Tag Archives: pont des arts

breakfast & locks

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(On the way to breakfast at Ladurée, Layli finally got to see my favorite bridge in Paris. ~ The Dad)

“Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by.” – Robert Frost

We went to this bridge that had a side with locks. You add them to the fence when you love somebody and you know you will never not love them.

This is  how it works:

  1. You buy a lock
  2. Write your names on it
  3. Put it somewhere nice
  4. “Lock up your love” by locking it on the fence
  5. Throw the key in the river so you never unlock your love

My mom and dad wanted to take pictures but I did not want to be in any of them at all.

William took a picture of my mom and dad. I was in the way of it and William took a picture of me with my face in my dad’s big belly! I did not like that one at all.

Would you like that picture if you were in it? I bet you would not like to be in a picture like that when you had your face in your dad’s big belly.

a hobby store, gelato, & a bridge

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“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.” ~ Oscar Wilde

Paris is awesome!

We went to a place called Rose Bakery [Editor’s thanks: thank you parisinfourmonths.com!]. We (not me!) ate all this weird stuff [it was an assortiment de légumes].

Afterwards, my grandma, my mom, and my sister went to the mall [Galeries Lafayette] and looked at all this girly stuff.

PadlocksMy dad and I went to a hobby store [EOL] and looked at all these models. Then we went to a gelato place and I got some lemon gelato. As we paid, the cashier dropped the coins in the trash!

Then we went to a bridge with a whole bunch of locks. Each lock means you are in love with someone. Then we walked back to the apartment and rested our feet.

ge • la • to

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Paris, mon amour,

Pistacchio & fragola.No visit with you is complete without gelato, without a trip to Grom.

Despite visiting Italy twice some 13 years ago, I became insanely addicted to gelato on my first trip to Buenos Aires. Insanely addicted.

There’s a certain anticipation that builds up on the walk to Grom, as I cross the padlock covered Pont des Arts, as I cross over and look out at the Seine, as I get closer and see the street sign, “Rue de Seine” and finally the blue and white banner of Grom in the distance.

And so I indulge. I order from a menu written in Italian. Moyen. Pistacchio. Fragola. My first spoonful is simply the taste of cold pistachio. My second is pure strawberry.

No walk is too long for a gelato this good.

Pont des Arts, collage

~ The Dad