The Big City

I've been away in Paris for the past few days, taking a little break from Manic Motherhood to spend time with my Mum and sister.
Because we've done the tourist thing before (no snobbiness intended: it's just that, I did used to live there, and mum and sis have visited lots of times...*), we decided to devote the entire trip to cafés and restaurants. We managed to notch up a grand total of 11 such establishments in just over 24 hours, which is good going by anyone's standards...


Freezing weather and the odd spot of rain helped our mission nicely, and made all those coffees, hot chocolates and apéritifs seem justified.

As we attemped to wander among the speeding masses, I reflected on the hectic-ness of big city life. Paris has its charms, of course, but such a hectic pace of life is no longer my thing. I don't want to have to crick my neck in order to catch a glimpse of sky, bump my pram down dozens of steps to join the throngs in the underground, inhale exhaust fumes whilst having my ears assaulted by all the ambiant noise and aggression.

I guess then, that this is yet another tale that ends with the predictable "the grass is not necessarily greener elsewhere".
I'm happy, for now, here in my provincial(ish) backwater, where two-hour lunches are a way of life, not a luxury, and spring starts to peep through the clouds as soon as Januray is out of the way...

* Still sounds snobby, right?