For most of the day, light snow fell on the city. Unfortunately, the air temperature was just at freezing and the warmth of urban humanity kept the purity from accumulating.

I took a break from the indoors and went on a quick walk around the neighborhood.

Juice on a windowsill.

Reinforcement wood.

Future car.

Machine shop.

Door.

Old poster scraps.

No parking sign.

Luggage on a pole.

A small cow at City Farm, a weird section of Haggerston Park.

Sheep.

Wazzup.

Snow beginning to accumulate on the grass.

Haggerston Park meadow.

Patchwork wall.

Portraits in place of windows.

Street mattresses for a quick rest.

Cable monster’s arm breaks out of the ground.

Old painted fence.

Scrappy salon.

A man on a rail.

Warning sign.

An abandoned car near the hotel.

Two parking tickets, £120 each, and a towing notice on the abandoned car.

Thursday we were in our surly cab by 6AM and off to the airport. And after a long, sleepless, business class flight, back in Shanghai Friday morning.

I “worked” from home on my last Friday in China: immediately taking a shower and a nap before an early afternoon call. After the call, I took another nap that lasted into the evening.

For dinner, a group of 8 friends from work met at Lost Heaven near the Bund for a sumptuous dinner and male bonding. Afterward, we went to two bars. Conversation was mostly loud and sophisticated and involved topics such as how we were doing, what we were doing, who we were doing/who we would like to do. I left around midnight and took a cab home.

I had some reflecting to do.

After heading east for a while, I turned right and followed a narrow canal linking Surrey Water to an area called Canada Water. As I sat watching the gulls, I got a call from work. I needed to head back to the hotel to complete some tasks on the internet. I reluctantly hoofed it back to my computer in about forty minutes. I was just in time for the internet to be cut off due to the property management company having a dispute with the internet company.

My route.

Yellow doors are for staff only.

The stairs to the river Thames.

Tower Bridge above a view.

Iron walkways between old apartments.

Renovated buildings along the river.

Lifesaver and little fishing boy.

A garden barge for the use of people living in houseboats.

Man walking across the bike parking barge.

SMART car parked on an austere street.

Vacant lot.

A warning that due to vandalism the tree has been coated in grease.

Rusted security camera.

Oliver’s Wharf.

A sad little boat.

Tower Bridge as seen from a vantage point some distance away.

A memorial garden near a smaller residential cathedral.

NO PARKING PLEASE writes the maniac.

Rusty anchor chain.

Double-crested cormorants hanging out on a buoy.

The green cog of an old drawbridge.

Another view of the bridge.

Gates to the locks.

Yellow-eyed spunky duck of Surrey.

Old lady in an electric wheelchair stops to light a cigarette.

Reflections.

Male mallard in liquid metal sent from the future to kill John Connor.

Walkway along a narrow canal.

Dali’s lesser known “Melting Fence.”

The projects.

Doorway.

The loner’s chair in a construction lot.

I ate lunch alone: udon and ginger beer.

The afternoon brought work, which lately has involved sitting in a darkened room drinking fancy water and looking at colorful things on a variety of screens.

Some photos:

St. Paul’s Cathedral as seen from the backside of the Tate Modern museum.

Gull tries to hide on a poop splattered pedestrian bridge.

Beaded water.

A loner in rain poncho skims for treasure using a metal detector.

Boy sitting at the base of the columns in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

The dome of St. Paul’s.

Corinthian columns.

Inside the cathedral.

Brick buildings nearby.

KEEP CLEAR.

The pedestrian bridge to the Tate Modern.

Wooden posts in the Thames.

Shipping containers on a barge, perhaps used for building materials.

A tie.

Miscellaneous basket decoration.

The base of a lamp post decorated in goo.

Garbage alley.

Woman walk in front of an abandoned lot.

Vietnamese soup.

Dog sitting by a church.

Mural.

A bike stripped of its valuable parts and wrapped in festive paper.

A window shutter holder shaped like a fellow.

Yesterday, I took a variety of subway lines north to Archway Station. My goal was to explore Highgate West Cemetery. I walked up the hill and to the entrance, only to find that both the east and west cemeteries had entrance fees (£3 for east, £7 for west) and that the more interesting west side was only by guided tours that left hourly. I arrived past 11, just after the tour left. So I decided to stroll around the east cemetery to kill some time. Highgate East is not without its charms. Beside holding the body of Karl Marx, the bulk of the grounds are weathered and mossy tombstones taken over by either ivy or woods. This would be a particularly creepy cemetery at night.

