I've just returned from my second trip to Paris.
It differed in many ways from my last time. First time I went was in December and it was cool and damp. This time I went in August and it was scorching hot and humid. I stayed in a cute, albeit, slightly claustrophobic flat the first time. This time, I stayed in a bright, airy and busy youth hostel. More importantly though, this time I wasn't sick.
I was diagnosed with Crohn's the day before I took the train to Paris in December 2013, and was in the midst of a full-blown flare. I started a high dose of Prednisolone the day before and was so weak I could hardly carry my rucksack. I also could hardly eat anything. All of my meals were cooked on the two burner hob in that little flat despite staying on a street with a busy nightlife and loads of restaurants. Alcohol was totally out and I couldn't get any dairy down. When I came home, I told everyone that my new definition of hell was not being able to eat cheese in Paris.
So this time around, I needed to make up for last time! I ate dairy at every meal, and relished eating emmental on baguettes in front of Notre Dame and near Sacre Couer. I ate crêpes in Parc des Tuileries and ice cream walking through Montmartre. And I ate cheese on several types of Flammekueches, including the dessert one. Oh cheese, how I love you!
Of course, what did I not get a chance to buy and bring home from this trip to Paris? That's right, cheese.
Oh well, at least one of the great things about living in the UK is easy and cheap access to continental cheeses. Off to the supermarket I go!
It differed in many ways from my last time. First time I went was in December and it was cool and damp. This time I went in August and it was scorching hot and humid. I stayed in a cute, albeit, slightly claustrophobic flat the first time. This time, I stayed in a bright, airy and busy youth hostel. More importantly though, this time I wasn't sick.
I was diagnosed with Crohn's the day before I took the train to Paris in December 2013, and was in the midst of a full-blown flare. I started a high dose of Prednisolone the day before and was so weak I could hardly carry my rucksack. I also could hardly eat anything. All of my meals were cooked on the two burner hob in that little flat despite staying on a street with a busy nightlife and loads of restaurants. Alcohol was totally out and I couldn't get any dairy down. When I came home, I told everyone that my new definition of hell was not being able to eat cheese in Paris.
So this time around, I needed to make up for last time! I ate dairy at every meal, and relished eating emmental on baguettes in front of Notre Dame and near Sacre Couer. I ate crêpes in Parc des Tuileries and ice cream walking through Montmartre. And I ate cheese on several types of Flammekueches, including the dessert one. Oh cheese, how I love you!
Of course, what did I not get a chance to buy and bring home from this trip to Paris? That's right, cheese.
Oh well, at least one of the great things about living in the UK is easy and cheap access to continental cheeses. Off to the supermarket I go!
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