Before December hit I landed a handful of days in Paris- a city I had only ever passed through despite its renowned fame and so said infinite charm. Luckily for me the neighbourhood of Montmartre (where my Airbnb was) happened to be a winner in the Parisian stakes of romantic architecture and crooked charisma. After a potter I learned that this neighbourhood is also home to Pain Pain and I quickly assumed an almond croissant breakfast ritual (a dangerous consequence of staying around the corner from a bakery as good as this one).
This place has had me for a while now. Like, proper got me.
It’s one to add to your world check list if you want most of your senses to be rocked. I mean, I feel pretty confident that the ‘rainbow nation’ label this country was given can be seen best on this east coast hub.
It’s the stars that took the biscuit.
The stars and eating the most flavourful tagines that had been cooked under the sand for hours. It was washing with water from deep wells after days spent under an unrelenting sun and travelling with Berbers on camels across a landscape that looked indiscriminate to my eye yet they read like their palm. It was running down dunes and feeling like you were wearing space boots. It was waking up and going to sleep according to the sun.
(and those stars).
There was a tree brimming with lemons in our garden.
With mugs of the hand plucked fruit, hot water and local honey beginning our mornings, quite obviously if lemons are in easy supply, a strong and steady contingent of gin and tonics followed.
We sure made the most of that sweet old fruit tree.
I’m on a little holiday at the mo and it’s got me reminiscing on the last adventure of it’s sort had this time last year in Mozambique. After a bell on the blower from an old friend on a Monday afternoon inviting me to his patch in Mozam, I took a flight after work on the Wednesday… the definition of a whirlwind.