Before noon, I queued up with a group of twenty odd people. Most were couples. I tried making small talk, but found it easier to just be a quiet loner touring a cemetery with a camera. The tour wasn’t particularly informative, but the grounds were interesting. Not many years ago, the place was in ruin. It would have been more interesting back then.

I don’t suspect this cat will escape.

Whereas this one might.

Old walkways at Whittington Hospital.

A row of flats.

The snake sculptures in this park remind me of the snakes from the Simpsons “Whacking Day” episode.

Colorful and overgrown apartment entrance.

A smoking car creates atmosphere near the entrance to Highgate Cemetery.

Rosemary growing healthy from a feast of human nutrients.

Unusual sculpture over a tombstone.

Mushroom sculptures.

Berry tree.

Weathered tombstone type.

Ivy covered epitaph.

Another stone.

A pair of ivy covered stones at the edge of the forested core of the cemetery.

Karl Marx lies here. The head is life-size.

A path through the graveyard forest.

An angel reaches skyward to give God a high-five.

Yellow leaves.

Ivy encroaches on an angel.

Mossy stones, one of which being overtaken by a tree.

Don’t panic! Here’s the modest tombstone for Douglas Adams.

The pathway leading through Highgate Cemetery West.

A recent burial.

Entrance to the Egyptian Avenue tombs.

Circle of Lebanon: a sunken ring of tombs in the cemetery that lie under an old cedar.

The Lebanon cedar.

A sign pointing to the Columbarium, a function room for burial urns.

Many of the unmaintained graves were deemed unsafe to be around and were marked with police tape.

The grave of Thomas Sayers, Victorian pugilist. His pet dog rests as sculpture for eternity.

Looking south from Highgate near Waterlow Park.

A pint on the sidewalk.

As I walked back to the tube stop through Waterlow Park, freezing rain started to fall. I made it back to the Aldgate East neighborhood, walked to an Indian place and ordered two dishes and some nan. I hadn’t brought my Murakami book, so I had to entertain myself by studying a map of London. That evening, I came home and played a healthy dose of Counterstrike Source, Team Fortress 2, and the demo to Batman: Arkham Asylum.

Today, we went to the post production office around 11 for a check-in. From there, I went on a walk north to a canal. Again, some cold rain struck. I returned early to the comfort of free beverages and blazing hot old radiators.

A record tried to escape and got stuck.

The decorative entrance to some small local library.

Handrail down to a canal promenade.

Looking westward along the canal from under Kingsland Bridge.

A thirsty man’s litter.

Weathered wall along the canal.

Goose.

Old water pipe with a pigeon on top.

Mossy ribs on a brick wall.

Small locks along the canal.

Chipping bridge.

A boat bumper made from jute.

A cool couple has tea and toast as they cruise down the canal on their house boat.

My canal walk ends at a tunnel.

Graffito.

Graffiti.

A row of townhouses lit by the setting sun.

Green, blue, and red.

Someone’s phones must not be working.

Parish Hall’s modest back entrance.

Take it back!

Just a few more days are left in London. It has felt like a healthy trip already and a good balance of work and sightseeing. Unfortunately, my mood has been overshadowed by being sleepy and tooth pain. I hope to find a dentist to look at my tooth tomorrow. I want to see how long I can wait before I need to do something about it. I suspect a root canal and crown are in my future.

On Sunday morning I left Shanghai for London. Our flight was business class on KLM Airlines. KLM is the official airline of the Netherlands and cow-hipped, middle aged, and blond stewardesses. I had only flown business class once before. And as before, I was overjoyed to have expansive leg room, a reclining seat, real plates and utensils.

Our departure was delayed by an hour due to Chinese military exercises in the sky above. Once airborne, our flight was 11 hours to Amsterdam. I was unable to sleep.

The final leg to London was only 45 minutes. We arrived at the airport and a man with a sign led us to a futuristic European model Ford minivan. Our ride into town took an hour, despite our driver’s best intention to drive like a maniac.

For our stay in London, we have been provided serviced apartments by the production company. They are a little sterile and house a confusing surplus of complicated light switches. They are conveniently located a mere chamber pot’s throw from Aldgate East Station.

On Monday, I awoke early and went on a walk.

Room number 6: immediately inside the door are some safety deposit boxes with keys.

