Futility Now

Pictures from the window of a friend’s place in North Portland.

More graveyard photos:

(Those cookies were SO terrible.)

Here are some dudes in old-timey diving suits attending a crypt:

Here’s some stuff around Belleville:

Here is some delicious food that we ate:

Here are some pictures from out second trip to the Marche au Puce:

Here’s me looking maudlin:

And all you can hear is a radio somewhere, playing a pig of a song:

Here are some photos presented in a less verbose context.

Hazel and I took a day trip to Arles, which is a pretty cool town. Here is a picture of a cat who hangs out at a cafe in Arles.

Here is a forlorn-looking infants shoe stuck on a tree in the square of Saint Chinian.

Here are some prawns we ate on our last night in Saint Chinian

Here are Hazel and Zia in Beziers, where Hazel and I caught the train back to Paris.

Here is a rather handsome metal door in Beziers.

Last Beziers photo: For various reasons that we don’t really need to go into detail about, Hazel and I were sort of exhausted by the time my mom drove on with Zia. Rather than wait in the train station, we went to a rawther rustic bar and drank Ricard.

Then we went back to Paris, where we belong. Here is the sky from our hotel window.

Here is Hazel drinking wine by the Canal Saint-Martin while we wait for pizza from Pink Flamingo.

Here are the pizzas for which we waited. The one on the left is called L’Obama, and it’s ham and pineapple chutney. Verdict: amazing!

Here is some rubble we saw after eating pizza and before we got on the metro for further adventures.

After stumbling out of the Louvre we tried to go to Musée des Arts décoratifs, but it was closed, because there is nothing the French love so much as being closed. We instead wandered into The Tuileries Garden and had some sort of frozen melon beverage that made Gray’s Papaya look like some kind of fancy juice bar. Thus invigorated we staggered to Musée de l’Orangerie where we looked at a bunch of paintings of a frog pond.

Downstairs from its most famous exhibit, l’Orangerie contains the collection of a man who was more or less the French Donald Trump of the turn of the century (the last turn of the century, not this most recent one which is really only a mid-80s rehash anyways.) It was very charming, except when it served to remind us by comparison of how degraded out times are.

In the evening we tried to go out in the Marais, but we went down the wrong Rue .* Temple, and couldn’t find the place we wanted, and were disappointed in the substitute we tried out. Instead we went to a bar immediately outside our metro stop and had a grand time. Because it was our last evening in the first hotel, I pointed my camera wistfully out of the window.