Return of the Son of the Long-Winded Traveller

Happy new year everyone. I spent the holidays in Paris. This was mainly an aging-consolation for my father, who approaches his half-century of existence this May. It was quite nice in fact, so I'll get my petty complaints out of the way first.

I found, to my chagrin on TWO occasions, that Parisians do not clean up the merde of their petits chiens, and are apparently not compelled to do so by any municipal legislation. I later learned from observation that most feces were deposited on the far right of the sidewalks (political meanings?), right up against various buildings.



The Mona Lisa is a 3 & 1/2-ring media pop culture circus that perennially degrades the traditions of Western Art.


For the first few days it was bloody cold.

And that's basically it. The rest was transcendant. Some of my highlights include being able to read any sign on which I deigned to glance, the Musee National du Moyen Age (at the Abbee Cluny) with its relics from a time when Western Europe fuddle-duddled in the grip of the wily old Church, the Picasso Museum, and one of the most profoundly spiritual masses I have ever heard, on Christmas Eve at Notre Dame. Listening to the scripture I felt as though God was speaking to me more clearly than ever before in a language that was not my own.


Sugar crepes are sooooo good!