"Vite, Vite!"

... and one day you turn around and two months are gone.

An unforgettable, beautiful, rare experience.

avec l'amour,
*jenna*

One Of My Favorite Spots

Just between Espace Dalí and Place du Tertre, and adjacent to the dream café where I had my carpaccio & cello, there is a beautiful stairwell traditional to Montmartre, lined by vines and the white walls classic to the area.

I sat here for 45 minutes one day listening to this guitar player singing and regarding the Paris view before me.


Ce garçon was similarly enchanted.




this is it. i'm looking back on my time here and wondering... how did it escape so quickly?

avec l'amour,
*jenna*

Oh My God.

Way, way, way back in April, I came home with some treats for us to eat for dessert. Ladurée is renowned for having the best macarons in Paris, and maybe the world.


These aren't like American macaroons. These are soft and crispy at once, insanely sweet to a point near pain. Until you realize you've just experienced ecstasy from a pastry.

"Oh my God!" I declared in deliciousness as I ate my pistachio macaron.

"Leave God out of it," Sébastien said. He was enjoying his as much as I was mine, but he made the understandable point that Americans use this phrase way too often for it to have any potency. It should only be used in situations that defy human comprehension.


So since then I've been trying to limit my use of the phrase. I slip sometimes, because it truly is ingrained in my parlance.

But then we went to Angelina.

"You are going to be angry at yourself for waiting until your last week to come here," Sébastien warned me with delight.


At this famous café they have two specialties: chocolat chaud (hot chocolate), and the Montblanc, a mountainous pastry of chestnut cream (exclusively from Imbert, the factory run by Sébastien's cousin in Árdeche which we visited a few weeks ago) and chantilly.


Do you see how thick that chocolate is? The pitcher from which it was served even had a thin skin on top, like when you make pudding and let it sit for a moment.

And of course there is more chantilly to put into it.


I don't know what the hell they put in that drink, but it is worthy of every declaration of deliciousness possible.

Let me tell you, it was very, very, very difficult not to say "Oh my God!" every two seconds while consuming it. So instead I just grunted a few times.


If you ever come to Paris, make this your first stop after Charles de Gaulle. Then hop on over to Sainte-Chapelle and thank God that this brief happiness exists.

avec l'amour,
*jenna*

Mission Accomplished.

Today I went to the Louvre to see only one piece.























I couldn't leave Paris without seeing Psyché Ranimée Par Le Baiser De L'Amour, or as I call it, Psyche and Cupid, by Antonio Canova.

It depicts the final scene in the tale of these two lovers. Psyche, having married Cupid sight unseen, sneaks in on him to peek at his beauty while he sleeps. When he wakes, he flees, saying, "Love cannot live without trust." Alone, Psyche is doomed by Venus to perform a series of tasks beyond her mortal capabilities. She falls into a fatal sleep from which only Cupid's kiss can wake her. Here, he does just that, descending upon her in the moment before "... The End."

Utterly, completely beautiful. Masterful. Slightly smaller than I had imagined, but definitely bigger than the miniature replica I bought in Italy 9 years ago and keep at my mother's house.

I should get that back.

avec l'amour,
*jenna*

Flowers In Windows

Sunday, very very early in the morning, I ventured far south to the border of France to see what there is to see in Nice.

I was lucky because the train wasn't very full, and just after departure, the two women sitting just opposite of me changed seats. So the gentleman next to me moved over, and we all got our own space.


Not to mention a delicious sandwich jambon et beurre during the journey.



A lovely part of train travel is the opportunity to get up, stretch, and have a coffee at the bar, watching the world go by.


Halfway through we got stuck, so I got out and enjoyed the different air of Tournon.


And the inexplicable joy of peeking a view of the ocean, blue and bright, when we finally reached the south.


When I arrived in Nice, I quickly found my hotel, Hotel Rex, truly a charming little place to stay, perfectly located near Vieux Nice and the Mediterranean.




Not a bad view to wake up to in the morning, church bells and birds filling the air.



Then I explored. Here is Place Massena, just outside of the hotel. Grand and lovely.



From the beach I walked around Vieux Nice (the old village), which was lovely indeed, reminding me of Venice. Most of my photos are just of painted walls, windows, and flowers. And that's all I need to be happy.






At Fenocchio, I had some totally, totally wonderful lavender glace.









After a quick rest at the hotel, I went back out as dusk fell and enjoyed the hazy, dreamy horizon, the sea disappearing into sky, or vice versa, reminiscent of a Turner painting.






Then back around town to explore and find some grub.





The next morning started off right, with pain au chocolat et café in front of a fountain.



I tried to go to Nice's museum of modern art, but of course it was closed (despite the words of my concierge).



I walked around this neighborhood twice in two days, accidentally, and even accidentally took photos of the same beautiful sights.

Day 1:


Day 2:


Day 1:



Day 2:


So I continued on, trying to find the Marché Aux Puces, a giant flea market (I'm such a sucker for old things).



And climbed a great hill, and got lost in a great park as the fog lifted and retreated back into the sea.


This is me being lost.


I finally found the Marché Aux Puces but VOILÁ it was closed, of course! So I walked back around to try to go to the beach.



And wouldn't you know, fate took care of me because as I attempted to find some lunch I happened upon a massive vide grenier.



You could also call it a Tentanus fest waiting to happen.


I went to the beach afterward, met some nice French boys and spent a good three hours talking and hanging out with them.

That night I had a dinner that was okay, and a creme brulée that was damn good.



The next morning brought brutally bold light and shadow as I prepared to leave Hotel Rex.




And, ah, yeah, I walked around again. I can't get enough of finding my way around a twisting area like Vieux Nice, of succeeding in getting lost and getting found again.








I love this sign. I think they must have a contractual obligation to the makers of Samoan beach lavalavas, and are required to mention them among their wares. There's not much enthusiasm.



Holy dear, this meal was magnificent. On a secluded street away from the tourists, I found an empty restaurant - La Pierre Bise - that gave me an utterly wonderful carpaccio de bœuf and an even more incredible, simple, olive oil-laden plate of vegetables.


Ahhhhhh it makes me hungry just to see it again. Get into my belly! And not a bad view upward, either.


And the perfect ending to a meal.


Afterward I got one last taste of the beach, because who knows when I'll see the sea again? This couple was cute, and the girl was reading her book out loud to her man. This would have been obnoxious if it weren't in the luscious, sensual language of French.


And on home again. On the train back I talked to some greasy young men from Marseilles who were extremely muscular and didn't understand why I detest Facebook. They were nice, but there was no need for me to make a lasting connection with them.


This old lady was just standing in between cars, watching the scenery, very serenely.



And now it's the final week. "Now we're in the home stretch, going on to buttock tucks," as Jane Fonda would say.

avec l'amour,
*jenna*