Europe Day 6 of 59, Paris

You thought yesterday was relaxing? Today I woke up and read for a few hours while waiting for Barbie to join me for lunch. It was cold and raining today in Paris, so the couch and TV and Newsweek seemed like a better idea than walking across the street for a croissant. After watching a whole lot of BBC News (the English language sounds like a caress after surfing 97 channels of French [including "Les Simpsons" in French]), she finally woke up at 11:30am and out we went for a late breakfast.

When they brought me this fabulous omelet, I realized after one bite that I was eating an "Omelet du Fromage" in Paris. To any fan of the Steve Martin records, that is a significant event. The people working in the cafe spoke perfect English, so I didn't get to say, "Bring me a shoe with cheese on it, force it down my throat, and I want to massage your grandmother."

Paris is rather picturesque in the rain, but for some reason I could not get a picture of everyone walking with umbrellas. Somehow they disappear when you hold up your camera, the squirrelly French umbrella people.

Pretty street, no?

Then, after the late breakfast, Barbie decided to take a short rest and then we'd go out. After a few more hours of BBC, I realized I might as well join her, and we literally slept until 6:30pm. Yes, excessive sleep is about the best way to enjoy a holiday.

Soon it was time to head out to dinner, which brought us to the Left Bank, which is where all the hip young folk hang out. If I was young and hip, I would have been ecstatic. But old and unhip, I was just bothered by all the cigarettes.

Believe me, they are all young and they are all hip. Hipper than hip. They are... 'ip.

Dinner was at 21, recommended by a friend of a friend. It was fantastic. I should have taken a picture of every course, but instead all you get to see is the best dessert Paris has to offer.

Not too rich, the caramel was just right... this sucker was delicious.

On the subway ride back, I was across from these too tragically hip youngsters. It demanded a surreptitious phone pic. Barbie outed me, saying to our hostess, "He's taking a picture." I think her hipness on the left heard it and chose to look right at me. Her expression, "Yes, I am too cool for your world. One day you will all know my name and I will not care. Fouquet."

Finally, the other day I saw my reflection and I realized that a reflection shot may be the only time I appear in these pictures. The one who holds the camera is never pictured, yes? So after changing trains I remembered to do it to it.

Here I am, reflected in a Parisian subway car's door, including scratched-on graffiti. I suspect that this will be one of my favorite self-portraits ever.