After about 500 clicks of the shutter, I was told photos were not allowed. Oops.
Written by four men. Obviously.
Resident white cat, a Schindler piano, that stamp of Shakespearean approval; what more could you ask for at Hemingway's old stomping grounds?
Also, I purchased a book on Hemingway's thoughts on Paris. Spoiler alert: he hates the 'ipsters.