjoyed painting it. This is one of the many college art history pieces that seems to be in every course. Surrounding you are many sculptures, people sketching, and people resting their museum feet. To the sides are rooms with Neo-classical and art works of the Romantics. Pieces worth seeing on this floor include Camille Corot's, 'Morning Dance of the Nymphs,' Manet's, 'Olympia,' and Moreau's, 'Galatea.' >insert picture< Now I am not necessarily picking paintings that have tons of historical significance but paintings that I think are beautiful and evoke an emotional response. But this is very subjective and given the quality of the artwork in the Orsay, I guarentee you will find your own evocative favorites.

Also on the main floor are little maquette's of opera sets and even a mini-eiffle tower that acted as foreshadowing for later in the day. Also Ryan overwhelmed by all the amazing art on display sprouted a second head.

As mentioned the second floor full of sculptures was closed for renos. So we skipped right up to the third floor - Impressionism. >insert picture< Now if you have no training in art history, here is where you are going to feel most comfortable. A huge number of these pictures have become such a huge part of our culture and are routinely seen on fridge magnets, umbrellas, pad covers , some are even in tv commercials! Included on this floor are Whistler's mom, Van Gogh's bedroom and miles of ballet dancers by Degas and Renoir. It's pretty crowded in this area of the museum but it certainly brings home the point that the original is certainly more evocative than the pop culture copy. We briefly stopped in the cafeteria for my first of many ham and cheese baguettes. Believe everything Ryan says about the food as I certainly could wax poetic about cheese for hours.

Also on this floor is a very dark room full of pastel paintings. Why is it dark and all the pictures behind layers of glass? Well pastel is the least permanent drawing medium. Soft pastels contain very little binder (straight pigment) and in France instead of spraying the work with a type of varnish based fixative traditionally the pastel is steamed with water. So eventually over time these little particles of pigment begin to fall off the work. Also many of the pigments use are fugitive meaning not lightfast and UV rays cause them to fade. Okay, I work in an art supply store and this kind of thing is interesting to me! My favorite piece here is 'La Sorciere,' by Levy-Dhurmer. Ryan and I worked very hard to take a picture without flash in these dark conditions.

Thank goodness for Digital cameras.

If you continue further on this floor, back behind the stairs, you can see bits of Gauguin's home and a lot of paintings by him that I haven't seen before. Also are several pieces by Seurat the master of Pointillism and a lot of work that was post-impressionist but not yet 'moderne.' Lots of primitive art where line and the image are being explored. A common mis-conception here is the common refrain, "Well I could draw that!" Trust me it isn't as easy as it looks.

After the Orsay, we crossed the Seine and went through the Lion gate of the Louvre.

I don't care what anyone says, you are never prepared for the size of this museum. It's beyond comprehension. I saw the mini-arch de triumphe and the real one lit up in the distance. We went over to the Eiffle tower and walked down through the Trocadero. Ryan's favorite approach and I have to say as the sun completely set it was très beau.

The fog was very dense so we didn't go up the tower as I didn't want to pay to see fog. We did catch the Bateau de Paris and went for an evening cruise along the Seine. With the exception of the disappointment of not having James Bond jumping on to the boat mid-tour it was awesome. We had some hot chocolate and I really enjoyed the cheesey but informative narration.

All and all it was a fantastic first full day in Paris. And so began my exploration of the inner Parisian that lives inside of me.

40. Chilly

It's cold it's cold it's cold. It's frickin' freezing France. I get back from balmy Canada where the most we have to worry about is a bit of hoarfrost (well, in the west, anyway) and Paris has had eight centimetres of snow. It hasn't snowed in Paris for five years and all of a sudden it decides to welcome me back with a raging blizzard. Well, there was snow on the ground anyway.

Of course, Paris is no match for centrally-heated, forced-air, well-insulated Medicine Hat. On the other hand, my apartment has electric heaters that feebly pump out a bit of warmth, which promptly escapes through the mandatory vents in the windows. Despite being poorly insulated, Parisian apartments are unusually airtight, so regulations require air holes directly connected to the outside. My large glass windows might let in a lot of winter light if I ever had the chance to open the heavy curtains covering them.

