Choking your Chicken

Back in the earliest days of the 20th century, when my grandmother was a little girl, she witnessed the events that led to this blog, the events that led to a favorite family story of the infamous day when my great grandmother tried to choke her chicken.

I had best explain. My great grandparents, Louis Dillard Kirkpatrick (Daddad) and Mary Campbell Kirkpatrick (Mamie) lived with their daughter (my grandmother, Edna) in Bridgeport, Texas. They owned a large house on fourteen acres of land. They had pecans, various fruit trees, and they kept chickens. If the dinner-time meal was to be chicken, Mamie would ask Daddad to please go get her a chicken, and he'd go out to the hen house and select a tasty looking bird. He would hold it by the head and with a quick spin of his wrist, the chicken's head would come off, and he'd take the chicken to my great grandmother for cleaning and cooking.

But one day, she forgot to ask Daddad to get her a chicken. She had witnessed the deed on many, many occasions. And she thus thought, "Oh foot! I can kill a chicken! I've seen Louis do it a hundred times!" So she went out into the yard, snuck up on the feathered dinner-on-legs, and grabbed it by the head. It squawked and flapped its wings, and she took a deep breath and started to spin the chicken around. And she continued to spin the chicken.

The chicken was not amused. It still squawked and flapped its wings. But Mamie kept on spinning the chicken. Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, around the chicken went! All the other chickens looked on in wonder! Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, around the chicken went!

Eventually, my great grandmother let the chicken go. With a sigh, she went into the house to find something else to make for dinner.

According to family legend that chicken eventually died of old age - with its head permanently wrenched, turned backwards looking over its shoulder. When my great grandmother would see the chicken out in the yard she would look at it with remorse and sigh ... "Oh, Louis, oh ... oh..."

—David

Much Ado About Easy-Bake Ovens

EXTRA! EXTRA! Stupid Children get fingers caught in Easy-Bake Ovens! "Roasted Child-Digits" only 185 calories each!

So read the papers and blared the radio a couple months ago ... Dumb kids, dumb parents, dumb recall, dumb world... However, this silliness did bring up multiple memories and tales-to-tell of my own adventures with MY Easy-Bake Oven. And being a good little queer boy I didn't burn MY fingers. I made tasty things to eat!

If I recall correctly I got my Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas when I was about six or seven. I really liked it - mainly because it worked! You could actually "bake" cakes and stuff in it. The oven used two light bulbs, one in the top and one in the bottom, surrounded by a highly-reflective aluminum shell. You mixed the cake mixes in little bowls, greased up the little pan, and slid it into the oven where it baked for a time. When it was ready you pushed the cooked cake out the other side of the oven, and a baker you were!

The packaging shown above looks much as I remember MY oven - the late 1960s "Flower Power" decals included. I also recall thinking that the little girl featured on the box wasn't too bright. Look at her little cakes. You are SUPPOSED to bake TWO layers of cake and frost them together with a layer of icing in the middle! It's boring to simply frost a single layer!

My two big memories about my Easy-Bake Oven involved my Dad. He was all for it - indeed he was the baker in the family. When I made my first cake I was distressed that when I pushed it out the far side of the oven a sharp blade (inside the oven) hacked off the top of the cake and made a very flat shaved-off cake layer. This didn't seem right and wasted some very edible cake. My Dad agreed, so out came the tools, he opened up the oven and removed the "cake-shaver." Voila! Unshaved cakes.

The Easy-Bake Oven also gave my Dad an opportunity to give me a lecture on the evils of Capitalism. The oven was a really good toy, well-made, and fairly priced. But the company really gouged you on the cake mixes and frosting packets. And I was baking a LOT of little cakes!

So Dad explained all this stuff about monopolies, and evil-marketing strategies designed to take advantage of little boys, and he took me to the grocery store where we purchased inexpensive JIFFY cake mixes, frosting mix, corn-bread mix, and such. We found a little clear plastic container and carefully measured a "real" Easy-Bake mix, and using tape and a marker, made an Easy-Bake measuring cup so I could easily use the "real" cake mixes in my oven. These real mixes were even better than the expensive "Easy-Bake" ones. There were more flavors! I could make things like corn-bread! And this made the oven seem more "legit."

We chose the JIFFY mixes because they were the only mixes that already had the eggs and stuff in them. Thus they were ADD WATER ONLY just like the Easy-Bake mixes.

