After a visit to the British Library on Sunday (which apparently I forgot to write about…), things figuratively went south when I came down with a mild stomach bug that Amy may have brought from her nephew in New York. I laid low and worked from home and tried to recover as quickly as possible so that we could literally go south… to Paris!

We took an early Eurostar, got to Paris around noon, and found our way to our flat on the third floor of a grand old building in the Montorgueuil neighbourhood.

My appetite was finally back, and after dropping our bags it was only a matter of minutes before we were seated in a charming and completely packed Italian cafe. The bowls of pasta were large and delicious and served with that je ne sais quoi of French customer service that makes meals last twice as long as they should. 🙂

From there it was back to work for me while Amy went out sightseeing. I worked diligently until around 7pm when Amy got back. She started recounting her adventures when we started getting texts and emails from IcelandAir—

And lo, our flights to Iceland were no more. Apparently storm Dennis (aka “the Menace”) is about to sock Reykjavík with a massive winter storm this weekend, meaning that all flights from Friday through Sunday are canceled.

We paused for a moment to consider that a trip to Iceland in the middle of winter may not have been the best idea we’ve ever had. We hopped on IM with customer service to see what options there were, and simultaneously started Googling last minute flights to Barcelona, Madrid…

Very unexpectedly, the IcelandAir folks offered to put us on the last flight out of Paris tomorrow night. We would get in late, true, but would gain a half day in Reykjavik and an opportunity for a front row seat at a massive winter storm. Sounded good to us! (Or at least to me, I’m pretty sure Amy still has visions of tapas in Barcelona.)

With our weekend once again sorted, we needed food—and what could be better than some pittas filled with tender lamb and a grilled head of cauliflower chez Miznon in the Marais?

The answer of course is that nothing is better than that, and we came away happy and full and ready for a good postprandial stroll along the Seine. It was my first time seeing Notre Dame since the fire, and it’s amazing how fragile she looked. Like a building on life support.

From there back to flat and bed and, um, some very loud Enrico Morricone playing somewhere out in the street below…