Lady smokes next to a large brick building along the Thames.

Tower Bridge.

Tower Bridge seen from Potters Fields.

Construction cranes and the tampon building.

HMS Belfast.

Tall arcade.

Tower Bridge as seen from London Bridge.

Decorate, car-blocking pole.

Blue metal fence.

Sadly, I didn’t find the humps I was was looking for.

Moody soldier.

I read “TO LET” as “TOILET”.

Traditional London stone bread.

Ice skating rink at the foot of The Tower of London.

The Tower of London.

Moss on a roof.

These premises are alarmed.

Painted metal train bridge.

Around lunch, coworkers and I met up for lunch. From there, it was time to actually head to a post production company to check on our project.

Miso ramen for lunch.

Coworkers on a walk to a post production office.

Old building.

Empty lane.

New London cab. I want one of these.

Spiky bar to discourage sitting on or breaking in through a window.

Pink ball on moldy stoop says hello to purple door.

Entering the alley to Time Based Arts.

Clocks in the stairwell.

Old brick wall and pipes in the alley.

Horse lamp.

Garbage in front of wall.

Old train cars rented out as artist studios on the roof of an otherwise normal looking building. Very cool.

Another studio car.

And another.

View of train tracks from the studio roof.

Good British dinner at a bakery/restaurant. I had steak and broccoli.

After our checkin, we went to a bar and a nice dinner with the director and her producer. Jet lag started to hit heavily around 6PM. A single drink seemed to make me tipsy, and I was more of a zombie than a conversationalist during our excellent and heavy dinner.

Much like Sunday night, I slept like a log. But I also woke up refreshed and ready for anything at 6AM. I decided to take the Tube to Westminster Station to see the sunrise over Big Ben. From there, I walked around town a bit before returning to the apartment around 9:30AM for a work call.

Sunrise looking south on Westminster Bridge.

Sunrise looking north.

The Eye of London.

Joggers on a promenade.

Houses of Parliament.

House of Parliament and Big Ben. Click for a 2000px wide panoramic (opens in new window).

Westminster Abbey under a morning half moon.

Knobby tree-lines walkway at St. James’s Park.

A black goose and very rippled water.

Buckingham Palace as seen from the Mall.

Groundskeeper in green tends to the green grounds.

Golden sculpture in front of Buckingham Palace.

Warmly lit trees and curious man in Green Park.

The morning garbage includes an umbrella and a bottle of wine. It’s a Merry Poppins estate sale!

Bricks in the sun.

The dumb side of the National Gallery with a dumb little man being dumb in the distance.

The four British soldiers that have died in Afghanistan.

Cool brick building.

After the call, the two agency producers and I went out in search of some good Indian food. We had a wonderful meal and then split up for the rest of the afternoon.

A basket big enough to fit a whole ham or my wiener.

A large amount of suspicious looking pigeons.

T. ONIFA I 7 LE T

Hahaha.

The projects.

Hand painted sign, perhaps by David Shrigley?

Baffle.

Excellent and cheap indian food from a place called Lahore Kebabs.

More food.

And more. Not pictured: mango lassi, fish curry, and chickpea curry.

Sack of clams outside an olive colored doorway.

Fence.

Steps down to the river.

Algae coated foundations.

I don’t want to put a finer point on it, but here are some birdhouses in a tree.

Tires in an old set of locks.

Look both ways before getting hit.

A children’s playground made by the criminally insane: Glamis Adventure Playground.

Another view.

A playground to have seizures too.

Abandoned storefront.

Secret garden in Glamis. Ooops.

Another part of the garden.

A sad looking cabbage.

Oil fill door.

Carrousel near Piccadilly Circle.

Lights hung above Piccadilly Circle.

In the evening, everyone met up near Piccadilly Circle and we went on an epic walk through drizzle in search of dinner. My legs were tired from walking since the early morning, so I lagged behind as the gang traveled through the bustling streets of London.

I was excited to climb into bed. My throat was feeling sore and my legs needed a rest. I went to sleep hearing sirens outside and wishing J. could be in London with me.

Day 8: February 27th

Full bore on a full flu, the day began by wandering around the neighborhood near the hotel to find something for breakfast.

I first passed by this third world looking construction site along the narrow road perpendicular to the hotel. I walked along the construction wall down an alley and stumbled upon a popular and vibrant market selling any kind of fresh food a person would want.

One of many fruit vendors.

