Sundays with Copain

Routine. Usually I crave it, it keeps me sane; too much free time and I'm like whooooaaaaa there doggie. No bueno.  But then again, too much routine and you fall into a rut. A boring, old rut. You sit on the left side of the couch, I sit on the right. You like the bigger-sized fork, I like the smaller one. You  get up first in the morning, I get up second. On Sundays we go to the marché, clean the house, and go for a walk. Rut. 

What are we...60? 

So this morning, after Copain got up first and I got up second, after he drank his OJ on the left side of the couch and I drank my coffee on the right, after he used the bigger fork for his lunch and I used the smaller one, after we went to the marché and cleaned the house, instead of taking our usual Sunday walk to the Marais, seeing the same old streets, the same old people, we hiked up to Belleville, took streets we'd never taken, saw people we'd never seen, and had the most amazing afternoon...

We found rue Denoyez, covered in art...

and shells...

and hanging red shoes...

and mosaic flower pots...

and gold camo trash cans...

Finally up at the Parc de Belleville, we took in the views...

enjoyed the décor...

reveled in the jardin partagé (shared garden)...

walked up flower-lined trails, down steep, covered stairs...

and along shaded pathways...

Until we were outside the park, taking in some more genius street art...

We passed through Chinatown and family picnics, cobble-stoned streets and hidden cafés, until finally, once inside the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, just a few minutes' walk from the Parc de Belleville, we were in hipster-ville, drinking rosé and eating fig-filled chèvre at Rosa Bonheur. 

Tellement bon.

Sometimes the best moments are found just a little off course, to the left instead of right, up the other side of the mountain...far from the ol' routine.