French keyboards have the keys in the wrong place, which makes writing this a bit more difficult, but I will manage. Bonjour my reader. I am in another one of those towns that considers itself the center of the world, but is a load cheaper than London.

The thing about Paris is that my friends have very strong feelings about this place. Either they despise it or they adore it. Inevitably, there is a tragic or romantic story attached to these feelings; either being harassed by the police or kissing on the arc de triumpe. As such, I had approached my second visit to this city with trepidation, lest I swap away my love of this city.

Luck is on my side on this visit. Christy pulled out of her hat of tricks her very own godfather. He and his wife live here and have been happy to play host. This has translated into a great place for us to stay, and great company. Happily, my rusty french has gotten us by, at least long enough to start up a conversation in English.

The food is great, as advertised. No Louvre on this trip, but the Pompidou instead. It is worth the trip. I am in Montmarte now, which seems like a nice place so far. Most of the time I have been here, searching for wandering letters on this damn keyboard.

Tomorrow, it is back home to America. Merry Christmas!