Here is Hans holding the French version of an ice bucket.
Our poor little front desk girl had to go down to a lower level to get this for us. I'd forgotten from our trip to Germany last year that it would appear that Europeans don't like ice. If you are gauche enough to order a mixed drink your server will ask you if you want ice. If you are gauche enough to order a mixed drink be prepared to pay about 15 bucks. If you don't want to remortgage the house then learn to drink wine. Luckily I don't have a problem in that area.
This is the bathroom with the defective shower head. Believe me that flimsy little shower curtain did nothing to contain its spray but the hotel did get it fixed.
The day we left.
Oh and let's not forget the potty. The mirror was directly across from it.
Hhhmm, you gotta wonder.
I passed this window every day. I finally had Hans take a picture of me with it. This would be one easy dress to make.
Grabbing us a quick snack; a foot long hot dog baked into a baguette. I prayed we wouldn't get sick and we didn't.
This is in a little cafe on a side street. I had escargot (which I love) and the owner informed us with a sneer that the credit card machine had broken down.
Liar, liar, pants on fire!
I had to stay while Hans went out and got robbed by the exchange machine.
Our mode of transportation and apparently the object of that new Olympic sport: Fling yourself under the train.
And finally. My own little porta-bar. This made the train trip from Paris to Geneva. You can see my cranberry juice in front of me, orange juice stored in the convenient garbage can next to me, and vodka in my purse. Was that necessary?