A big hullo from Paris. Amsterdam is behind us but I have plenty of photos and a few stories to tell, when I have a chance.
Mark has been to both cities many times, but the beauty isn't lost on him. Our typical exchange, while walking is:
'Wow, that's beautiful.'
'Wow, look at that.'
'Oh my god. It's so nice.'
And so on.
At one point, we rounded the corner and he stopped abruptly. 'Hm,' he said. 'Every street is beautiful.'
I guess that's the trouble here. At some point it's useless to take pictures because every street is beautiful. Every rooftop, every doorway, every streetscape shows character and age.
Even the cemetary, Pere Lachaise (pictured), is spectacular. This morning we wandered along the mausoleums, ruins and tombs. We read epitaphs, took photographs and film footage, stalked a couple stray cats and avoided a funeral. After lunch, we walked all the way back to our hotel, near the Louvre. I will have to Mapquest our route, because it felt like 10 miles.
I almost started crying out of fatigue a couple times - my feet hurt, my ankles hurt, my knees hurt, my lower back hurt. Ouch. I've heard the same story told by people hiking the Himalayas, that some trekkers start crying due to exhaustion. Somehow, that sounds different. Trekkers have sherpas to carry the belongings.
Both scenarios don't sound quite right to me. Being on vacation, away from 'the stress'. Hiking long distances in pain, while surrounded by great beauty.