Home Again, Home Again, Jiggedy Jog

April in Paris. Beautiful days and most of them warm enough I didn't have to wear the jacket I bought in London. Or a scarf to keep my neck warm. I come home to a cold Idaho and pop down to Utah in time for a blizzard there.

What's the deal?

Someone asked yesterday, "Did you go to Harrods?"
No, we didn't. Planned to, talked about it, had it on the schedule. I even watched something about it on TV. But, no, we didn't go there. That's twice in London and no Harrods. Certainly not the end of the world. However, I may have to back for that purpose.

We did go to Bath, that lovely town on the River Avon--it's in Jane Austen, you know--and walk through the Roman baths. Walked through the whole town, actually, and love it there.
We did see Les Mis in London.
We did see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace.
We did boat down the Thames from the Tower of London to Greenwich and have our lunch there.
We did walk through Westminster Abbey. Walk a lot in London.
We did hear Cockney every day, to our joy.

We did see the Basilique du St. Denis, Paris from atop the Eiffel Tower, Louis XIV's chateau at Versailles. And Marie Antoinette's "little" chateau nearby. Point of history. She was married to Louis XVI.
We saw Venus, Winged Victory, Mona Lisa at the Louvre.
Wandered through Notre Dame, Napoleon's Tomb, the Pantheon, and down the Champs Elysees. Visited Sacre Coeur and Montmartre, and everywhere we went we drew crowds. That's one way to put it.

These are the places one is expected to see. Okay, we did it, and we're all glad.

But the other places,
the everyday,
the mistakes we made--very few, I hasten to add,
the people,
the funny stuff--like the old woman in our very own London MacDonald's or the smell of the alley at the St Denis market place,
the crowded Metro trains,
the beauty and the unbeauty--graffiti all along the train routes and above-ground metro routes, everywhere there is a wall or overpass. And I'm not kidding. That's in Paris, not London.
the walking our feet off,
the folks who were good to us,
the quiet skies,
my very agreeable travel companions.

I'll put together my travel journal (one of these days) and these are the parts I'll write about.

By the way, in France, we did pick a decent place to eat now and then. But, trust me, it may be France, but not all the cooking is French cooking.

English food? Well, I like fish and chips; I like lamb. So I was okay.

Good to be home, but I'd go again, you know. So let me know if you want to.