When I arrived, I wanted to kiss the ground. Yet, I refrained. Possible hepatitis by way of the ground, even the French kind, is still hepatitis.
Anyway. Other places I wanted to kiss, but didn’t, because my rabid love of Paris didn’t mean I was crazy:
I wanted to kiss the triangle things at The Louvre, but I didn’t, for purely security reasons. See that old monsieur photobombing me, by the way? To my right? Mm hmm.
I wanted to kiss The Mona Lisa, but had already been shoved by an old lady who wanted to take a photo (I believe that’s her violent head) and was a bit concerned at being punched in the throat if I dare touched the painting with my lips.
I wanted to kiss Versailles, but it’s Versailles. How much kissing would it take? Years? That place was gigantic. And lovely. And beautiful. And luxurious. And lovely. I said that. I’ll end this now.
I wanted to kiss those Swiss mountains and that Swiss sky, but…isn’t it all incredible? Just beautiful.
I wanted to kiss those verdant hills and endless mountains (more mountains!) in Pontarlier, but, alas, that bar I’m standing next to kept me from physically doing this. Thank goodness.
One more. Goodness. Lush. So deserving of basisers sans fin (endless kisses).
I wanted to kiss the Eiffel Tower, but a random backpack left by the site that resulted in no one getting to come closer because of security issues meant I had to see it from afar on a riverboat tour. Nevertheless, awesome view, right? And this riverboat tour was on The Seine! Doesn’t get better than that…
I wanted to kiss the amazing friends who drove me around, took me on endless tours, fed me, laughed with me, and generally loved me up during one of the best trips of my life.
And I did.