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It is impossible to spend 10 days in Paris traipsing through museums and not have some of the Impressionist works rub off on you.  Or as Kaiman Wong says, "Bokeh."

Time to pack.


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Well, on our tenth day in Paris, Evelyn was difficult to roust from bed, but I eventually got her out the door.  We climbed Notre Dame.  Despite telling her that I did not need another photograph with her in it, she insisted on posing.



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The priority of the restaurant we ate this evening gave us a table that seats five.  I asked why.  She  told me the restaurant would be empty tonight:  Parisians don't like it when it is wet and cold.  It had just started to drizzle, and when the sun goes down, the temperature really drops.  Fortunately, a number of diners came in while we were eating, but the place was not packed.  As we headed back to the Marais, the streets were noticeably empty unlike every other


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Landscapes have been difficult this week--grey skies and limestone buildings do not make for great photographs.  Unlike summertime, there is about 10 minutes to play with the dusk sky.  It had just started to rain when this photograph was made.  A straight-up shot of the Seine, with the banks of the Île Saint-Louis visible.  We were standing on the Pont Lois-Philippe.


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The mourners keep coming to Jim Morrison's gravesite in Père Lachaise Cemetery located in Paris's 20th arrondissement.  Many were not alive when Morrison died while sitting in a Paris bathtub in his apartment located at 17–19 rue Beautreillis in the 4th arrondissement.  No autopsy was performed, but it most likely was as a result of snorting heroin that Morrison thought was cocaine.  


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Today I concentrated my efforts in one quarter of the cemetery for 3.5 hours.  Never made it to Oscar Wilde's or Edith Piaf's monuments.  Nor was able to help a nice lady find Chopin's grave.  I did run into Collette.  I also ran into one of the victims of the terrorist attack last year November at the Bataclan.


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As my jazz photographers know all too well,  good night often depends on where you position yourself.  I faced that conondrum tonight at Duc de Lombards, a jazz club located in what was once was Paris' Les Halles.