Yet another live Paris report
 

Naturally, it was dark and raining hard when I took out the trash just before departing for the train to Paris, and so naturally I stepped hard into a 5-inch deep puddle, drenching my Birkenstock clogs and socks that I was going to wear for the next 24 hours. Immediately, my mind switched into “worst-case” thinking – so, ok, it happened. My feet are wet. The worst that can happen? My feet will be wet for five or six hours. It’s not a disaster.

At the Garmisch train station, I used the instant photomat machine to get photos to use for the Paris Navigo pass that I’ll buy on Monday. The train came, and the heater in my compartment was on high. I slipped off the Birkies and dried my soggy socks over the heating grate. By the time we were in München, everything was bone-dry.

I took a private sleeping cabin in the CityNightLine from München to Paris, departing at 22.50. The compartments are small, but there is room to store suitcases and to stand up and turn around in the small space between the bunks and the bathroom cabinet. So, plenty big enough. The mattress is thin, though, and my bony hips would hurt after an hour or two in the same position, making me switch sides often. I got undressed, turned off the lights, and opened the window shade so I could watch the dark countryside and bright city lights glide by. I just love travelling like this.

After about an hour, I closed the shade and tried to sleep. After another hour, I was sorry I hadn’t brought earplugs to cut out the noise of the lumbering train, which was keeping me awake. Which was surprising, considering that I have no problem slumbering through the train’s lumbering, bright sunshine, children squabbling, and people talking on cell phones whenever I take a train in the middle of the day. Ah well, the vagaries of travel.

Morning brought a very nice breakfast of two rolls, butter, jams, cream cheese, applesauce, orange juice, and tea. Yum. I ate every bite. The train was an hour late, though, so I lay back on the cot and watched the rolling plains of France slip by the window with the duvet pulled over my legs. I thought about Vercingetorex, his tribes of Celts, and the druids that roamed these plains two thousand years ago. I wondered how things would be different if the Celtic civilization hadn’t been so brutally interrupted and overlaid with the Roman one. What would the houses and clustered villages look like?

Today, the farmhouses and villages are all tan and gray, some with green and red vines, as if they had grown right out of the earth and rock itself, just outcroppings with roofs. How different from what I’ve grown used to in Bavaria, with buildings of stark-white stucco and sharply contrasting dark green or brown shutters. France’s muted earth tones seem more unassuming and random somehow, compared to the brisk and joyous order we Bavarians bring to our houses and yards (and, yes, I am being super, SUPER generous including myself in the Bavarian “we” after only five years there).

As we near Paris, I’m trying to get internet on my phone. I’m just geeky enough to enjoy watching the little dot move through the countryside on google maps when I’m on a train. I had ordered a Lebara sim, had loaded it, had bought 250mb of internet usage, and had gotten a confirmation message. However, the phone was as useful as a brick. That’s going to be priority #2 today; I get lost in an acre of ground, even ground I know well, and I have built my plans around using google maps.

Leaving the Gare de L’Est, at last, I caught Metro line 7 to go to the apartment agency on Ile St.-Louis. While Gare de L’Est has wonderful escalators, the metro line does not. I have an “I-don’t-pack-light” suitcase, and down about 2000 steps to get to the metro wasn’t too bad. Crowding into the metro car with my “I-don’t-pack-light-suitcase” wasn’t bad at all. Going up 2000 steps with the “could-it-be-any-heavier-suitcase” to get to the street level was killer. Walking the streets with my “I-don’t-pack-light-enough-suitcase” wasn’t too bad. At the agency office, I learned that the apartment would be ready in just about 30 minutes, so I decided, since I really couldn’t move my arms anyway, to just sit on the couch and wait. And play with the phone and see if banging it a bit would me some internet. It didn’t.