The cold is a tenacious greyness that injects itself down the neck and up the sleeves of your jacket. At least that's what the weather report says for this week.

Thank goodness I purchased some glove/mittens (glittens? moves?) back in Canada. These are the woolly things that look like fingerless gloves with a convertible flap to cover your fingers if necessary -- and it's necessary. The French have never seen such a thing and are delighted to have their frozen Canada stereotype confirmed.

I used to say that Paris had the best public transit system in the world, but my chirpy cheeriness has been dimmed by their dismal cold-weather performance. To celebrate the new year, they arrange to have the high speed urban train and local buses entirely misaligned, ensuring that you have a twenty minute wait at each layover. In the cold, of course. I guess I shouldn't complain. We all know what kind of 'lines' concern the Vancouver public transit executives -- I think 'coke-addled' is a fair adjective to describe a city that constructs a skytrain that doesn't service either of the universities or the airport. I would reserve the adjective 'fast-ferry' to describe the public transit in Victoria, which placed the nearest bus stop servicing the airport about a kilometre away.

Cold cold cold. My clothes take days to air dry, especially the thick sweaters that I desperately need.

Enough complaining... let's talk Epiphany. It's celebrated on January 6th and is also known as Twelfth Day or Drummers Drumming Day. It's typically explained as being the day the magi visited the Christ child, but the date was likely chosen with respect to the winter solstice and then shuffled around thanks to the calendaring bureaucracy.

The traditional food for Epiphany is the Gallette des Rois, a thin and round flaky pastry disc filled with frangipane, with a single fève hidden inside. The gallette des rois is typically purchased with a cardboard crown wrapped around -- the finder of the fève is crowned king for the day and (depending on the house rules) either has good luck for the year, or is obligated to buy the next bottle of champagne, or is obligated to purchase next year's gallette des rois. Although fève literally translates as 'bean', it's typically a little chunk of gold-coloured metal or a little ceramic figurine -- thus, the 'king' may also unexpectedly get awarded the heimlich manoeuvre or major dental trauma.

Young children should be supervised while eating Gallette des Rois. You should watch your older children carefully as well, because sometimes they say the darndest things!

At Christmas time, the streets of Paris are frequently brightly lit with lights and decorations, provided by the merchants of the stores at street level. It's very charming. The big department stores go a couple of steps further -- their windows are filled with well-crafted automated puppet shows (usually showing plush animals in various stages of enjoying their recently purchased consumer goods) and the exterior of Galleries LaFayette is covered with a huge, Vegas rivalling facade of lights. I missed the season to take pictures, unfortunately.

After a bright and sunny (and chilly) stroll through the streets of Paris, Antonio and Anna and I ended up at the Musée Rodin. Finally. I have probably passed the museum a dozen times, but I never quite realized where it was. I knew it was near the métro stop Varennes, which has a statue of The Thinker. As it turns out, the museum is right beside Les Invalides, where I practiced roller blading. I must have passed it (back and forth) a couple dozen times. I think I've even walked right passed it looking for the métro stop Les Invalides, which is the same line 13 one stop further.

We only had about forty-five minutes to explore the museum, since it was already late in the afternoon. Although this is sufficient to see all the major works, I felt a bit pressed. Rodin's work is delicate, muscular and sensual. His large pieces are undeniably lifelike and capture passionate moments brilliantly. They want to move -- the couple in The Kiss are ready, and you can believe that their lips, like glaciers, will meet in another geologic age.

We didn't really see the gardens, but the Goldstroms assured me that they're an ideal place to spend a hot summer afternoon under the trees cooling down (the museum was about &5euro;, and the gardens are a steal at 1€). Since it was COLD and the guards were already beginning to flush out the guests, we did a quick running tour. I saw the Doors to Hell, a Dante-inspired sculpture that contains the smaller, original version of The Thinker.

