Cynthia fodor dating
Cynthia fodor dating
I walk down the street on which I am staying, rue Mornay in the 4th arrondissement, to the boulevard Henri IV, where there is a cafe on the corner, Le Sully.It is nice and warm inside, and I order lunch and absorb the sights and sounds and tastes of Paris.
Paris March 2013 Trip Report I wasn't going to go to Paris this year.After lunch I walk around taking photos, trying but not succeeding in keeping the falling snow off my lens, cross the Seine, and wait for the bus in front of a store that sells fishing equipment.I'm wondering how long it has been here, whether it dates back to a time when people would actually fish in the Seine. The buses are running normally, I take one to the College de France but it is too early for my class, so I spend some time in a record store.I have been lucky enough to be able to go to Paris about once a year for the past few years, but this year there were a couple of big trips planned and I couldn't justify the additional trip to Paris.Then the two major trips were cancelled, and I decided to go to Paris as the consolation prize.We talk about the weather, about my landing at the airport, about the city, about the jewelry. An hour before the class is scheduled, I go into the lecture hall. I have learned to get here early for the very popular free courses at the College de France.
When I first came to one five years ago, given by a professor whose classes I had been following by podcast and who has now retired, I liked it so much that I looked for another course to attend while I was in Paris that week. I had read the first forty pages of Proust in 1969, during my first semester in college, in the last French course I had ever taken. But it did inspire me to pick up the book, and I have now read the seven volumes all the way through, some of them twice, and some of them three times.
I learn later that her train has been cancelled, and she spends three and a half hours at the station but arrives safely in Marseille that evening. I figure I will get as far as the cafe on the corner and have some lunch.
If it looks like the buses are running, I will take one to the College de France, where I hope to go to a class this afternoon.
When we emerge below the clouds, all is white on the ground.
Everything is covered with snow- roads, runways, houses, cars.
at least that's what it sounds like) and he didn't like the looks of it. The driver is leafing through a book, looking for the location of my apartment. We watch television together; the news is full of the storm. Pictures of jammed metros, ominous warnings that many buses are not running.