Valencia. I don't have so much to say about you.

Beautiful, yes. Enjoyable... not so much.
It was so underwhelming I don't think I even have a single picture of note.

An hour south of our castle we took up residence in a hotel room. With its tight spaces and unimaginative surroundings it's redeeming feature was the proximity to the trade fair Mr Evans and I attended. Three days of loitering at the fair, working and waiting as connections and deals unfolded. We were here on a reconnaissance mission and it was marginally enlightening. The european style shone through and we felt a sense of impending fit for our product on this side of the world.

As the children and Emma grew steadily madder with confinement they branched out and visited the city's aquarium.

We explored small pockets of the nearby city on Saturday and the day which followed was of course Sunday. We forgot that in our part of Valencia, supermarkets don't open on Sunday.
The cafe down the road was closed, as was the restaurant at our hotel, for a private first communion function and so we lounged by the pool making a meal of the few apples, crackers and one pot of hummus we had left. Oh and a pack of biscuits, we had a packet of biscuits for dinner.

We were ready to leave, and Paris was calling our name.
This part of the trip was a bit of fancy really, in honour of my sweet girl, who from the time she was but two years old has been intrigued by the Eiffel Tower.
We arrived on the day when the city authorities began to cut the padlocks from the famous and heavily weighted love lock bridge. An interesting co-incidence given the discussions that were unfolding with Mr Evan and I, but that is another story which I will share more fully another day. The teaser says, it was one of those stories which felt like the crunch bit, smack in the middle of the tale, where both the hero and heroine fear nothing will bring about a remedy to their woes, but as in all good narratives, love emerges victorious.
But.. this shall wait. Back to Paris.

We checked into our new home, through a maze of odd stairwells and proceeded to pay through the nose for a meal at the nearby restaurant aptly named 'God save the Kitchen' before we took to our beds.

Despite her enthusiasm for the famed city, E was reluctant to head out of the hotel the next morning and again we saw the polarising effects of bringing into the world one introvert and one extrovert of the other sex. With a compromise reached, we rested the introverts weary mind for the morning and then we all took to the streets.

Tubes gave way to walkways and we found the enticing Rue Cler market street with all it's delicious delicatessens. gelato, coffee and croissants. Hunger overtook the desire to take photos and so you will have to see in your mind glorious piles of fresh bread stacked on shelves, lines of salami and various cured meats hanging from the hooks above the counter tops, cabinets stacked high with cakes and gateau, street side stalls full of flowers and wooden receptacles of fresh fruit. Try and avoid imaging however the snooty face of a parisian bakery attendant as she ridiculed my attempts at french. She, my friends, is a part of the trip that is barely worth recalling.

Tummies full, it was off to Tour de Eiffel.
There was the obligatory stop in the park below for photos.
We then crossed the road and marvelled at the looming structure. With a two hour line for the elevator we decided to take the stairs. All 704 of them each way, and it was brilliant!.

Neither Emma or I are particularly fond of heights and so made our way up with a firm grip on the handrail, doing our best to ignore the earth disappearing before us and the wind whipping through the open framework. Some hours later as we made our way home for the night it was with a great sense of accomplishment. The last time I went up the Eiffel tower was before I had children and the video of me ascending the last portion in the elevator is so punctuated with expletives that I've never been able to show my little ones. This time, barely a murmur out of place passed through my lips.

Day two involved a hop on hop off bus tour for the young ones to see more of the city while Mr Evans and I took a day to work and discuss our unfolding fairytale.


With Paris ticked off the list, the next stop was the motherland, England.