Fezzik In Paris

Two Americans, three cats, and too many places named "de Gaulle"

In retrospect, last weekend’s (yes, I am once again behind; the post rate for this year has fallen precipitously, and I am lacking the energy to increase it) excursion to Amsterdam (for those counting, this is trip number four) was, perhaps, not the best of ideas; the Purrito returned from her unexpected jaunt back to the US (Houston flooded, and she had to assess the damage) the day before we left, and my immune system was in the midst of giving up the ghost. On the métro to Gare du Nord, I seriously considered declaring that I was in no shape to continue, and that I would strongly prefer it if we just headed back home, but I did not do so.

Fortunately, things turned out well enough.

We spent most of the trip lazing around the Airbnb apartment that we had rented, looking through the (admittedly very relevant to our interests) books, watching the movies (while we never quite made it to Koyaanisqatsi, the third Indiana Jones flick is always well worth a watch), and occasionally venturing outside to wander around (the Rijksmuseum, having recently reopened, was on our to-do list, though both of us were so tired that we spent a little over an hour in the museum – a new record in brevity for us) or grab some food (we watched a few boats go by at our favorite Bagels & Beans on the IJDock, ate at the made-to-order pasta place that I like [my love for which, the Purrito is still unable to figure out]).

I took all of 15 pictures (did I mention I felt like ass most of the time?).

I did, however, feel well enough to eat some pickled herring (tasty, tasty pickled herring) on Saturday, so the trip was by no means a complete waste.

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