Paris! Seems like everyone is going to Paris! Cinnamon! Portia (upcoming)… and I wanted to go to Paris, too!
So I did.
Paris KY, that is. Secretariat’s resting place (one of the few racehorses to be buried intact). Some of the most beautiful, elegant horse farms in the Universe! Multimillion dollar stables that make you gasp in awe!
And the Eiffel Tower.
My sister lives near there so she was kind enough to haul my sorry self through some incredibly gorgeous horse country… of course.. I had to take my ‘we’ve got to get back to Paris while we still have teeth‘ keychain that I transfer from bag to bag. That line is courtesy of Miss March (as are so many fabulous quips and bon mots) and since it looks as if I won’t be boarding a plane anytime soon to the City of Light (Blame Pierre Herme – looks like he’s no longer making his chocolate sables… so what’s the point? plus I want to buy a Generac whole house generator – this area loses power like it’s getting paid to do so!) it seemed fitting that I would board a train to KY to the town in KY. The town itself is charming – but it lacks the Parisian flair, relying instead on a WHOLE LOTTA saddlery, tack and other horsey stuff. Tshirts (!) abound with horse themes. Alas, KY is not known for its drafts so it’s hard for me to get too involved… but I could move into any of those stables (which are nicer than any house I’ve ever lived in – heck! they’re nicer than most houses in KY, if not the entire USA!!!
OMG!
I wish I could tell you that I had Really Interesting Food – but it’s in the middle of KY! so there’s lots of (really good) barbeque, a squickton of carbs and sugar, really SCHWEET chocolate and … well, there ya go! I did eat a pound of broccoli at one restaurant – just steamed broccoli with a squeeze of lemon. That plate, alone with my face, garnered some LOOKS! Broccoli with a squeeze of lemon? No bourbon/maple sauce? NO MASHED POTATOES?
Yeah… The Looks!
But at least I got to Paris!
Perfume-wise, I only wore No5 body cream because horses, especially really high-strung racehorses, tend not to like perfume. And I didn’t feel like getting nipped. Or whacked in the head. Or any of the other things high-strung equines do when they’re irritated. Give me a ginormous, stoic Percheron any day (though they are considered the showgirls/glamourguys of the Draft Horse World, so …. maybe a bit of diva behavior is in order) – most of the time the worst they do is pull my hair!
So. That’s my trip to Paris. I’m still Blaming Pierre Herme. And Generac. But this one was a fun visit!