I'm going to part from tradition at this point, and skip ahead to the future. I'm putting this log up well after the freezing week it describes. I told Kelaine (my first guest of the year) that she needed to bring thick, heavy sweaters, gloves, hats and scarves -- fortunately, she didn't need any of this because her week was particularly mild. But I'll let her describe that for you.

On the other hand, as soon as she left, we had snow again.

I'm cold.

39. Foreigner

Well, Happy New Years! Out with dusty old palindromic two-thou-two and welcome to kinky two-naughty-naught-three. A new year and a new Doomsday to remember (Friday, if you haven't already calculated it). I'm now a year-old Parisian, bright and fresh and ready to face the baguettes. But for a special treat, I'm not going to talk about France, the French or Paris for my first travel log this year.

Today, it's all about Canada. I went home for the first time this holiday season to refresh those important links with family and friends. And, importantly, I wanted to see how Canada looked and felt after being away (and pining for the Caribou) for a year.

Actually, that's misleading. I'm not sure if I've ever seen a caribou. Moose and deer, of course. But one day, I will find and view the mysterious and majestic caribou.

I left CDG airport outside of Paris Saturday morning, and waited for a bit in Toronto. Something immediately stood out -- the stairs in the airport were ridiculously steep. It's true. In Canada, all the stairs are steeper than in France. Even the stairs in my parents' house (the stairs I grew up with) seemed oddly high now. I have a theory that the French still associate long, shallow staircases with luxury, while most of the buildings in Canada where built after the invention of the elevator.

I also saw single presumably-Canadian travellers buying ridiculously underpriced fast food 'to go' in the airport secure area, in order to carry the bag over to their gate and eat alone. This is wrong on so many levels. The airport in Toronto also has a bouncy moving sidewalk.

My parents and sister met me in Calgary to drive me to Medicine Hat. Calgary is a beautiful, spacious city -- wide roads and plenty of parking. And unlike Paris, there weren't any cars parked on the huge sidewalks, in the middle of the road, or on the crosswalks. We drove home in a complete lack of snow, although it was sufficiently cold to freeze the fog, which flurried across the road.

When fog freezes just right, you get hoar frost. It covers every twig on a tree and every blade of grass, and makes the entire world white even without a centimetre of snow. It can stick around for a couple of days if the weather stays below zero.

The prairies are flat. The features (if any) are cut down into the flatness instead of rising out. It used to always surprise me, coming back from Vancouver, where the mountains nibble away at the visible sky; it's twice the effect coming from six-story Paris. The sky is bluer in the prairies.

I spent the first few days at my sister's house. I had been seriously busy at work the weeks before leaving, and I hadn't organized my Christmas shopping before leaving so it was mall time, four days before Christmas. It's so easy to shop in Canada -- big aisles, large informative signs and SALES SALES SALES. And everything was so inexpensive, especially home electronics.

Thanks to high clothing prices in Paris, I took this opportunity to blow my entire 2002 clothing budget in Canada. All the clothes I brought back were destined for charity and I would return to France with new Canadian clothes. So much for the fashion capital of the world, where Levi's and T-Shirts command designer prices...

My favourite brand of T-Shirt? Wayne Gretzy(tm), purchased at The Bay. How much more Canadian can you get?

Other than shopping for Christmas gifts, I took it pretty easy. The jet lag hit me pretty hard in the 'winding hours back' direction. I tried to stay awake until a decent bedtime every night and to stay in bed until everyone else was awake and it took about a week to adjust. The biggest effect was meals -- I would be all geared up for a home-style Canadian cooking meal, but my body wouldn't be hungry. Even after my sleep patterns had adjusted to the new time zone, my appetite was never in sync with meals.

I took a picture of the processed cheese aisle, so I could print it out and scare French children with it. But honestly, there is a decent selection of cheese available in Canada, even if much of it has been imported. And as of time of writing, and unlike the United States, unpasteurized cheese is still permitted.

We ate breakfast out a couple of times. While I adore a pain au chocolat and cafe au lait breakfast, the Canadian bacon and eggs, hashbrowns and sausage breakfast is certainly worthwhile! That's a real breakfast. And of course, we had many of the family specialties that make holidays worthwhile: ham, nitfla (a traditional German dish that my gramma makes), homemade chinese food, real Albertan beef sausage and of course, the big beautiful turkey dinner for Christmas.

