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The Bold Soul(tm) Blog by Lisa Taylor Huff, Copyright (C) 2005-2009

The Bold Soul™: A Writer's Life in Paris - 5 new articles


Imagine... imagine if Paris had never been liberated on this day, 70 years ago: August 25, 1944? Imagine if Hitler's decree that Paris should be burned to the ground had actually been carried out? Can you imagine a world without the beauty and history of Paris? I can't. Because if that Paris hadn't been liberated in '44, my Paris wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't be here now. Vive la France!


Dinner in the 17th century

The other night, a friend and I were wandering around Ile Saint Louis looking for someplace interesting to have dinner. We almost passed right by this place at first, but something made us stop and check out the menu. When we saw reasonably priced dishes (15-18€) and traditional French fare, we thought, well, why not? And then we got a look inside the place, and that decided us: This is "Aux Anysetiers Du Roy", a restaurant located in a 17th century building in the oldest part of Paris. Those ceiling beams are the real deal. Madame (the woman in white) is the patronne, and she bosses her husband around with a smile. (That's him in the royal blue sweater. He basically served, cleaned tables, and brought coffee.) The walls are painted stone. The tables are old wood and close together. The food was excellent - I had salmon with a...


Worst photo ever but it's still golden

Yesterday as I passed the just reopened Plaza Athenée hotel on über-chic Avenue Montaigne, I did a double-take. Because, you do that when there is a freaking GOLD LAMBORGHINI parked in front. So today I looked again, and there it was: shining like chrome only GOLD. Holy credit line, how rich do you have to be for a car like that to seem "normal"?


Wishing I were there

Here's how my transition (from vacation to reality) went today: Survived the train from hell by sticking my nose in my Kindle book and then spending the last half-hour in the bar car. You know, for medicinal purposes only. Managed to be the first in the taxi queue, so clearly the Universe was trying to apologize for 4 hours and 45 minutes of screeching baby and stinky fellow travelers. Got home by 5pm, found the house relatively clean and intact, except that the Olders left some stinky garbage in the trash can instead of taking it out; I could have done without that after the train from hell. Did a load of laundry. Folded the clean dry sheets La Fille left me for the rental apartment. Food shopped for myself for the week (now how did that pint of Ben & Jerry's get into my shopping bag?) Watched Mamma Mia...


Train from hell

So it's not bad enough that I have to be on a train back to Paris when Georges and the Garçon get to spend another 7 days in the warm, sunny south. But I am apparently on the train from hell while I'm at it. Let's begin with my seat mate, Stinky Young Guy. Here's what I know about him so far: neatly dressed, reading "The Hundred Year Old Man" in English, smokes Camels, apparently sleeps a lot and like many men he takes up ALL THE FUCKING SPACE on transport. He drools when he sleeps. And he stinks. Lucky me. He's kinda cute but I wouldn't recommend him as boyfriend material to any of the young girls I know. In front of me: Stinky Old Guy and his wife. They're quiet but this train ain't big enough for all the stench. Did I somehow get on a train where...


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