Toys wear out and I have no idea what became of my Easy-Bake Oven. But when I was nine, we traveled to Bridgeport, Texas because my grandfather was very ill. My Dad took care of me and my sister in the motel room while Mom was at the hospital all day. One afternoon, while walking the main street of Bridgeport, we wandered into a "five-and-dime" store and I spotted a treasure I had to have!

A SUZY HOMEMAKER OVEN!!!

Suzy's oven also worked via light-bulb, but it was bigger and looked and functioned more like a "real" oven. You placed your food in the oven through the hinged oven-door on the front of the oven.

Well, Dad sensibly saw this as a way to keep me occupied and amused during those long days in the motel room and he got it for me. This oven came with an assortment of "cake mixes," too, but it was suggested somewhere that one could also make pie! So when we went to the grocery store for the old reliable JIFFY mixes we got some JIFFY pie-crust and a jar of jam and I became the "Boy Baker of Bridgeport" for a time.

So here I sit thirty-five years later, I love to cook and I bake pies from scratch.

But the world has changed. Think of the fun to be recalled in 2043 when some forty-something brat will be writing mini-essays on how when he/she was ten, he/she stuck their fingers in their toy-oven, burnt them to shreds, sued Easy-Bake for Billions, and they are forever doomed to a life of store-bought baked goods.

Bon appetit, David

Food for Thought

These days I do not make a habit of giving thanks to imaginary deities.

When I was four my grandmother came to live with us and she always said "Grace" before eating. This was something my parents did not do. My grandmother explained it as thanking God for the food we had been given.
I pondered this for a time.

When we moved to Albuquerque when I was three-and-a-half we had very little money. Mom was starting on her Masters degree at the University of New Mexico. Dad didn't have a job yet since the move, and we were dirt poor. The state did not give out Food Stamps to the hungry back in the mid-'60s. They gave people food. We went down to the "food place" and they stocked us up.

This was not a "food-bank" as one might know them today. It was all food packaged by the State or Feds. So no name-brand foods, and no processed "junk food" either.

On that Fall day in 1966 the state of New Mexico gave us something like the following:

10 pounds of flour
5 pounds of sugar
10 pounds of Pinto Beans
5 pounds of lard
4 cans of some meat-product called "Bulgar"
A large container of Peanut Butter

This was supposed to last us a month. Next month we'd get another batch of the same. One should remember that this was Albuquerque and the vast majority of the poor were Hispanic. Also, most people still cooked at home. Pinto beans were a nutritious staple. The flour and lard were meant for making tortillas.

But what was our family going to do with all this flour, sugar, lard, etc that we had? My dad learned to bake!

All of a sudden the house was filled with the smell of yeast and baking bread. We now ate fresh homemade bread every day. We had Cinnamon Rolls. Dad even came up with a use for all the lard. He made doughnuts! There is nothing on earth quite so wonderful as homemade, lard-fried doughnuts!

Dad eventually got a job with the Microbiology Lab at the County Medical Center. But he baked bread and rolls and cookies for the rest of his life. Later that year we moved into a bigger house and my grandmother came to live with us. This helped with the rent, and my parents decideded to adopt a little sister for me.

So, as I mentioned above, my grandmother had explained "Grace" as thanking God for the food we had been given. Ever a smart little boy, I finally asked, "If we thank god for the food we have, do we blame him when there isn't any food?"

My dear grandmother had no answer for that.

Today I am thankful to loving parents (now gone), a wonderful boyfriend, a slightly-deaf Boston Terrier, and the 1960s government of the State of New Mexico who gave us so much flour and sugar and shortening that my dad had to learn to bake bread. Now I do the baking of bread.

My Father, who art in the kitchen ...

David

When you talk about this blog later, and you will - be kind.
Copyright 2007 D. H. Maxine.

My Little French Emo-Boy

People go to France for many reasons. I went to France most recently in October because Eric the Boyfriend had been invited to Quai des bulles, la festival BD de St Malo (The Saint Malo Comics Festival.) Yes, the BF draws a comic book series called AGE OF BRONZE which is doing very well in France.

Our adventure began when we arrived in Paris. We went to the hotel and took a short nap and made plans to have dinner with our friends Virgine and Laurent. Virginie cooked us a wonderful dinner. The next day we made our usual trip to the Louvre for culture, a trip to FNAC for off-beat and obscure opera CDs, and then to the ALBUM comic store at Bercy so Eric could do a signing event.

