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What's For Dinner? Paris StyleParis, France Every course, a different shop - all on the same block. Yummmm.
The Grand DameNotre Dame, Paris, France She stormed into the room, clearly cranky, imperious and really, just not happy at all. Indeed, she glowered. Her minions mimicked her expression and her every move. The result was comical, though one dared not laugh. The nobleman looked up, terrified, and quivered. The old man quietly stepped out of the room by a side door, closing it silently behind him. Best not to be in the crosshairs this day
The Indian CafeParis, France Whilst in Paris, we walked by this restaurant a couple of times. I'll admit it... I giggled each time. I mean really... I wanted to experience FRENCH food. Many croissants. Chocolate by the barrel. I don't like Texmex much at home... why would I travel halfway around the world for it?? The first part of our Parisienne adventure was swoonworthy, and did not include Parisienne TexMex. Until chance, flight cancellations and a few more unexpected days in Paris brought us to its doorstep. Hungry. End of our rope. Ready to go Pariesienne tex-mex. And it was... amazing. Simple food, beautifully prepared. Completely altered all preconceived opinions. We ended up LOVING the Indiana Cafe, oh yes we did! Let that be a lesson to me! ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
Cafe De L'IndustrieParis, France I love Paris... Why oh why do I love Paris? Because cafes live there. And red... And croissants... And chocolate... And romance, beauty and wicked cool history. To name but a few reasons. ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
The Notre Dame.Paris Snow. I swore I saw Quasimodo. Right there... look! Between those parapets. Dang, he's quick. Cue the scary music. This night, I set up and took aim at the side of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The ghosts of writers, emperors, members of the clergy and Victor Hugo all looking on, or so it felt. I apologized to them for swearing so prolifically as huge gobs of snow landed on my lens, blurring up my perfect shot du arte. It always landed on the best shot. Grrrr. I shoulda planned better. Clearly, I didn't. It doesn't look like it was snowing that much - you can only sorta see it in the light on the upper left - but trust me, it was and I was soaked. My surly, potty-mouthed self was determined to walk away victorious and I would have stood there all damn night if I had to. Much to my HUGE relief, I didn't have to. I left the lens distortion, a couple of blurrrrrs. The skew fit the mood, told the the story, covered the sense "surreality" I felt standing there that night. I hope Victor Hugo would approve. But I think he was cranky. So I'll just have to approve of myself. ;-)) ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
The Bridge Over Seine-ityParis, France There are times, she mused, that the spoken version of one word perfectly describes the experience of another word, spelled differently. She pondered how to say that to someone. Then decided to just enjoy the sunset. ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
SacreCoerGoyles Folks ooo'd and aahhh'd over the beauty of the place. Its grandeur. Its splendor. Their jaw-dropping photographs offered radiant testimony. It was her first visit. She had her Ooo's and Aaahh's all cued up, eager and enthusiastic. But on that particular grey day, she couldn't stop staring at the gargoyles. ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
French Door #4Paris, France Years later, the number 4 still gave her the shivers. ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
The Fortress of Notre DameParis, France ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)

The Notre Dame.

Paris

Snow. I swore I saw Quasimodo. Right there... look! Between those parapets. Dang, he's quick. Cue the scary music.

This night, I set up and took aim at the side of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The ghosts of writers, emperors, members of the clergy and Victor Hugo all looking on, or so it felt. I apologized to them for swearing so prolifically as huge gobs of snow landed on my lens, blurring up my perfect shot du arte. It always landed on the best shot. Grrrr. I shoulda planned better. Clearly, I didn't. It doesn't look like it was snowing that much - you can only sorta see it in the light on the upper left - but trust me, it was and I was soaked. My surly, potty-mouthed self was determined to walk away victorious and I would have stood there all damn night if I had to. Much to my HUGE relief, I didn't have to.

I left the lens distortion, a couple of blurrrrrs. The skew fit the mood, told the the story, covered the sense "surreality" I felt standing there that night.

I hope Victor Hugo would approve. But I think he was cranky. So I'll just have to approve of myself. ;-))

©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
The Notre Dame.Paris Snow. I swore I saw Quasimodo. Right there... look! Between those parapets. Dang, he's quick. Cue the scary music. This night, I set up and took aim at the side of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The ghosts of writers, emperors, members of the clergy and Victor Hugo all looking on, or so it felt. I apologized to them for swearing so prolifically as huge gobs of snow landed on my lens, blurring up my perfect shot du arte. It always landed on the best shot. Grrrr. I shoulda planned better. Clearly, I didn't. It doesn't look like it was snowing that much - you can only sorta see it in the light on the upper left - but trust me, it was and I was soaked. My surly, potty-mouthed self was determined to walk away victorious and I would have stood there all damn night if I had to. Much to my HUGE relief, I didn't have to. I left the lens distortion, a couple of blurrrrrs. The skew fit the mood, told the the story, covered the sense "surreality" I felt standing there that night. I hope Victor Hugo would approve. But I think he was cranky. So I'll just have to approve of myself. ;-)) ©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)

The Notre Dame.

Paris

Snow. I swore I saw Quasimodo. Right there... look! Between those parapets. Dang, he's quick. Cue the scary music.

This night, I set up and took aim at the side of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The ghosts of writers, emperors, members of the clergy and Victor Hugo all looking on, or so it felt. I apologized to them for swearing so prolifically as huge gobs of snow landed on my lens, blurring up my perfect shot du arte. It always landed on the best shot. Grrrr. I shoulda planned better. Clearly, I didn't. It doesn't look like it was snowing that much - you can only sorta see it in the light on the upper left - but trust me, it was and I was soaked. My surly, potty-mouthed self was determined to walk away victorious and I would have stood there all damn night if I had to. Much to my HUGE relief, I didn't have to.

I left the lens distortion, a couple of blurrrrrs. The skew fit the mood, told the the story, covered the sense "surreality" I felt standing there that night.

I hope Victor Hugo would approve. But I think he was cranky. So I'll just have to approve of myself. ;-))

©Karen Hutton - Creative Commons (CC BY-NC 3.0)
See photo in original gallery.
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