chateaus and chatelet

Goodness my time here has been filled with grandeur. Chateaus I have seen, many in number but diverse in their splendor. This week we visited the Chateau of Ecouen, a lovely place just 30 minutes outside of the city, which is also home to the national museum of the Renaissance. We saw a huge tapestry series depicting the story of David and Bathsheba and saw first editions of Clement Marot. It was all very exciting, and the little village nearby truly looked like something out of Beauty and the Beast, without the singing. Another highlight of the week was a class trip to the Quartier Latin, a place once called home by many of the most inspiring individuals of the literary and creative world. The Cafe Procope, operating for over 300 years was the cafe where the likes of Franklin and Voltaire, Robespierre and Pascal would take their cafe and think and talk. Ernest Hemingway called these streets home, and today the genius Carl Marletti has taken up residence here, though his creative genius is one which delights more than just the mind. I have always been a big fan of food, but at the Patisserie of Carl Marletti, my love for pastries skyrocketed. At the suggestion of our teacher Monsieur Olivier, we entered this palace of palatial pleasures and I ordered a chocolate Religieuse and never will be the same again. It was crisp and light, creamy and chocolatey, and when I was finished I just wanted more. I highly recommend this lovely establishment to any traveler willing to splurge a little on delectability.

The days in paris are beginning to run out. This week was a whirlwind tour or many things, Victor Hugo's home, situated on the lovely Place des Vosges, The Cluny museum-medieval history (home to the famous Dame et Licorne tapestry), lounging at the Tour Eiffel and the Luxembourg gardens and the Orangerie, again, but I loved it so much the first time I had to go back. Paris is a feast, for the mind, for the senses for the willing mind who can look past the sometimes ghetto metro stations (aka chatelet), the sometimes overwhelming pee or smoke smell, the often overpriced yet darling things that one can buy. As Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "There is never any ending to Paris, and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that on any other." My experience here has been better than I ever could have imagined and I look forward to a life touched by Paris.