The next day the mini-tour began. We left Paris in the early AM to travel by train to Rouen where we met the comic store owner and were taken to our hotel. We met soon after for lunch and Eric was interviewed by two French journalists. Rouen, like most of the towns we visited this trip, was badly damaged by bombings in WWII. During the interview the subject of WWII came up and I mentioned that my Dad had been in this area of France during the War. One of the journalists thanked me for what my Dad gave to France. That has NEVER happened to me here in the US.

The next morning we arose and traveled by train to Caen where we were met at the station by Jean-Marie and his wife Sophie who own a wonderful comic story called Le Cour des Miracles. We again dropped off our stuff at the hotel and then headed off for an incredibly tasty lunch. Then Eric went to do his signing at the store and I went to explore the remains of William the Conqueror's castle a few blocks away. Jean-Marie helped me track down the spiffy new French comic book version of SIEGFRIED I wanted and later presented me with a large 3-D plastic poster for SIEGFRIED. A review of RING graphic novels will be coming along soon.

The next morning we had breakfast with Jean-Marie and Sophie at their home and we were introduced to the music of Serge Gainsbourgh, ate croissants, talked about SHORTBUS, ate more croissants, and finally headed to the train so we could travel to Rennes and do essentially the same thing yet again.

Rennes was ok - but neither the store or the town had the charm of Rouen or Caen.
On to Saint Malo!

The walled town Saint Malo.

Saint Malo was charming beyond belief. It is an old walled city that was the home of the Corsairs (something like pirates hired to defend the Bretagne coastline). After acquiring our convention badges and stuff we checked into the hotel (inside the walled city!) and were given a couple hours to go find lunch and walk around the town. Our Parisian friends Virginie and Laurent had mentioned that the French writer Chateaubriand was buried on a little island, the Grand Bé, off the coast of Saint Malo - and that one could walk there at low tide.

So Eric and I bought a baguette, a Camembert, and a bottle of red wine; and when we saw the tide was out we walked to the Grand Bé to picnic at the grave of Chateaubriand having only the vaguest notion of who he really was. Was he related to the expensive beef dish? We had also heard that the previous year at Saint Malo, another cartoonist friend of ours got stuck on Grand Bé becuase he wasn't paying enough attention to the tides. Thus I wasn't absolutely sure we were in fact headed toward Grand Bé because it seemed hard to believe the ocean would come in to sequester this island. So off we trekked to the rocky little island. We walked to the top and there was the grave of Chateaubriand.

The grave of Chateaubriand on Grand Bé.

We found a nice rock to sit on, ate our bread and cheese, drank our bottle of wine, and felt worldly and sophisticated. But when one has purchased a bottle of wine one has little choice but to finish it. Thus by the time we had finished lunch and began the walk back to Saint Malo, well ... nous étions tres pompette! My French gets better when I'm a little pompette, too! Quand j'ai été pompette j'ai pensé ma Français était meilleur. Hien? . . . donc, comme je disais ... Well, Saint Malo was a wonderful experience. We stayed for three days and three nights. I walked around the city walls one afternoon and watched the tide race in and, indeed, it not only cut off Grand Bé from the mainland it completely smothered a number of other little islets and rocky outcroppings until the ocean was lapping at the walls of Saint Malo itself. Eric and I also had our best meal in France this trip when we discovered we liked mussels - a specialty of the region.

We left Saint Malo and headed back to Paris. But Eric had one more thing on his schedule. He was to be interviewed on a popular "live" radio program (sort of the equivalent of "Fresh Air" on NPR) called Minuit/Dix which starts each night at ten past midnight. We arrived at the Radio France studios around 11:30, met the host, and the show began. It was very interesting. And I was allowed to sit in the studio during the broadcast.You can hear the interview by clicking the link below and clicking on the little red "Ecoutez" button. There is a little SLIDESHOW of PICS of the interview on this page, too.

CLICK to listen to Eric Shanower on MINUIT/DIX

The next morning Eric went to the airport to fly home to San Diego. Actually he missed his flight and he had to spend the night at Charles de Gaulle/Roissey Airoport. But I didn't find this out till later, as I was off to Belgium to visit my mySpace friend Katerine and her family. One of the best things I did was visit Breendonk, the Nazi Concentration Camp/POW camp in Belgium. I also visited the Mechalen Deportation Center which processed all of the Belgian Jews on their way to the Concentration Camps in the east. This will all get a blog of its own but it was quite over-powering. We also went to see SIEGFRIED, the Vlaamse Opera's latest installment in their new RING cycle. The next day I returned to Paris and flew home the following morning.

