Aaaah, Gay Paris...the city of romance, the city of love, the city where bread is a mandatory part of every balanced breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack. Aaaah, Gay Paris.

So my travels have taken me to thriving little burg of Paris, France, where I'm learning at least several words in French, pronounced with an accent reminiscent of a garbage disposal filled with whole artichokes. So far, while in Paris, I have found my way from the airport to my hotel with a cab driver who spoke no English other than "Jou Like George Boosh?" (my answer to which I'm certain he didn't comprehend...but the tone defied borders), bought a magazine (no small achievement when you don't know the words for "buy" "how much," "magazine," "can I" and "a"), found my way 2 kilometers from my hotel to our facility on foot, and even got an old guy to respond in French when I said "bonjour," implying I sounded French enough to fool him.

I have also, during my time here, eaten some of the finest tasties that have ever graced my palate. I had pastisse, a delightful licoricey pre-meal liquer intended to shock your taste buds into licoricey submission to the meal to come; coc a vin, which the menu described as "a homemade old rooster soaked in Marsala wine," prompting both the questions, "how old was the rooster, and how do you home-make one?"; escargot soaked in butter, garlic, and what I assume was heroin; crepe Suzette, which is French for "creepy Suzy"; and enough freshly-baked baguettes to make one consider shredding one's Adkins book and crushing it into some kind of spreadable jam.

I also ate a creme brulee for lunch that will likely prompt any number of lurid dreams for the next few days, and real French Fries which were...umm...well, they were pretty much like American Fries, but in France.

Despite their reputation, the French people have been remarkably kind, polite, and generally agreeable. With the exception of the bar owner who kept yelling about how ridiculous it is that the "French can't smoke in France despite France being French," everyone has been very well-behaved...downright hospitable at times, even. This is a far cry from my single day in Paris ten years ago, when I, as a high school near-grad backpacking with no money to spend, was welcomed as a leprechaun welcomes a drought. I've even carried on tiny conversations with real-deal French people, and enjoyed learning tons of little cultural ideosyncracies and idioms (such as, "I lost my G," which refers to shedding an accent when speaking English, and not, in fact, to having a buddy from da hood pass away).

So far, it's been a great trip! I look forward to sharing more after tomorrow, when I get to get out and actually see the city a bit (been cooped up inside of a facility most days). Au Revoir! C'est La Vie!

Peace,
Justin