Paris is a dreary place

Living in Paris was not necessarily a dream I’ve had all my life, it kind of just happened. I landed with 2 suitcases and a backpack on a sunny day in March and did not know what to expect. As it happened, every day I learned something, and everyday I walked around with a pretty goofy “babe in the woods” expression that (most of the time) entertained the Parisians.

The rains came in spring and didn’t stop, gray skies were more common than blue ones, but who cares, it’s Paris!

On my first morning, I woke up to a symphony of motors, and leaned over the waist-high iron gate outside my gigantic french windows. Seven stories below, the day had started and Paris was in full swing. I smiled to myself and embarked on what would be a year-long journey to find breakfast in Paris.

There is no breakfast in Paris. Breakfast is a slug of high octane coffee and a cigarette while walking briskly to wherever your destination. Such a confusing practice for an American who was raised thinking the first thing one does to open the day is eat. Turns out, for nearly all of human history, breakfast was non-existent, aside from maybe infants or elderly, breakfast wasn’t really a thing. Around the 13th century a pint of beer was breakfast but mostly for laborers. To this day, most cultures start the day with something small, with low carbohydrates, if anything, for breakfast.

With lesson one behind me, I began my exploration of this gloomy city on an empty stomach. It felt great.