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A Vacation from our Vacation

Today we did nothing.  Well, not nothing nothing, but very, very little.  We decided we maxed out on our ability to sightsee yesterday, and as it was the…counting on my fingers….eleventh day in a row of sightseeing, we needed a break.  So we took one. 

This morning we slept in, went ‘out’ for breakfast–instead of eating pastries in our dining room–and then just sort of walked around for a couple of hours.  Not far, not with any direction in mind, and in the general area of our apartment.  I shopped–and got a very cute shrug for fifteen euro–and we found a tapas restaurant and had a very nice long lunch.  Then we returned to the apartment, threw open the windows, uncorked (several) bottles of wine, and kicked back to relax and read.  I’ve read almost half of a book already, and it is only a little before 7pm.  That’s more reading than I’ve done in the last eleven days total.  Including flights and train rides (upon which, to be fair, I read very little–surprisingly little, in fact.)

The husband just brought home a rotisserie chicken from the Italian market down the street and a box of blackberries from the produce market, and has gone out again for yet more wine (and, I assume by the smell of him last time he returned, yet another cigarette). 

 Part of me feels like we’re ‘wasting’ a day in Paris–but without this day off, our next…counting on my fingers….nine days wouldn’t be half as productive or fun.  So a vacation from our vacation it is.  In fact, I suppose I really shouldn’t even be writing this.  So I guess I’ll go….

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