'We head back to the hotel for a baguette, croissant and quite good brewed coffee.The old gentleman behind the counter is energetic and fun. Ponytailed silver hair and large white moustache. Dressed in crisp white shirt and smart fitted jeans, he smokes cigars, coughs his heart out each morning and loves my moustache.
I ask him if he is an artist and did he paint the mural in the stairwell leading up to our room? No, he had been a French airforce pilot who now loves to dabble in paint and words, "but I'm not professional"
Breakfast over, we strike out for Boulevard St. Germein, on the famous Left Bank.
Tree lined and ritzy, tall elegant French architecture, with rows of cutting edge design shopfront windows.
On a busy corner in Montparnasse,
we indulge in two caffe cremes and watch the world go by.
Parisians have laced the fencing of the bridge leading to Notre Dame with thousands of padlocks, each one inscribed with the names of the two lovers, locked together for eternity.
Each day from our cafe on Rue Richer, we sit and watch.