PARIS was the first city that we saw in Europe.
And it remained our first love till now. A wonderful feeling of an old aquaintance appeared when we were walking in the streets. Monmart, Yelisey fields, Luxemburg Garden, Triumph Arch, those were names familiar to us from the age when we were reading Hemingway and Remark. More surprising was the fact that we saw all that with our own eyes. Nice bistros in the streets of Paris in autumn, the tastiest fresh croissons and coffe in the mornig and bagettes and cheese and fruits in the day, those were our meals, similar to poor artists from the books by Hemingway and Miller.
In Monmart we spoke with an artist, born in Russia. He told almost unreal stories of having been persecuted by KGB.
Dorset museum – our beloved Monet, Renoire, Gogain, magnificent Van Gogue. The photo, made from the second floor of the museum, the view of the Seine embankment through the huge clock of the museum, which as well, as the most of our photoes, remained only in our dreams, because three films of five were forgotten in the airplane on the way home.
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