A nice lady from the agency walked me to my apartment and its dramatic, curved, worn, two-story staircase. It took me no more than an hour to haul my “I’m-gonna-take-a-taxi-next-time-suitcase” up the stairs, and she showed me how everything worked in the apartment. By this time I was hungry, so I braved the rain and cold, risked getting lost forever on the Island, and ate at the Flore en l’Ile. I had tartar, which was oddly sweet. Yuk. Great wine though. Then I wandered around the streets of the island, noted some stores to return to, and went grocery shopping. Then back to the apartment to talk to Lebara, to do some work (I am currently teaching two classes online), to unpack, and to enjoy the views from my windows.

The Lebara folks are angels, by the way. They fixed me right up even though I had to call twice because I didn’t write down the necessary pin the first time. Angels.

Great start and good job overcoming adversity! Dumb question from someone with a throw away phone: is Lebara sim for smart phones only?

More, please.

This is going to be a GREAT trip report! I'm enjoying your style of writing. I'll be early waiting each installment!

Yikes..... that should be eagerly not "early"!

Intriguing so far. I will follow with interest.

<i>I had tartar, which was oddly sweet</i>

Might it have been horse meat, which is said to be sweeter than beef?

Horse meat is almost impossible to find.

Excellent writing, but Ile Saint Louis? What an awful mistake for a real Parisian experience (assuming that you might have wanted one)!

Great start, swandav. This is going to be fun! Love your sense of humor.

I'm enjoying this so far. Please don't stop!

Following. Can't wait for the next installment!

Love your style, Swandav. I agree with kerouac. Having visited just last month, Ile Saint Louis was my least favorite place, but the architecture is lovely and upscale.

I truly understand the "couldn't be heavier" suitcase, and (in my case) additional bags up and down flights of train station stairs. Looking forward to more.

You missed the snow chaos in GaP! Lucky you - or not! LOL

Well, if you had invited me to tag along I would gladly have hauled your “could-it-be-any-heavier-suitcase” up the 2000+ stairs ;-)

Fun report--looking forward to more.

OK, so I'm a tourist and happen to love staying on Ile St. Louis. What apt. are you staying in? We always enjoy the view from a window table at Le Flore en I'lle. The food---sometimes really good, sometimes just so-so. Usually can rely on the roast chicken(it's hard to ruin a roast chicken) and the fish with dill sauce. Onion soup always a winner.

Thank you so much, everyone, for your kind words. I truly appreciate them after spending a few hours wrestling with students who don’t quite see my brilliance. Eh?

Yes, why Ile St. Louis? Well, living in Garmisch, I’ve grown used to awesome landscape views – the view from my living room is the wide-open expanse that ends with the Alpspitze rising at the edge of town. The last time I was in Paris (2009), it felt like the people in the buildings on the other side of the street were right in my living room, they were so close. I felt claustrophobic and stressed; I realized I need to have some wide expanse of air or lots of nothing outside the window to make me feel relaxed. So, I thought that views over the Seine would do the trick. They do, and it is!

Do I want a Parisian experience? I want a big-city experience, that’s for sure; I want a good contrast to my little life in my little town. I definitely want a French experience; München just doesn’t do it for me anymore, and I want something with more . . . je ne sais quoi. Parisian? I lived in Paris for a year when I was in college in 1975-76. I guess I did all the things Parisians do – went to class, shopped, visited friends, sipped a single glass of wine in a café for an entire afternoon. But I lived in a maid’s room in the 16th, with the toilet and shower down the hall. Well, I don’t want that experience again! But if y’all have recommendations for apartments with wide-open and expansive views in other areas of Paris, I would love to have them! (Just a word of caution – I don’t much care for the crowds and the noise of the Latin Quarter, so I won’t consider an apartment there.) I do know of one apartment in the 7th with good views that is on my short list for a return visit.

For TDudette – Lebara sim is for any phone that’s unlocked. I had to add the internet package for my smart phone.

For TYPAYT, I'm staying at the Mimosa by Guest Apartment Services. It's lovely here . . .