Now, I know what you're wondering ... where's that French Emo-Boy David promised! Surely there is some brooding and intense, floppy-haired, dark-eyed, tight jean-clad boy for you somewhere in this blog! Where is the Emo-boy?

Well, you have already met him. The Emo-boy par excellence, François-René de Chateaubriand. After I got home I decided that if I had gotten all tipsy at his grave, the least I could do was track down one of his books and read a little about him. It turns out Chateaubriand was the founder of French Romanticism. He was a lonely little boy, born in Saint Malo where he wandered the beach with his little mates. He was born in 1768 and he lost a number of family members in the French revolution and Reign of Terror. He came to America to find material for his writings and later produced his two best-known works from this material: Atala and René.

So I tracked down a paperback copy of Atala and René which kind of go together, and they each contain some of the same characters. Atala involves a love relationship between two Native Americans in 1669. The story is told by Chactas to a young Frenchman, René, as a memory about 75 years after the events have unfolded. But the true charm of the book is Chateaubriand's vivid descriptions on what is now the southeastern United States. The European descriptions of the surging rivers, mountains, wild life, and Native American culture are truly fascinating. Occasionally Chateaubriand goes a little over the top, but always with the most vivid results: "Down avenues of trees, bears may be seen drunk with grapes, and reeling on the branches of the elm trees." Contemporary reviews made fun of Chateaubriand's "drunken bears" too. But so much rings true - especially the details of how Chactas was captured and tortured by the Muskogee. It reminds me much of several books I've read on the early Iroquois. The book is also about the difference between a modern civilization gone awry (France in the revolution) and the Noble Savages of the Americas. It was most enjoyable.


The sequel, René, is a different sort of beast. In it, the brooding René finally tells his pitiful troubles to his American friends. René has become almost paralyzed with grief, woe, and misery and after unloading his troubles at last, Father Souël gives René some advice:

"Nothing in your story deserves the pity you are now being shown. I see a young man infatuated with illusions, satisfied with nothing... Know now that solitude is bad for the man who does not live with God. It increases the soul's power while robbing it at the same time of every opportunity to find expression. Whoever has been endowed with talent must devote it to serving his fellow men, for if he does not make use of it, he is first punished by an inner misery, and sooner or later Heaven visits on him a fearful retribution."

Wow, is that David's prescription for happiness or what! Hmmm...

Interestingly, René had an odd effect on French society by inventing the French Emo-Boy of the early 1800s. In typical romantic tradition Chateaubriand came to regret the monster he created. He later wrote:

"If René did not exist I would no longer write it; if I could destroy it, I would. A family of René poets and René prose writers has been swarming about. We can hear nothing now but pitiful and disconnected phrases; they talk of nothing but winds and storms, and mysterious words whispered to the clouds at night. There is not a scribbler just out of school who hasn't dreamed of being the unhappiest man of earth, not an upstart of sixteen who hasn't exhausted life and felt himself tormented by his genius, who in the abyss of his thoughts, hasn't given himself up to his vague passion, struck his pale and disheveled brow, and astounded men with sorrow which neither he nor they could describe."

Sigh ... thousands of little René-wannabe emo-boys wandering the French countryside, flopping their hair, oozing attitude, and looking for love. J'aime ça!

A+ David

When you talk about this blog later, and you will, be kind.
Copyright © 2007 D. H. Maxine
Quotes from ATALA and RENÉ translated by Irving Putter, University of California Press, Copyright © 1952.

Let them eat Gingerbread

Is that the Eiffel Tower
or are you just glad to see me?

Well, my dear readers, on Saturday, December 1st, the BF and I had our annual Holiday Party. We began these festive romps six years ago. We have our friends over for tasty food, assorted beverages, and my infamous "Wonder Nog" which contains nothing but sugar, cholesterol and alcohol! Eighteen egg yolks! It's very good stuff!
For this year's edibles I made a ham with pineapple and cherries; Swedish meatballs; green potato salad with red pepper bits; a tropical fruit salad; Gruyère quiche for the vegetarian crowd; two kinds of cookies; and hot mulled cider on the stove.