Row of serrano ham legs hanging by the hooves.

Goat heads, cow hearts, guts, and testicles.

Pigs.

I don’t know what these animals were, but they had their organs spread like a Viking sacrifice.

Cow dongs.

C. and I bought a lot of fruit and no cow dongs from the market. While everything looked great, the strawberries and cherries were lacking flavor. The oranges and mango were excellent, however. Also, the cheap cold coconut and fruit juices were delicious. It would be wonderful to live next to such a full featured market.

Next, we took the subway to Gaudi’s still in progress Sangrada de Familia cathedral. Pretty crazy architecture combined with large crowds and construction crews and equipment. This side is the crazy looking side with sculptures set into swirling, dripping dabs of rock. It feels like a wasp’s nest.

The main interior space, artfully cropped to avoid showing all the construction equipment and crew on the ground.

A 2£ lift took us near the top of the completed building. From there, we were left on our own to crisscross the interconnected vertiginous towers, walkways, and spiraling interior stairs. This photo is from and open area between two towers.

Facing the other way is construction on the remaining towers. Somehow they got a full size crane to the top of the cathedral.

Scaffolding.

Spiral stars leading hundreds of feet down from the top of the tower. It’s hard to see in the photo, but the spiral in the middle appeared to go on forever. Another tower’s staircase was more open and offered terrifying views of the city during descent. I was glad to touch ground again.

After the cathedral, we took the subway to a large park overlooking the ocean. Or it would had it not been so foggy. The centerpiece of the walk was the remains of an extensive brick and stone fortress overgrown with a weird variety of plants. Somehow Barcelona can support cacti, ferns, moss, desert shrubs, pine trees, and grass in the same hillside.

This cat, named Todd, and his brothers lived at the fortress. One was missing an eye.

After going back to the hotel for a nap, we headed over to the stadium for a 10PM game between the Barcelona and Valencia soccer teams. Our seats were primo. We sat between two middle age fans screaming Spanish obscenities and 4 teenage smokestacks in front of us. I bought a serrano baguette sandwich from a vendor. It was fatty.

The game ended with a tie. And the exodus began. All of the subway stops had closed by then, so we walked most of the way home.

Day 9: February 28th

After sitting at a nearby cafe and enjoying refreshingly cheap coffee and pastries, we took the subway to the Gaudi Park on the hillside of a wealthier part of town. It was a little overcast, but the view was still decent. Ships could just barely be seen in the water. The walk from the subway to the entrance along sloped, densely packed streets felt very much like a walk in San Francisco.

The main entrance to the park, facing out.

The park is beautiful, and Gaudi’s structures blend into like the palace walls of a ancient psychopath. Various overhangs and walkways are made from swirling mosaics of large stones. This gallery has a pathway on top of it.

High and low walkways.

A jumbled assortment of buildings on the mains street on the way back from the park.

A full gown tree on abandoned steps near the subway stop.

Before retiring, we took a quick walk along the water’s edge. This photo is from a small jetty. The beach must be a very different feeling place in the summer, but on a spring night it feels like an abandoned urban beach.

Day 10: February 29th

On our last full day in Spain, C. and I woke early, took the subway, and another train to outside of town. Our destination was Monserrat, a magical mountainous area that started as a monastic retreat. The train ride took about an hour and passed through lots of dry, ugly industrial development and slums. Oddly, a lot of the industrial property also had farms on it. Either the workers were allowed garden space, or the produce was very far from organic. There were a lot of sad, soapy rivers along the way. Once we arrived at a town at the bottom of the hill, we took another train up the mountain. It followed a windy, narrow track up the shear walls of the mountain. The ride took about twenty minutes before dropping us off at a large complex near the top.

View near the landing platform on Monserrat.

Some of tall stone peaks behind hotels and church.

Without nary a bottle of water of food, C. and I began a hike of unknown length up the mountain. It ended up taking about 5 hours. The trails were well maintained and paved in a lot of places to avoid falling apart during the rainy season. The first two hours of the hike was virtually a stair climb. This little nativity scene was hidden in a mossy crevice.

Someway up the trail, we looked back to see where we started. To the right is the church complex. Behind and to the left of the large column in the foreground is another church building.

The tallest point of the hike was a lookout over the valley and mountains. The scale is hard to tell from the photo, but we were really high up there and the view was vast.

View of the altar behind locked doors in one of the churches on the mountain.

