On Place de la Madeleine is a high end gourmet store, Fauchon, that is fun to stroll through and which always has really fabulous windows. They are now celebrating 120 years of business as seen by this photo:

Love the can can girls

 These little pink boxes contain some of their own brand chocolate, which can be good gifts for those who aren’t lucky enough to make it to Paris.

 I’d love to have some of these

This is a tin of chocolate being sold in a shop next door. I want to buy it just for the container.

 This one too. Aren’t they great?

 One of the things that first amazed me about France, along with the cheese and the wine, was their mustard. Even the cheap stuff in the grocery stores tastes different than what I used to get in the States. The French add more horse radish to their mustard and it can really clear your sinuses and bring tears to your eyes if you get too much on your sandwich. I was also surprised that just about every area of France has their own mustard. It became a fun thing for me to do, to search out every village or area we visited to see if they had a locally made mustard.

 Mustard, it turns out, has a very interesting history. It was considered medicinal to start with. Then it became a beauty product. Many mustards started in areas by a river as they used a stone water wheel to grind the mustard seeds into the paste used, mixed with vinegar, into mustard.

 There is actually a mustard boutique shop in Paris called Maille Mustard. You can buy Maille mustard in the States but it won’t taste the same, plus you won’t find the many flavors available in this little store. (There is also one in Dijon).

 Here is a photo of the front of the store looking very elegant, in the French way, for a place selling condiments. They sell their own line of vinegar and spices here as well.

This little display was in the window. It’s a mustard with peppers and chilies.

 One of their new mustards made with curry and apricot.

Aren’t these cute? The store actually decants mustard made with white wine, into these little containers. Then the cork tops are forced tightly into the little jars for taking home. I have a funny story about these containers. I had some clients with me that I had taken into the store. They bought one of these but couldn’t wait to get home to try it but had some spread on bread with ham for an impromptu picnic. They put the cork back in and put it in their carryon for the trip home. A few hours into the trip the man sitting in front of them said, “What is that smell?” The cork hadn’t been replaced tightly enough and the mustard was dripping out of their carryon, through the overhead bin and onto the man’s shoulder. The plane smelled like mustard the entire 8 hour trip home. At least it wasn’t the mustard containing cassis which is a hot pink color. I always think of these people when I go in the Maille Mustard Boutique.

 After you have been in Paris for a while you lose track of how many times you have seen the Eiffel Tower. The first look is rather breath-taking as you finally see it as you turn a corner and, there it is, the symbol of Paris and you are finally seeing it in person. Loving photography, I am always taking photos of it and, therefore, always trying to come up with different angles or different ways to get something original. After over 100 years of photographing this structure, there isn’t much to come up with that hasn’t been seen before.

When standing close to the Eiffel Tower it is hard to get the whole thing in a photo. Everyone is surprised at how large it is and many are surprised that it isn’t painted black. Maybe it was at one time but it is now a light brown color.

 It is huge but still delicate and lacey, even feminine.

A view from behind a statue on Tracadero where you can get the whole structure into your photo.

 A reflection in some water after a heavy rainstorm the day before

 A view from a nearby street. How would you like to have this view from your apartment?

 Seen through some leafy branches

Two lovers caught in their own world as the Eiffel Tower flashes its magic lights at night.

 A reflection of the Eiffel Tower in a mirror at a brochante one day on Rue Cler.

 A reflection in a door. I think this might be my favorite up to date.

 Part of the fun of strolling around Paris is looking in shop windows. They are almost always very artistic and striking and they make you want to go inside the shop and buy it all.

 I loved this plate with the cranky little cat looking at the fly on his whiskers.

These were in the window of a store selling antique books

 It wasn’t until I looked at my photos on my computer that I realized that the photo I took of these “hands” were used to either hold pages of a book open or to save your place. I like them.

 This display was in a window on the shopping street near where we live. They do sell macarons there but their best thing, in my opinion, is their chocolate cake. It costs the earth but, my, is it worth it.

 A nearby florist. I always stop at their window as I love how they arrange their flowers. I’d love to have this little pot in my apartment.

 I guess it was the English who started the concept of tea, as in when not only do you have tea but you have goodies to go with it. In fact, I was surprised many years ago when I was in England and given a full tea which was what I would just call dinner as it was a full roast beef meal. So the French have also arrived to the idea of having afternoon teas to get rid of that peckish feeling of hunger between lunch and dinner. As in many things they have added their own spin to it and made it more delicate and beautiful than the original. I didn’t actually have a tea the other day at Laduree but I took photos of the windows. They don’t allow photos inside for some reason. There was a huge crowd of people waiting to get in for tea. Laduree is known for its macarons, a dessert that must be tried to be believed.

 A display in the window using macarons. Macarons are a cookie made with egg whites and almond paste and each color is a different flavor. My favorite in chocolate. Two of the cookies are put together with a creme in the center. You bite into it and the outside is crispy then it becomes soft and chewy. They are heavenly.

Some boxes full of Laduree treats for either a cat or dog lover.

 A box of macarons all ready to go. I would never buy one of these as I would probably have it finished before I reached home.

 I am lucky enough to live in Paris-someone’s blog says on their title page: “Don’t hate me because I live in Paris”. It is wonderful, of course. How can you walk around the narrow historic streets of the Left Bank or down the wide boulevards, such as the Champs Elysees, and not be thrilled to be living here? Among my favorite places, as my repetitious photos show, is Palais Royal:

This is in the entry to Palais Royal, some conceptual art that covers what was once a parking lot. I didn’t like it at first.

 I like how people interact with the columns the most. I’m not sure if you can see the girl on top of one of them-she is doing a very gymnastic looking pose. I tried to get over there before she got down but wasn’t able to.

 This little girl must have climbed on every column she could reach.

 Look at all of these people sitting in the sun enjoying this “art”.

 Further into Palais Royal is the garden lined with trees

One of my favorite fountains-love those unending reflections.

  But, of course, after walking around Paris and looking at the loveliness, I have to go home and real life goes on. Sometimes, after an all day tour, I board the metro to head home. My feet are throbbing. I am surprised that they aren’t outlined in red with those wavy lines coming out as in cartoons to denote heat and/or pain. Almost always, when this is the case, there isn’t a seat to be found on the metro. Can’t those men see my feet throbbing, can’t they feel the heat from where they sit reading their papers? Apparantly not. It isn’t until a few stops from my metro stop when I finally get a seat. After exiting the train, there it is: the Mount McKinley of steps, the way out of the metro which I must mount if I want to go home. I trudge along the street to our apartment where I then have to climb to the fourth floor. It is so nice to take my shoes off, put on my ugly rubbery slide-ons and to sit down, usually with a glass of wine. At this point Maurice is un-wise enough to ask what’s for dinner. My reply: “Whatever you want to cook.” Still, I consider myself lucky to live here, sore feet and all.