The Latin Quarter

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Evening one in Paris, we were off to see the Latin quarter. Why the Latin Quarter you ask? Are you not in France? Yes that's what I thought, and I still don't get it. Something about scholars. According to Thomas the place was as dead as the language and I couldn't agree more.

On our way there we stopped to see the fabled cathedral of Notre Dame. Everyone's initial reaction was "it looked bigger in Van Helsing." It was rather pretty though. Beautiful carvings and stuff. And a weird Spanish guy singing terribly in the background. Welcome to France.

Latin Quarter next, u milli jidher hadna dawra papali. Even so, after much aimless wandering (and in depth wondering about what in fact we were supposed to be doing) we heard an earth shattering growl... It was our stomachs. We went to a restaurant called the Twickenham, with giant Union Jacks all over it and sadly proclaimed that we weren't really that hungry, before proceeding to eat enough food to last us 2 days. We had les escargots (snails), des bourgolais (terrible wine or excellent tap water) and le duck (duck). Then we began to trek home.

I will not rant about how my family's hubris and unbendable will to feel superior to a GPS caused us to shambles around Paris for an hour because you've all heard enough of my ranting, but I shall add this little note to save it for posterity. So there.

Needless to say, we did arrive home eventually, and I have resigned myself to being a martyr and not helping with navigation, as is the tradition. After stopping my behemoth of a father from snoring holes into the roof trusses migrated go our bedrooms and slept, eventually.

Before I end this post, a word about the French. All the stereotypes are true. They all smoke and, to aggravate matters, hold their cigarettes like cartoon characters. Their accent is beyond ridiculous and I was frequently overwhelmed by a variety of violent smells. Alas. Tomorrow is another day.

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