Another view of the valley. If you look closely, on the right side a church building is perched on the mountainside. A windy gated walkway led up to it. The weather for the hike was perfect. Not to hot and the sun seemed to appear based on our whims. After hours of exercise and not having eaten anything that day we were quite hungry. Luckily, we had gotten the recommendation of a restaurant back in town.

The best part of the meal was a steaming pile of seafood and sausage paella. The rest of the meal included bread, spinach with pine nuts and raisins, a potato pancake with fried egg, and some red wine. Very good but very expensive. It was an thankful way to end the Barcelona trip after a lot of lackluster meals.

Day 11: March 1

Flew back to Paris.

Day 12: March 2

Luckily, I was able to meet up with an old friend from work for coffee and an omelet in the city. She’s been here for three years since San Francisco. It was good to catch up, considering it didn’t know here before.

I leave for Portland tomorrow, really early. The cab hopefully picks me up at 4AM. Some closing thoughts for the road:

Paris reminds me of Hanoi: scooters, small cars, busy streets, dirty rivers, old buildings with shops on bottom and living up top. It’s just an older, cleaner, and more civilized version with white people in it.

Barcelona feels similar to San Francisco, only a more chaotic and less picturesque version. It felt a lot dirtier too. Less pee smell, but more dust.

If I had to live in either place for the rest of my life, it would be any easy choice.

No.

Day 4: February 23th

The fourth day in Paris began with a delicious blue cheese and walnut quiche with side salad. C. and I had met a friend of his for lunch at a quiet cafe by the river. Afterward, we took an epic walk to find the Paris sewers. By the time we reached the entrance it was closed. Substituting one brown water for another, we grabbed some coffee in a park. Three young professionals and three expensive coffees leads to some passionate people watching and discussion of international issues and videogames.

That evening I was slaughtered again in Catan. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, other than losing. Maybe my new strategy should be to win.

A building with the wall covered in non ivy plants. The future?

A fountain during the walk back from the park.

An egyptian ding dong type thing near the fountain.

Arc de Triumph in the distant evening traffic.

Day 5: February 24th

Upon waking, we promptly went to the sewers. The area free to explore was smaller than I hoped, but interesting enough. Flowing streams of brown liquid were crossed by honeycomb metal bridges. The area must have been better ventilated than the off limits sewers, as it smelled more of moisture than excreta. Roped off were endlessly echoing dark chambers leading out under the real city. If I was an urban adventurer, I’d sneak off into on of those tunnels.

One of the main rooms on the tour.


Cool tunnel.

A large ball used to unclog the pipes. Balls of varying sizes are used for this purpose.


I won’t get into the history of the Paris, but for a long time it was a pretty shitty situation. It’s surprising how recently it was that seemingly obvious levels of sanitation weren’t in effect. I wonder how future generations will regard us as fools.

After the sewers, we found some average pho soup. The atmosphere of the restaurant was great, however. An old man sitting nearby was trying to cut open a durian with a cleaver. The owner was trilingual and very talkative. By coincidence, he had a brother that lives in southern California. A Vietnamese immigrant in southern California? Seemed unlikely, but I let it slide.

In the evening I started getting sick. I bought some lemons and honey to make life affirming drinks. In hindsight, the lemon water probably did nothing, and the extra honey just ended up spilling all over my backpack.

Day 6: February 25th

The day began at 6:30. We woke and got on the subway to catch a high speed train to a town two hours south of Paris called Valence. C. has a friend named M. from work who was visiting his mother’s house over the weekend, and it seemed like a good opportunity for food, lodging, and scenery we would have missed otherwise.

The train. Quiet but not deadly.

The house we stayed at.

M.’s mother offered us a local specialty sausage as a snack.

Lunch consisted of avocado bread, herby terrine, rice, squash,

and delicious fresh rabbit stew.

After lunch, we drove to the ruins of a local mountaintop castle. It’s the tallest point in the photo if you can’t see it.

A better view from the trailhead.

Ancient lawn mowers tending to the grass.



C. and M.

Some of the surviving structure was built onto the steep hillside overlooking the valley.

After a nice flu weakened hike on a mountain, I crashed early and let my fever carry me to sleep.

Day 7: February 26th

Our second and last day in Valence was fairly uneventful, in a good way.

After breakfast, we visited a family that lives on an enormous 200 year old property. They served homemade cherry wine and pretzels.

