As I hinted in my last post my long absent from this blog is due to my undertaking of the great Australian tradition of spending winter in Europe. Originally the trip was only meant to last a month and a bit, but it ended up going for more than twice that time. 

As you can most likely guess I didn't plan out anything, no tours, no Eurail pass and basically nothing set in stone but there was one country that I had always expected to spend a significant amount of time in, France. So naturally, my first stop was the city of love (on my lonesome). Paris was everything I expected: smelly, crowded, touristy but also completely wonderful and one-of-a-kind in a way that is indescribable.

Versailles: beautiful but also a place that it makes clear why the French Revolution occurred.

From wandering through a museum to taking a long lunch in Montparnasse to sitting on the Seine with a cheap bottle of red and a good book or simply just getting lost Paris is pure magic, quickly ingraining into you so that you start feeling like there was nothing before it. Sure, I can still see why some people come away from Paris disappointed and in some cases filled with hatred but, in my opinion, at least Paris really is how Hemingway described it: a moveable feast*

*Warning this post was composed by a self-confused Francophile.