Paris en vacances

So I made it. After a delayed flight and sprinting through the terminal to my connecting flight, I'm finally in Paris. I think I figured why I'm not freaking out about moving out here. For me it's like coming home. It just feels natural; the cobbled streets feel so familiar as if from a past life.

So Paris is on vacation. What does that mean? The streets are fairly empty. Shops are closed with obligatory notices stating that they'll be back in a month or so. What does this mean for me? It means that for dinner I dragged my dad out to a crepe restaurant just to find out they were closed for the rest of the month. I was pretty disappointed, seeing as they'll open again after he leaves. Oh well, we settled for L'As du Fallafel, if you count that as settling.

Our lunch today: Quiche, Croque monsieur and salad.

My dad enjoying a pita and going "Hey! This isn't French food!" I have a feeling as the trip progresses, there will be less and less pictures of him looking so amicable.