Stung Eye
Stung Eye

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The metro here is fantastic; the entire city is a snap to navigate and explore.

Today we visited a creepy cemetery. There, we located Jim Morrison's final resting place. Guards were posted nearby, supposedly to stop spliff-toting pilgrims from lighting up in homage.

On Saturday, we jogged around the Place des Vosges, a symmetrical park, near what was once Victor Hugo's home. We were joined by a handful of Parisian runners. The streets were wet on the way home. The morning cleaning crews had washed away the dog shit, and rubbish from the previous day.

That evening, after a long game of phone tag, we met up with Jake, Val, Ian, and his girlfriend, who's name now eludes me. We took an evening boat ride down the Seine, and enjoyed the evening festival, that had people partying in the streets until the wee hours of the night.

Sunday saw us visiting the Louvre, Sainte Chapelle, and the Pantheon, home of Foucault's Pendulum. This was an awe inspiring day, and that is an understatement.

We are presently bunking with my sister Colleen, in a small hotel, around the corner from our last hostel.

Side note: The French laugh in the face of Dr. Atkins, (and all of his fat friends.) Carbs galore, and we have yet to see an obese Parisian.

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