I ventured down a few streets in the Marais that I hadn’t visited before or, at least, not for a long time.

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This building has been made into a museum. Isn’t it lovely?

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Interesting painting on the side of a building. Not grafitti.

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My eye was caught by this red door and then I noticed the lady walking in front of it was wearing a red skirt. Perfect.

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I liked this lady with flowers in her basket.

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I have the habit of chewing gum. I think I’ve done it most of my life. I remember my Dad chewing gum as I grew up, my ex did it all the time mostly as a way to keep his breath fresh and I started and have just continued on. Sometimes I unfortunately pop it. I know this is annoying. A friend once even asked me to stop which made me realize it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I’ve gotten looks by people sitting near me too. I read that the Queen of England was offended when the mother of Princess Catherine chewed gum around her and considered it low class. I chew gum not only after a meal, especially if it involved garlic or onions, but because my mouth is often dry. I think I am drying up as I age with dry eyes, dry lips and dry mouth my constant companions. When I did tours and did a lot of talking I chewed gum just so I wouldn’t have to carry a bottle of water around leading to a search for a toilet. I chew gum when I exercise too so I don’t need water. Anyway, the other day I asked Maurice if my gum chewing bothered him, expecting him to saw no as he has never mentioned it before. He paused and then said, “Sometimes”. I was astounded. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” and he said, “In a marriage sometimes you just have to bear things”. “You mean you bear it?” I couldn’t believe it. Guess I’ll stop chewing gum.
So, anyway, here are a few more shots of the Marais area in Paris-one of my favorites.

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Seen in the window of a cafe. I thought the names of the drinks were funny.

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I love the architecture of this building. I’m so glad it wasn’t torn down.Haussman tore down 60% of the buildings in Paris when he was changing the look of Paris under Napoleon III but missed the Marais.

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I just thought this was very strange. I’ve never been taken outside by an optometrist, if this is what the man is.

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I’m sure there was another statue here in this niche, Mary in fact, but I like this one.

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I went into the Italian store next to our apartment building the other day to buy some veal picatta. We were having company for dinner and I wanted something simple and am never able to keep that crispy coating on my veal when I try to cook it. So, I told the man behind the counter in my bad French that I wanted the veal, pointing to it, three in fact. He laughed and said, “You mean les escalopes du veau. It will be really big if I give you a veau.” Well, he was right. I didn’t want a whole calf. I guess it sounded strange to him while it made sense to me. The veal was good and the spaghetti that I made as a side dish was perfect. I tried out the recipe everyone had been writing about created by the Italian cook and book author (who recently died), Marcella Hazan which has only three ingredients: one 28 ounce can of Italian tomatoes, five tablespoons of butter and a peeled onion cut in half. Simmer for 45 minutes, removed the onion, smush the tomatoes and you are done. It was very good but what made the spaghetti especially good was the fact that I stood by the stove as the pasta cooked and tested it every minute are so until it was perfectly al dente. Earlier, when I told Maurice I was making spaghetti he said, “Make sure it isn’t soupy”. This is the first I had heard that my pasty is soupy. I like a lot of sauce myself. But this pasta was just lightly coated with the sauce with little chunks of tomato here and there and no sauce spreading over the plate.
None of this has a thing to do with the Marais. I just thought I would tell my little story. The next day I did walk through this area of Paris on a bright sunny day and enjoyed it.

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This looks like an alley but it was once actually a street.

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Two old buildings from the 14th century, once covered with plaster.

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There is a store called Israel that sells all sorts of things, this preserved fruit among them.

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They also sell these beans and spices. I would have taken more photos but was told they weren’t allowed.

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Before I went to Ibiza I was at the WH Smith bookstore getting a guide to Ibiza and decided to roam down the nearby rue Saint-Honoré, a very nice street full of mostly high end shops.

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I looked into the new Madarin Oriental Hotel. It’s very nice but I soon got a “may I help you” from the staff so left.

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Roses waiting to be made into a beautiful creation at, I think, Costes flower shop.

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I passed by Place Vendome, the location of the Ritz Hotel, now undergoing renovation.

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Chocolate shops abound and are getting ready for Easter.

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This is the interior of Colette, a concept store full of the newest things in the fashion and art world. They were just robbed of 600,000 Euros worth of watches so I wandered in out of curiosity. It looked the same as always, full of mostly young, hip people.The watches are kept in a large glass container.

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A door handle that I liked.

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More photos from the photographic island of Ibiza.

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A picture of Dalt Vila from across the harbor.

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We had sangria a couple of times. We went into a restaurant, le Tomate acutally, and it was owned by French people, with French music on the radio and waiters who spoke French. Two girls were sitting there with a pitcher of White Sangria and a plate of mixed tapas so we ordered a pitcher ourselves. It was very good. Unfortunately, we ordered steak instead of the tapas. The meat was cut very strangely butchered and difficult to eat and I had to cut off pieces here and there around fat and, I guess, sinew (whatever holds meat together), and then Maurice tells me that Spain is known for that. I wish he had remembered before we ordered. The sangria made up for it.

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Maurice’s daughter took us to a fun place on the beach where we had sangria made with champagne, new to me. Also very good.

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We had paella too because Spain….

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A look at the restaurant itself. I felt like I was in Mexico, which I used to dearly love and, to add to the magic, there was a jazzy rendition of Bessa Me Mucho playing as we walked in, my favorite Mexican song.

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Another day we went inland and ate at a funky little place which the owner had made into an art gallery full of work by his favorite artists from Chile.

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We went into a little church there and, instead of wax candles to light in front of saints or Mary or Jesus, there was this covered collection of battery operated candles and, if you put in enough money, a little light would come on for the amount of time you wanted. No cheating here and they didn’t have to keep up a supply of candles either.

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A view of the coast with little fishing shacks down below.

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Orange juice on a terrace in the sun the day we left.

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Good bye sunshine and blue water. We arrived back to Paris with gray skies and heavy traffic and metros. It was a nice break.

Coming to Paris? Check on Girl’s Guide to Paris on right side of my blog.
Have a place in central Denver that you want to exchange for a cute place in Montmartre, Paris? Check out the right side of my blog.

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Well, we are back home from Ibiza and now it all seems like a dream. Maurice’s daughter has an apartment in Dalt Vila, the old part of Eivissa, the main city in Ibiza (an island off the coast of Spain) where we were lucky enough to stay. She arrived a couple of days before we left and showed us a few of her favorite places. I have all sorts of photos and will be making two posts with them.

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As you might expect, the Greeks and Romans were here and evidence of their time here was evident.

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We arrived on a Sunday afternoon and everything was closed. Many places started opening a few days later as Easter crowds were expected. We found this little pastry shop. I thought the poster showed Salvidor Dali but it turned out to be the owner of the shop who indeed did sport a fun mustache.

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Just one example of the many photos I took of doors and windows-my addiction.

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Maurice and I drove up the western coast a bit and found a tiny village with this pristine church. Most every building seemed to be painted white.

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The old village where we stayed, is on the top of a hill and, therefore, we did a lot of climbing. From where we parked the car to the apartment where we stayed were 86 steps-a good work out. Most of the apartments or houses there had wonderful little patios with a view of the harbor down below.

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I especially loved the way these curtains were tied.

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This house was for sale and looked old and in need of work, but I sure did like the front garden.

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The main square in Dalt Vila had this Greek Temple like covered market every morning.

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I was sitting outside at a cafe and saw this shadow. The sun was shining on some clothes lines with clothes pins and I thought it looked like a sheet of music.

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