This year we had thirty-one guests and the party went till a little after three AM! Guests often bring presents of wine or something but a couple years ago one of our guests gave us a gift of a little gingerbread house kit. It was fairly rudimentary and in the end we never put it together. But we did eat the gingerbread and other stuff from the kit.

But this little present got me to thinking "Hmmm . . . why, I think I could make a better gingerbread house than the one in that kit!" I puzzled over the idea of a gingerbread Victorian House? a Gingerbread Castle? ... hmmm ... but after I got back from France last month I finally made up my mind and started baking.

The Gingerbread Eiffel Tower

Thus Le Tour-Eiffel du Gingerbread was born. It is a bit over three feet tall and has an electric light at the top. Now ... what on earth am I gonna do next year?

Cheers, David

David's Wonder Nog Recipe
12 large egg yolks
2 cups of sugar
1 cup of dark rum
1 cup of whiskey
8 large egg whites
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 cups of cream
1 Tablesppons of vanilla extract
1 whole nutmeg (grated)
2 to 4 cups additional rum or whiskey
(2 cups of milk to thin out nog is desired)

Beat yolks and sugar until thick and sugar is dissolved. Add 1 cup each of the rum and whiskey. Refrigerate over night.

A couple hours before serving beat the egg whites and salt until until mixed but still very soft. stir into nog mixture. Add cream and vanilla and stir well. Add in ground nutmeg. Add additional liquor and or milk to taste.

This recipe is my version of an Egg Nog Punch recipe in Sheila Ferguson's SOUL FOOD; Classic Cuisine from the Deep South. Her recipe calls for beating the egg whites to soft peak stage and for whipping the cream. But whenever I've tried it her way the egg whites and whip cream keep rising to the top of the punch bowl and it needs to be stirred before serving each time which is a big bother. So I suggest only slightly beating the egg whites, mixing them well into the nog, and then adding the cream straight from the carton.

It is very good, but be careful; it is very smooth and very easy to drink but is also very potent!

When you talk about this blog later, and you will, be kind.Copyright © 2007 D. H. Maxine. All rights reserved.

The last time I saw Paris

Alors, mes amies, I had the divine pleasure of visiting France twice this year. This is the report on voyage number one.

As some of you know, the purpose of this trip was for my boyfriend, Eric, to go on a signing tour to promote the newest volume of his AGE OF BRONZE comic series in France.

The adventure began with a drive of 525 miles from San Diego to San Francisco so we could leave the dog-child with his grandparents. Then Eric's dad kindly drove us to the airport and sent us on our way. Twenty-four clock hours later we arrived at Roissey-Charles de Gaulle airport just outside Paris.

Eric's French publisher met us at the airport and drove us to our hotel near the Luxembourg Gardens in the Latin Quarter. We checked in and promptly fell asleep until mid-evening when we arose to go find dinner. We ate at a small but wonderful restaurant that a friend had recommended called Le Petit Pontoise, at 9 rue de Pontoise. I began with an artichoke tart followed by a small rack of lamb. Eric began with a succulent sort of ravioli followed by a main course of caille which Eric discovered was French for quail. It seemed a grand success. We had a bottle of wine, both ordered dessert, and I had coffee. We walked slowly back to the hotel, stuffed full of French food and drink.

I spent the first few hours the next morning looking for a new coat. I had decided my bright yellow Nautica parka looked stupid and was too hot. I finally found a great looking coat. I was looking at it in the mirror and thought, "Now this is a fine coat!" Then all of a sudden Eric says: "David, did you see the back of that coat?" I take the coat off and for some unfathomable reason there is a picture of a geisha girl showing her bare butt, silk-screened onto the back of the coat. So off it came and I never did find another coat I liked and I suffered through the trip in my puffy yellow marshmallow suit. Eric and I went to lunch at La Tourelle, a very small and very old restaurant not far from our hotel. I had the most extraordinary tomato soup imaginable followed by a turkey curry.

You may have noticed that this report describes much eating and drinking. But there was also much wandering around, simply absorbing the sights.

Me by a fountain near our hotel.

I truly love walking down the Seine. In addition to the usual architectural, cultural, and atmospheric sights, there were also innumerable beautiful French boys everywhere we went. Once, my eyes followed a pretty French boy and my body continued in another direction and I tripped over the sidewalk! Paris can be dangerous!

