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You know that you've arrived in Paris when you see the bums drinking champagne. Now, had I only seen one bum drinking from a bottle of champagne, I would have considered this an anomaly; albeit an amusing one. However, I observed several bums drinking the bubbly. And saw quite a few empty bottles strewn around on lonely streets. And, so, I can confirm that Paris is a magical place where even the bums indulge in the finer things in life. Such is my vision of Paris.
Walking from where I was staying in the 10th arrondissement toward the Seine, I passed down a familiar boulevard, Rue du Faubourg Saint Denis. Prostitutes abound. They hang out in the doorways. And they hang well out and over their brassieres. For some strange reason this street is home to well-aged hookers; most are in the 50+ range. And most bear more than a passing resemblance to Marianne Faithfull. How delightfully odd.
I embarked on a little photography project while in Paris. Inspired by bad illustrations in an Air France magazine article on French food and encouraged by my friend Pascal, I put my whole stomach into the project. Basically, I photographed pastries with a famous Parisian landmark in the background.
In all, eleven pastries were photographed. Not quite all of the pastries were consumed after the photo was taken. Even I have my limits. More photos here.
There is something so deliciously satisfying about a food holiday. In Sweden, there seem to be a lot of food holidays. Today, for example, is October 4th which is Kanelbullens dag or National Cinnamon Bun Day. I blogged about this last year. But, this year is my last. So, to commemorate this occasion, I opted for the giant Hagabullar from Café Husaren in Haga, the old part of town. It is shown here compared to a regular kanelbullar that bought at Hemköp. I ate a lot of it, but not all. It's pretty damn big. I may need to go lie down and let the digestive process do its thing. But what a sweet memory to carry with me.
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