After a lunch I didn’t have much appetite for, M. dropped us off at the train station and we began the 7 hour journey to Barcelona. Because of my flu, I desperately wanted to sleep on the train, but there was no comfort to be found in the Franco era seats. I entered into a zombie-like state for the trip, neither asleep nor awakeÐremembering nothing except a glimpse of the sea and the border check.

The Barcelona train station at 11PM.

Time to sleep. Buenos noches!

I safely arrived in France after a short feeling flight. Though it was an overnight flight, I wasn’t able to sleep a wink. An hour before landing that morning in Paris, it was only becoming my bed time in Portland. There was a heavy fog over all of Europe that morning, so I missed seeing the British Isles or any of France until a few meters before the runway.

After breezing through customs despite not filling out one of the forms at all, I struggled to buy a train ticket and pick which track would bring me into town. Luckily, the airport platforms were fairly straightforward. It wasn’t until reaching the central Chatalet les Halles station that I got a little turned around. The Paris subway is awesome, but at first ride it’s an intimidating labyrinth of overlapping tunnels, stairs, and confusing signs. Fortunately, C. had told me the French word for “exit,” otherwise I would have died in there.

I couldn’t find the specific station exit I needed, so I went to street level and had instant success navigating from there. C. was sitting outside a cafe, sipping a coffee and keeping an eye on the dark metro orifice I should have spilled out of.

C. is staying in a free apartment his recently finished 6 weeks of work at a french game company. The modest flat is in the Chatalet district, within blocks of the Louvre, Pompidou Centre, and Seine River. After dropping off my bag and bladder droppings, C. and I went on a walk to some of the nearby sights.

C.’s apartment is on the forth floor. It’s reached by a narrow, branching wooden stair case that feels older than the building.

The view out his window.

Some small, new museum.

A male nude sculpture with live pigeon causing anguish in the Jardin des Tuileries.

The dead pigeon fallen non-triumphantly from an arch of quite the opposite status.

City of the Lost Children green Seine water seen under a bridge.

A row boat and stagnant river garbage hidden among long, beautiful house boats.

Imposing wall of the Pompidou Center. Did you know that “pomp” means “pipe.” Pompidou literally means “Pipes Everywhere and All Colors Meant to Incite the Established Architectural Canons of a Classic City.” Center means Center.

After the walk, we lunched on pasta and duck. I took a two hour nap to catch up on sleep before we headed out to meet two of C.’s friends for what ended up being a four hour dinner at restaurant that specialized in duck. Pretty good meal, all ducks considered. They must serve a lot of pate and fois gras, since every table had its own toaster.

While the food, especially coffee, has been delicious the exchange rate has made meals feel like a combination of gastronomy and ass rape. Coffee has been around $6 US. The average dish has been around $20. Until the dollar get stronger, eating here will be a painful delight. I was expecting this.

Day 2: February 21th

The second day began will a subway ride to visit the Catacombs. They were closed for the season for skull renovations or something. We continued.

Woman sleeping on the subway platform.

Me standing in from of the Eiffel Tower. We took the vertigo stairs to the viewing platform, putting my fear of heights and old metal towers to the test.

Complicated metal constructions seen from the stairwell in one of the legs.

View of the people under the tower as seen from the first viewing level.

Paris from above.

Self-lubricating mechanism.

After descending the tower, we took another train to Montmartre, bought some sandwiches and sat on the hill near the church before heading out.

The church. It’s a sacred space no-matter what your beliefs were before you grew up and started “keepin’ it real.”

The Louvre at night.

Street along the river.

Pont Neuf Bridge.

Notre Dame Cathedral. Beautiful. The sides are better looking than the front, but hard to get a good angle of.

The night concluded with games of travel Catan were I slaughtered C.

Day 2: February 22th

I wandered around all morning alone while Chris had a work related interview. I crisscrossed familiar and foreign streets.

Some looked like this.

Jardin des Plantes.

The perfectly cropped tree tops that seem to be a staple of Parisian parks.

A view of grave markers at Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise. The place is an endless dense arrangement of tombs and walkways. Its layout and construction feel much like Paris itself. Only this is a city of the dead. The doored tombs are like elevators to the afterlife.





Canal with locks we walked along on the trip home.



My legs are sore today from miles of walking and not much food. C. slaughtered me in Catan this evening, and I’m ready for bed.

On Sunday night, we travel south to the coastal town of Marseilles for a day or two before heading to Barcelona. I’ll be updating sometime along the way.