Wednesday rhapsodies in blue
Emil's POV on this picture: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablocarrascosa/7190080610/
Paris, spring 2011
"It's an odd color for a hostel
I smirked as I helped carry in the last of our bags. "One thing is for sure, we won't be able to miss it, even if you lose your sense of direction and the rest of us end up blind drunk."
Marce smacked my arm while Ida and Mark merely laughed. "It's lovely and quaint. Kind of like straight out of 'Pride and Prejudice', I think," Ida said.
"I don't think they were painting houses in this shade of blue during Austen's time," Mark chimed in. "Even here in France."
While Ida and Mark debated the merits of 19th century architecture, Marce and I went to the concierge to check in and get our room keys. "This is going to be one insane trip, Emil. Are you sure you don't want to fly home yet?" Marce kidded me.
"I'm more worried about driving you insane than vice versa," I said as I got the hostel logbook. "Anyway, I've always wanted to go on a sort of Grand Tour, to see all the things we read about in school."
"That, dear, is a very old-fashioned thing. Especially when you have the Internet."
"Not the same as seeing it with your own eyes."
Marce grinned as she handed the logbook to the concierge, then exchanged a few words with her in French before getting our keys. "Why must you always be right about these things?"
"I just have good timing," I said before going to remind the bickering duo that it was time to get settled in upstairs.
Paris, spring 2011
"It's an odd color for a hostel
I smirked as I helped carry in the last of our bags. "One thing is for sure, we won't be able to miss it, even if you lose your sense of direction and the rest of us end up blind drunk."
Marce smacked my arm while Ida and Mark merely laughed. "It's lovely and quaint. Kind of like straight out of 'Pride and Prejudice', I think," Ida said.
"I don't think they were painting houses in this shade of blue during Austen's time," Mark chimed in. "Even here in France."
While Ida and Mark debated the merits of 19th century architecture, Marce and I went to the concierge to check in and get our room keys. "This is going to be one insane trip, Emil. Are you sure you don't want to fly home yet?" Marce kidded me.
"I'm more worried about driving you insane than vice versa," I said as I got the hostel logbook. "Anyway, I've always wanted to go on a sort of Grand Tour, to see all the things we read about in school."
"That, dear, is a very old-fashioned thing. Especially when you have the Internet."
"Not the same as seeing it with your own eyes."
Marce grinned as she handed the logbook to the concierge, then exchanged a few words with her in French before getting our keys. "Why must you always be right about these things?"
"I just have good timing," I said before going to remind the bickering duo that it was time to get settled in upstairs.