It's difficult to know a priori which things will be with us for a long time and which things will decide on their own to make a hasty departure. More truthfully, perhaps, I should say it's impossible to know.
Our short stay apartment overlooks a dead end street. The rue dives into an underground car park a few hundred feet north of us. "Stair Master From Hell" connects young spritely pedestrians with the road above our's. An English speaking international school provides the first of several protections from the onslaught of tourists from the Trocadero to the east. To the south is the Raceway of the Rich and Super Rich that stretches along the Seine.
Wind can whip the six stories of our apartment nee human parking structure. We can hear the birds of the neighborhood and the caged roller singer creatures of our voisins en haut. We can see clearly the top 2/3rd's of la tour Eiffel. Clouds can race the Playboy Toys at sky level.
Our kitchen windows over sees the fun.
Recently we had the windows open as we were preparing another fine repast. Organic lettuce (... and now, lettuce pray...), radishes (...radish so red, radish so red...), and a small can of tuna in Italian olive oil (... you didn't swim fast enough to escape our nets, you fool!) make for a proper lunch. Oh, these and a few slices of bread with a very special butter are the foundations of heaven on earth.
We put the scraps into plastic bags we collect from veggie shopping at Monoprix and Biocoop.
Well, on this day, one of the bags must have had dreams of a bigger better life in a better place. It took flight. Whoop! Out the window it went, just as a gust of wind came up to share the cigarette smoke of the voisin en bas.
My wife and I laughed and giggled as the bag took to the air and drifted gracefully up and over our dead end rue, up and over "Stair Master From Hell", and whirled over the English speaking international school.
The air bag must've like the idea of going to school. I'm not sure what it felt it needed to learn nor which courses it intended on taking. But it was interesting to note that Mr Air Bag landed gently just outside the door to the art room on the top level of the English speaking international school for the spawn of diplomats and other overly wealthy Anglo-Saxon types.
We've seen such interesting things living here.
Our short stay apartment overlooks a dead end street. The rue dives into an underground car park a few hundred feet north of us. "Stair Master From Hell" connects young spritely pedestrians with the road above our's. An English speaking international school provides the first of several protections from the onslaught of tourists from the Trocadero to the east. To the south is the Raceway of the Rich and Super Rich that stretches along the Seine.
Noogie Noogie Noogie..
Wind can whip the six stories of our apartment nee human parking structure. We can hear the birds of the neighborhood and the caged roller singer creatures of our voisins en haut. We can see clearly the top 2/3rd's of la tour Eiffel. Clouds can race the Playboy Toys at sky level.
Our kitchen windows over sees the fun.
Recently we had the windows open as we were preparing another fine repast. Organic lettuce (... and now, lettuce pray...), radishes (...radish so red, radish so red...), and a small can of tuna in Italian olive oil (... you didn't swim fast enough to escape our nets, you fool!) make for a proper lunch. Oh, these and a few slices of bread with a very special butter are the foundations of heaven on earth.
We put the scraps into plastic bags we collect from veggie shopping at Monoprix and Biocoop.
Well, on this day, one of the bags must have had dreams of a bigger better life in a better place. It took flight. Whoop! Out the window it went, just as a gust of wind came up to share the cigarette smoke of the voisin en bas.
My wife and I laughed and giggled as the bag took to the air and drifted gracefully up and over our dead end rue, up and over "Stair Master From Hell", and whirled over the English speaking international school.
Mr Air Bag proving he is actually lighter than air
The air bag must've like the idea of going to school. I'm not sure what it felt it needed to learn nor which courses it intended on taking. But it was interesting to note that Mr Air Bag landed gently just outside the door to the art room on the top level of the English speaking international school for the spawn of diplomats and other overly wealthy Anglo-Saxon types.
We've seen such interesting things living here.
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