In France, bread is life. What is not, is protein. Jordan was not amused with only having pastries in the AM.
Cafés do not serve breakfast (eggs, bacon, etc.) until later in the morning, so we needed to resort to the classic look of being McChic.
After inhaling an Egg McMuffin, we hopped on a train to Giverny, and visited Monet’s home.
I cried. It was beautiful.
Early bird gets the best experience.
Make sure you get there on the first train, because the tour buses arrive shortly after the garden opens.
The jet lag was kicking in, and I knew Jordan and I would collapse if we did not find more protein.
We almost got stranded in Giverny, but hopped on a train back to Paris in search of meat.
We found meat dreams at Bellota Bellota
Sweet mother of pearl.
Go here and grab a $andwich to take with you to the Eiffel and your Parisian protein dreams will come true.
After tiger snooze number three, redemption awoke me from our slumber, and we headed to the Eiffel.
TBT to the time I was robbed in Paris when some gypsy children stole my iPhone after my magical picnic in 2013.
Armed with a baguette and bae, I would not allow such a violation to occur again.
I was not that hungry, so if any one tried to come and rob me of my memories again, they would be faced with a baguette beating.
The sweet victory of not being pick pocketed in Paris always a good feeling, as was me not having to return to my former state of being as Liam Neeson.
We celebrated not being mugged with a crisp glass of champagne at our Airbnb, and went back to our neighborhood restaurant of La Maison for steak frites.
Oh, what a time to be alive in Paris.