After we meandered through the Garden of Tuileries, very tired and very content, we walked along the Seine – dreaming of living in a house boat and raising our fictional children, Pierre and Marie.
There was a pizza bouncer. Sunshine. Lots of people sipping their beers while waiting to be called in. The occasional scooter or tiny-car honked its way through the crowd. Very cool, very suave.
After my last entry, we beach bummed our bums off. My legs actually got some color! Conservatively. An Italian tan at its bare minimum. I got to live out my dream and eat lemon sorbet…out of a lemon. Would have bought 10 more. 5 for now, 5 for the road. Conner, being the voice of reason, said no.
A short creative excerpt: I gave into the current and just let myself float. The waves wanted to pull me in, and I let them, closing my eyes and dragging my hands through the broken earth below. The sound shimmied through my body and danced in my ears. It felt like millions of small champagne bubbles bursting under my soft touch and each would send a ripple all throughout my body, exiting through my breath. Like I was the instrument and it was the music.
We should’ve just joined a tour because although the site was incredible to take in, the best understanding I could get was from Conner’s offer that “this was where the first rave ever took place”.
We sat through the most beautiful golden hour I’ve ever witnessed, and shared our meal (just a little) with a friendly cat. He f–king loved my cuddles. But alas, they could not fill his belly so he eventually moved on. Golden hour, Santorini, freshly squeezed orange juice, a yogurt-fruit parfait, my new husband, and a cat who loved me?! That was a real moment.