We then walked over to Album on Rue Dante. Album is a chain of comic-book stores in France. Eric signed books and drew sketches for several hours. Then we went out to dinner with another American cartoonist; this time to a small Indian place.

Eric Signing books at Album Rue Dante in Paris

The next morning Eric and I walked over to the Centre George Pompidou in the hopes of seeing the Hergé exhibit. Hergé is the Belgian cartoonist who wrote and drew the Tintin books. Alas, the Pompidou was celebrating its thirtieth birthday and was closed to the public! Hmmm.… So we walked over and spent a few hours at the Louvre. Then Eric and I headed over for signing number two at Album Bercy. After which we went out to dinner with the French publishers and Ted Naifeh, a fellow American cartoonist.

The next morning we caught a train to Chartres for another signing - this time at a store called BD Flash. BD is the French slang for comics. It is short for Bande Dessinee (comic strip). The comic store sent someone to meet us and we were taken to lunch (pizza and beer) and then a short walking tour of Chartres and the cathedral. Then Eric went to his signing and drew pictures in people's book for a couple hours. I went out and bought opera CDs at the local FNAC and found a chocolate shop where a nice woman made me a stupendous cup of hot chocolate. This fine concoction was just melted chocolate, a bit of steam, and then more chocolate dropped in. It was incredible! After the singing we went out to a Japanese restaurant in Chartres and then returned to the store owner's home to spend the night. It was really nice to get to stay in someone's home instead of a hotel. It was a nice closer look at how people live, etc. Especially cool was their having to close some immense shutters for the night. We had hot chocolate and croissants for breakfast and were driven to the train to travel to Tours for another signing.

After arriving in Tours a couple hours later we were again met at the station and taken to lunch. Again, we had pizza! Really good pizza, mind you, but this was starting to seem like a trend. On entering the restaurant we were met by a long table of about twenty or so French cartoonists who were out for their monthly luncheon. After lunch we headed to the signing, this time at a lovely store called BéDéLire.

At BéDéLire in Tours, France

Eric did his thing and I walked around Tours, looked at BD and books, and then we all went out to dinner and drink, and eventually back to our hotel. Eric and I both really liked Tours and I think it is on the short-list of possible future homes one day.

Next morning it was back on the train to return to Paris and the last signing event of the trip at FNAC - St. Lazarre. This one was kind of overwhelming. It went on and on and eventually the store seemed to be closed and Eric and Ted were still signing books and drawing pictures and the FNAC staff seemed to be getting a little testy. Seems to me FNAC should have controlled the crowds a little better if they wanted to get home on time. After the last picture was drawn, we were shown unceremoniously out the back way. Eric and Ted and I took the Metro back to the hotel and then went out to dinner. We found a great little restaurant called Au Phil… Du Vin at 23 Frederic Sauton. We began with the Cocktail Maison, which I think was a mix of grapefruit juice and Chartreuse. I had soupe à l'oignon, I ate a couple of Eric's escargot, followed by my magret du canard, and ending with dessert, coffee, and cognac.

At last the signings were over and we had Paris to ourselves. Next morning we got up and walked down the Seine and then over to the Bastille to meet our friends Virginie and Laurent for lunch. Eric and I sampled fresh French oysters for the first time and we all walked back to Virginie and Laurent's apartment for a while.

Laurent, Virginie, and Eric

Towards late afternoon they walked us over to Gare de Lyon to help us buy our TGV tickets to Belgium. We said good-bye and headed back to the hotel for a short rest. That evening we went to visit another friend (also named Laurent) and his wife Sylvie. He and his wife made us a wonderful dinner of cabbage with sausages and ham and pork. We were joined by another French cartoonist named Dominique. Laurent and Sylvie had a wonderful roof-top view of Paris, too.

The next morning we got up and went down to Opera Bastille to buy opera tickets. And then took the Metro to the Eiffel Tower to take some artsy black-and-white photos. We walked back down the Seine, took more photos around the Hotel de Ville and Notre Dame, and finally got into the Hergé TinTin exhibit at the Pompidou. We got back to the hotel about 6:30 PM and fell asleep. We woke up about 10:00 PM we were still exhausted, and not at all hungry, so we never had lunch or dinner that day.

The next morning we packed up and headed for the train station to get the Thalys (TGV) to Gent, Belgium.
And THAT deserves a blog of its own!

David

When you talk about this blog later, and you will, be kind.

Copyright © 2007 D. H. Maxine