A French love affair

 

It was during a particularly hot summer visit with my mother that made me first fall in love with Paris. Despite the obvious language barriers and inevitable moments of getting lost,  it was a remarkably easy experience. We instantaneously fell under the spell of the alluring French charm oozing from every corner, even on our doorstep. Every morning we jumped over the affable, giant labrador that lay in the foyer of the quaint little pension in Le Marais, to get to the al fresco courtyard where breakfast was served. What arrived shortly was a huge bowl of hot, rich chocolate and a basket of freshly baked croissants that was the epitome of pure holiday indulgence. The jam-packed days were filled with visits to infamous tourist haunts. By nightfall, we would almost collapse onto whatever restaurant we stumbled upon. Refuelling our exhausted bodies with pure french goodness, we would reflect on the day and recount all the amazing things we saw. One night, in broken French, I accidentally ordered a carafe of cidre; french alcoholic apple cider. The next hour consisted of a lot of giggling. My twelve-year-old palette unfamiliar with the flavour, was seduced by this city of lights so magical in it's enticing ways. I was hooked. And so began, my Parisian love affair.

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