Ingo – Yes, I heard about the snow! I saw the photos some friends posted, and I was sorry I missed it. I know that we’ve gotten our first snow of the season in October every year for the past five years, so I wasn’t surprised. Oh, hey, NOW you tell me you would have carted my case; I would’ve invited you if only I’d known. But. This is a studio apartment, and I’m sharing it with my cousin, who arrives in a few days. How much do you wannnnna share???

So, back to the heart of the matter.

Even after living in Paris for a year and visiting numerous times, I never cared much about the history or context of all the beauty I was enjoying. I determined that this time, I would actually learn about what I was seeing. I asked a question here at Fodors a while ago about the best way to read, learn, and walk without walking into lampposts or being an obvious target for pickpockets, but I didn’t get any really wonderful ideas. There are guidebooks – but the historical information is on one page and the maps are pages and pages away, and the reader is flipping around using two hands. There are apps and online tours and Kindle books, but my middle-aged eyes don’t always see the screen clearly, particularly if it’s a sunny day; I end up juggling my sunglasses and my reading glasses while trying to find a spot of shade to read in. Plus, again, the maps are many clicks away from the historical texts.

So, I came up with my own system – maybe one or two of you will also find it useful. First, I scoured what I considered the best guidebooks to find the kind of information I wanted – Michelin’s Green Guide, Eyewitness, and Fodors among them. I decided that I liked Michelin’s the best, so I copied all the walks I was interested in. I cut out the text and glued it onto a 6 x 7 inch sheet of poster board. From google maps, I downloaded detailed maps of the area, printed them, and added walking arrows and notes for restaurants. Then I glued the map to the back of the text and laminated each sheet. At the end, I have a tablet-sized sheet of easy-to-read text with the map conveniently on the flip side; each walk takes about two of these sheets.

It worked splendidly. It was infinitely easy to hold and read a single sheet of laminated paper with one hand. Flipping over to look at the map frequently (remember, I am map-challenged) was so simple I could do it . . . . did do it . . . a hundred times. I walked past lots of folks using two hands to hold open and read a guidebook, and I knew I had a better solution. Here’s hoping publishers get onto this quickly. I packed my purse with four laminated sheets for two walks I thought I’d want to do today (they took up about 2cm).

I love ancient history. I told a colleague this once, and he replied with, “Oh, the Civil War?” Hmmm. No. Ancienter. I am fascinated by Celtic and Germanic tribes, the Roman Empire, and development up until about 1200 AD. I’ve been to the Archeological Museum (Parvis de Notre Dame) and want to do it again, and I’ve been to Cluny and want to do it again; but my friend, who also wants to see those places, asked me to see them with her when she gets here in a few days. So, today will be tribal and medieval Paris without those two important museums. I started the day with Rick Steves’ audio tour on “Historic Paris” and thought it worthwhile; it was easy for me to imagine the Parisii, the Roman Temple of Jupiter, and the 6th Century church that followed. I could see myself in medieval Paris, among the peasants, laboring to produce the church. I didn’t go inside Notre Dame or St. Chapelle because I’d done them before (St. Chapelle with a guide). I felt like I was in another world with earphones cancelling out the modern cacophony and sealing me into that medieval world. I could almost smell the sewer along Rue St. Severin. It was mostly easy to follow the directions and to focus on the lessons. Steves’ tour ends at Pont Neuf, and that’s where the Michelin tour of Ile de la Cite begins, so I went right into that, followed by Ile St. Louis. I took a long break in between at the Bistro Marguerite and enjoyed a big chicken leg with wonderful mushrooms and mashed potatoes. I so enjoyed watching Parisian life flowing by the café in front of me. I have spent the past five years insisting on bucolic country views from my chosen restaurants, so the vitality of the scene in front of me was joyously different. I fell in love with a caramel-colored coat worn by a pretty, animated woman in front of Hotel de Ville; the coat wasn’t sloppy, but it was soft, sensuous, and relaxed. I thought again how much style one can pick up in Paris just by . . . . being here.

