Paris is as Paris always is. Right now it’s cold but not raining, and walking about at night reminded me why I like it here.

The flight in from Lisbon on Tap was an experience. An uncomfortable one. Their planes are from approximately the 1930’s and don’t fit anyone larger than a 5’3” Portuguese. Nothing about the flight was particularly confidence-inspiring, from the shuddering noises that the wings were making at takeoff and landing (made even more nerve-wracking after seeing images of the downed US Airways plane in the Hudson yesterday) to the random clunking noises (coming from boggarts in the overhead bins) during flight. Thankfully, we – and our baggage – arrived in one piece.

The hotel is Parisian – my mother was mortified by the smallness of the room, but it’s pretty standard fare – and we’re in a nice part of the 7th, so all in all, everything seems good. Dinner was normal, a tasty little four-cheese pizza and a glass of wine. Tomorrow it’s off to the races, figuring out where important things (like houses and schools) are, and trying to coax my French our of hibernation.

Oh, and a side note: When preparing the octopus, you mustn’t forget to bang it on a rock as soon as you pull it out of the water for ten minutes or so. Then, according to who you talk to, you must either a) never, or b) always add a little bit of water to the pressure cooker after freezing it, in which you must also put a) nothing, b) potatoes and onion, c) wine, or d) some combination of the above, and cook it from five to twenty minutes, apparently depending on the mood of the octopus when it expired from the banging. After which, of course, you may cook it in oil and garlic.