Paris, Oscar Wilde's grave, Paris.
It was so cold by the time we left. The day we walked to see Oscar Wilde the wind was so bitter I almost died.
(but then we flew out to balmy New Zealand. Later that day? I think so. Only after Jacob was pick pocketed on the train to the airport though. Lucky we were on our way out and had no cash left.)
Surely this is the end of the Europe photos? But I have two films on my desk still. Who knows whats on them.