Do you ever get bored? I hate to admit it, but… I get bored sometimes. Mostly, I attribute it to the networks canceling my daily soaps and leaving a huge gap in my day between 1-4 PM. I was in need of adventure: A change of scenery. A break from the urban grind. So naturally, I booked a trip to France! What could be more refreshing or revitalizing than a week of European living? The cafes, the snooty designer storefronts, the piles and piles of macaroons- yes, yes… to France I must!
Giraffe en Provence
However, the most unfortunate thing happened to me en route. The airline screwed up and I had to fly coach. It was just awful. Look at the size of that seat! The man next to me was practically pushing me into the aisle. I lost a whole day due to bad weather here in New York, and then got overbooked by the airline. I sent Air France a very stern letter about the seating arrangements and the weather as soon as I landed- certainly an unacceptable manner of treating a Plimond-tier (that’s Platinum and Diamond) SkyMiles member such as myself. Okay… they’re my father’s SkyMiles, but I was the one flying. So there.
Once across the pond, I had to optimize my sightseeing and limit myself to only the important highlights. I bypassed the Louvre and went straight to partake in one of my favorite pastimes: carousel riding. My horse was much prettier than the one the little girl behind me was riding. That’s because I distracted her and stole it when she was looking away.
After a few turns, I abandoned my horsey and headed across the Seine in search of some refreshment. Oh- and to see the Eiffel Tower. I asked a tourist to take my picture in front of it (after a thorough questioning to ensure he was not a gypsy), and this is what I got:
Obviously not the next Alfred Stieglitz. At least he got my good side and didn’t run off with my camera. You can never be fully assured that anyone on the streets is not a gypsy. Afterall, he was wearing shorts.
My admiration for French cuisine knows no bounds- look at the size of these meringue poofs! They taste like pieces of fallen heaven, and these ones were so big I could have used one as a body pillow.
After a full day of carousel-riding, sightseeing, and sugar consuming, I was tired. Very tired. I ended up sleeping for 19 hours. Apparently I was more jet lagged than I thought I was.
I woke up just in time, too. The next leg of my trip was to be spent on the glorious French Riviera! Marseilles, Nice, San Tropez, a short jaunt to Monte Carlo- and I very nearly overslept and missed my TGV train!
I spent the next five hours taking in the beautiful expanse of the French countryside- the same landscape immortalized on canvas by the greatest Impressionists in the world! Lovely poppies and cypress tress. And bales of hay. Many, many bales of hay.
Knowing I would soon be hobnobbing with the most wealthy people in all of Europe, I switched out my pink bow in favor of my green one for a more formal look. I think Grace Kelly would probably have done the same.
Here I am by the world-famous Casino in Monte Carlo! I was keen on going inside so that I could play my hoof at roulette, but the dress code was a bit more strict than I anticipated- not even my green ribbon could gain me admittance to the famed roulette parlor. But I wasn’t going to leave Monaco without having bet on something. While I was eating a sandwich at the cafe, I bet the waiter that I could drink a whole Pellegrino without taking a breath. I lost 600 Euro.
I wanted to get a better vantage from which to survey all the yachts in the harbor, so I went up to the Jardins Exotiques and perched myself on a wall overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Such a lovely view!
After a rousing few days on the Riviera, I was headed back to Paris to fly home to New York. I celebrated the end of my trip with a modest feast:
As I swung my hooves leisurely out of my window balcony and watched the sun setting over the Latin Quarter, I realized that cities, while all being very similar in some regards, have distinct and unique personalities. Each one has its own little joys, and I realized that my boredom usually comes from taking those things for granted in my hometown. Listening to the horrible tuba jazz quartet on the boulevard below made me homesick for the special brand of crazy only New York can offer. I’d come to Paris bored and jaded, but left invigorated and very full of croissants.