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image source: Hôtel Particulier Montmartre website Monday’s heroic walking did absolutely nothing to deliver the full night’s sleep I so richly deserve. So when I woke at 3am on Tuesday, I did the only sensible thing: I wrote you the letter about Monday! Quelle fun! By the time I’d finished fiddling with my website—don’t ask—had a brief and fruitless chat with support, then solved it myself the second we hung up — it was already late morning when I finally burst out of our li

My darling darlings, strap yourselves in for Monday in Paris! I was up and down during the night taking photos as you do. That‘s the view from my bathroom window—also part of the original La Maison Rose. No murderers lurking—that I could see. Do you see the wisteria? I woke at 4am—my body clock still firmly stuck in where’s the rosé gone? mode. As the sun rose somewhere behind the thick overcast, I pulled on pretty much the same clothes I wore on the plane except not the jack

Coucou mes amis! Nous voici en la belle France! We landed at Charles de Gaulle at the ungodly hour of 7am-ish, which remains, just between us, my least favourite airport. You know how much I love Paris, and France, and the French, but the CDG terminal reminds me of those round pigeon tower-houses in Iran—circular, with floor after floor around a giant hollow centre. In Iran the pigeons flew in from above and did what they were meant to do—turned it into a fertiliser factory.

亲爱的旅行伙伴 Haha, fooled you! You thought I’d had too much champagne already, didn’t you? That means Dear travelling buddy —and you’ll be pleased to know I’m still sober enough to type in English. It’s only been about twelve hours since I left home, and here I am sitting in the China Southern lounge at Guangzhou Baiyun Airport, comfortably parked for my epic seven-and-a-half-hour layover, feeling a little hot (30 degrees outside) but definitely not legless. Darling daughter Ange