About the authorCurt is an avid traveler who has been sharing his travel stories on the Internet since 1994. Read more about Curt and his travel blog.
- Assumption of the Blessed Virgin at the Cathedral of Chartres
- Safely home from Paris
- The coast of Greenland from 38,000 feet
- The day we were left alone in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles
- Regional words and fat Frenchmen
- Eiffel Tower twinkling at night
- Eiffel Tower in the fog
- Safe arrival in Paris
- Latest adventure underway
- Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated
Tag Archives: French
It turns out that Angelina, the venerable tea room on rue de Rivoli in Paris, has an outpost at the Palace of Versailles. Kathryn and I found ourselves there earlier today, enjoying a snack of chocolat chaud africain before finishing our tour of the museum. We were in the tea room all alone — more on why we were alone in a future post — and we had just ordered. As usual, Kathryn let me do the ordering. I think she likes to hear me speak French, even though my French sucks.
Here’s a list of things you probably don’t know about me. It’s in no particular order.
I discovered today that the French expression for World Youth Day is les Journées mondial de la jeunesse, which is abbreviated JMJ. That’s pretty cool.
I was walking across the Place de la Comédie, and I noticed a sign that there were blood collections going on. I hadn’t given blood since I was seventeen years old, and I hadn’t actually tried since September 11 last year, when I was turned away because of the crowds. I wasn’t in a particular hurry, so I figured I could kill an hour or so giving a pint.
New day, new place. I’m once again passing time on a train, this time bound for Cologne via Hagen. I had a fun day in Kassel. My friend met me at the train station, and after we dropped my bags … Continue reading
Many of you know I lived in Montpellier, France, for about a year. I loved being there, and I had a great experience studying there. From time to time, I’m asked to provide a reference to prospective students of the school where I studied, and I’m always happy to do so. Last summer, a young woman called me out of the blue, and we spent a half-hour or so on the phone talking about Montpellier.