On one of my last nights in Canada, I took my family out for a meal. The restaurant was 'Western Cookhouse Grill' themed, which means that it prominently featured barbecued meat -- one of the flavours that the French don't seem to get quite right. The waiter scribbled his name on our paper table cloth (we had crayons for our own drawings -- I drew the Eiffel tower) and they served drinks in wide mouth jars (they could carry nine at a time without using a tray!). It was pretty relaxed compared to a French restaurant, and certainly much more spacious and comfortable. I have no idea why there aren't any booths in Parisian restaurants -- they take long enough to eat that they should have more space to enjoy it.

I enjoyed my meal -- I had the half roasted barbecue chicken with a side of garlic mashed potatoes and baked beans, and a peach/blueberry skillet biscuit with ice cream. And the kicker? The meal for FIVE people cost the same as a single person would pay in Paris -- given that we didn't have appetizers or wine, that not everybody had dessert and that Keri had brought a $10 off coupon. And of course, the tip isn't included in the bill in Canada.

A lot of my visiting was coffee-oriented. Canadian coffee is light, large and hot, which suited me and my general fatigue very well. In fact, if you order your coffee in a restaurant (where you are even permitted to drink it with the meal!), you generally get free refills. A hovering server descends when your coffee is getting low with a fresh pot and tops up your cup. Heavenly. Of course, refills aren't free in a real cafe -- Medicine Hat doesn't have a Starbucks but it does have Café Marseilles, a downtown hang-out-terie where you can lounge on a chesterfield and have your Mocha, Latte, Espresso or other Canadian-style European-style coffees.

I took advantage of my time in Canada to fly out to Vancouver to visit my old friends and colleagues. Moving to a foreign country automatically upgrades all your friends from home into 'old friends' -- it's the nostalgia. But they deserve the title anyway.

We hung out and drank coffee and took in the old Vancouver jaunts. The focus, of course, was the upcoming non-palindromic kinky New Year, but even on the fateful last day of 2002, nobody had made any plans. We were saved from the streets by Peter, who offered his wonderful Kitsilano apartment. Peter and his wife are new 'old friends'. So we watched the hockey game, and I drank cranberry vodka and tonics, and we ordered pizza.

As usual, I ended up talking with everybody in the kitchen (where the real party always goes on). As people entered and left, I took down their New Years resolutions and predictions on my Palm PDA (just like I have for the last two years). All of the gang was there, and I met some new members and other unknowns (including a neurophysiology student who insisted that studies prove you only need 4.5 hours of sleep a night. I need more information.)

At midnight, we climbed to the rooftop deck and stood in the rain. Nobody had an accurate watch so we started our own countdown. 5-4-3-2-1 Hooray, drink your champagne, kiss a fine lady and cross off the first of my resolutions.

We had the traditional First Breakfast at our typical breakfast cafe, which I'm not going to reveal here -- they don't need the business and I don't need a longer waiting line. I had the Peameal Benedict, which is an eggs benedict (english muffin, ham, poached egg and hollandaise sauce) but with higher quality Canadian bacon. Yum.

This was the best Christmas ever, but it always is. I didn't do much except hang out, eat and drink, and relax.

I took the airplane home from Medicine Hat -- a city with two gates and a cat in the airport. They don't have an x-ray machine at the departure gate, so they look through all your stuff by hand and do the wand. I was clean... this time.

I met a Canadian colleague in Toronto also flying back to Paris (he's the one I went to the south of France with). Since my day was only going to be sixteen hours long, I tried to sleep the entire trip and skip the in-flight movies. The flight was two hours late arriving in Paris, and we waited nearly two and a half hours to get our luggage (they eventually lost his). I was supposed to go into work on the Monday, but since I was already four and a half hours late, I decided to take an extra vacation day and sleep.

Sorry to all my peeps in Vancouver -- you're all pre-digital camera days. I'll get you next year...