The strange irony is that I've lost my appetite in Paris. Tragique, n'est pas? Especially since Paris is toted as the best place on earth to score delicious grub.
It's a strange affliction. I walk a lot. I burn up calories. But for some reason, I don't get hungry.
Back in my office days, I would buy a Twix bar whenever I stopped to fill up my car. I called it my little Twix fix. Now, pas necessaire. I have a little yogurt in the morning, maybe a piece of fruit later and one meal if I happen to be meeting someone for a meal. The occasional macaron. Otherwise, if I make a wee bit of soup at the end of the day, in which to dunk my severely hard baguette, I'm good.
I can't keep up to a baguette. It's a rock before you know it. Now I understand why the French invented French Onion soup and croutons.
I should be indulging, non?
I discussed this with my new friend Jason, the guy from New York, who was also the guy that held the camera this night. He said the same thing. He's just not hungry.
We came to the realization that in Paris, we are immersed in a different kind of satisfaction and needing food to satisfy isn't necessary. Jason was an attorney. I was a copywriter. Back in Corporate Land, we looked forward to dinner at the end of each day, largely because we were kinda miserable in our day jobs. It was something to look forward to. But here, there is nothing to look forward to. It's all here in the present moment, and incidentally, presented in the most beautiful manner possible. The French have a knack for displays.
They provide a feast for the eyes at every corner: architecture, fashion, trees in bloom, perfectly manicured gardens, etc. There is no misery I need to placate with food. So instead of stopping all the time to eat, I carry on. Walk. Walk. Walk. Nary a need for a Twix fix.
I'm like one of those breatharians that live off the life force.
This is what I've been feasting on... and only a bit of it is actual food:
|Best. Hot Chocolate. Ever.|
|Pretty displays of my favorite pen. But a whopping 3,40 Euro. Yikes. Non merci!|
|More pretty displays of desserts, painted up like whores.|
|The trees. I can't get over the trees. And random statues everywhere.|
|Cobblestones = tired feet.|
|A hunk of baguette with a hunk of brie in the park. Very Parisian.|
|These junky tsotchkes actually look pretty when on display together.|
|Love the Paris fashion sense of the ladies.|
|Hanging out with the pigeons at Hotel de Ville, who feed off the land, too.|
|Paris. Are you for real? Amazing.|
|Seriously, are you for real?|
|Jardin du Luxembourgh is chocked full of chairs for lounging. I arrived early and had my pick.|
|Okay. Best salad ever. It even has things in it I don't normally eat (tuna and anchovies) but I ate them anyway. Vegan schmegan.|
|Why didn't I bring my checkered suit to Paris?|
|Hell to the no. I did not eat these.|
|Jenny, the girl from the airport, ate them. She said they were great. I looked on in horror.|
|Absorbing the atmosphere by the fountain at the Louvre.|
Like I said, for now... vegan schmegan.