There wasn’t anything really remarkable about the men’s urinal exposed in a small alcove in the toilet area of the Marguerite; after 20 years in the Army it takes more than the back of a man with knees bent over a urinal to embarrass me. But there was something remarkable about the man speaking volubly . . . to the wall? . . . . to his penis? The other waiting Dame and I exchanged arched eyebrows.

Now time to work on my classes, and if possible, pop out again later to buy a scarf at Diwali . . . . (money is flying out of my purse . . . )

I see that you went with Guest Apartment---good choice. We had excellent service from them and stayed in HIBISCUS apt.
Hands down our favorite out of 4 different apts. we've stayed in on Ile St. Louis.

Bookmarking to enjoy a trip to Paris vicariously...

Most of those people talking to themselves are actually talking on the their mobile phone.

I always enjoy sitting in Bistrot Marguerite -- one of the calmest cafés in one of the busiest parts of Paris.

Thanks for the phone info, swandav2000. Since many men give their p*nis a name, it's possible he was talking to it. It does run the life of many men I've heard.

Enjoying your TR very much.

Wow, Swandav. What a great solution you came up with for "guide" with map. I was one of those fumbling people (in the rain) with a map. And I gave up on the guidebooks. I will definitely try this next trip.

I can understand your reason for booking this location. A view over the Seine sounds wonderful!

Looking forward to more...

I loved your description of the train travel and the difference in types of villages. Lovely report so far. Thank you!

This is really fun reading...waiting for the next installment.

I love, love, love your system with maps and guides on the sheets of poster board. What a clever, but simple solution. I've tried taking screen shots of maps and guide pages on my iPad but I'm stuck with carrying my "heavy" and expensive device with the difficulties of reading it in the sun.

I love your writing and traveling style and look forward to more entries. Did the army take you to Garmisch? We've always wanted to stay at Edelweiss. (hubby is a retired Marine) What a beautiful area that is.

Great report so far and am sure it will continue to be.

p.s.

I like the Ile

^^<i>"I end up juggling my sunglasses and my reading glasses while trying to find a spot of shade to read in."</i>

Me too, until I invested in bifocal sunglasses. Great for reading outdoor menus too.
I'm enjoying reading your live report so thank you.

Love your writing style and your map/guide idea. Looking forward to hearing more.

Most of those people talking to themselves are actually talking on the their mobile phone.>>

yes, but in the urinal? how does that work? does there not come a point when both hands are required?

yes, more please!

"kit mains libres"

thank you for increasing my french vocabulary, kerouac.

so that's why men [and it nearly always IS men, IME] walk round with those ear pieces - it's so they can talk and pee simultaneously.

It is called multitasking :-)

i thought that was something men couldn't do, Pv. At least that's what DH is always trying to persuade me, when i ask him to do one thing, followed by something else!

S, my friend! I am so glad to read this. It sounds like you are doing wonderfully. I'm enjoying!!!!

I've been following along and enjoying your report immensely. We have stayed on Ile St Louis with windows from a top floor overlooking the Seine and over several trips to Paris it was my favourite spot.

I hate to throw cold water on your cunning map/walk info plan but it has been done commercially already. "City Walks Paris 50 Adventures on Foot" is a boxed set of cards 3 3/4" by 5 1/2" with a map on one side and text on the other. The publisher's site is http://www.chroniclebooks.com One can take along the walks of interest and leave the others at home.

That said, I still like your homegrown approach as I too really like the Micheline Green Guide walks. In fact, since I have 3 Green Guides for Paris I think I'll try your method and cut a couple up. I like the Paris Walks cards but your method allows more customization. ;^)

Thanks, ParisAmsterdam! I just looked up the boxed set and bookmarked it. I too like the homegrown custom approach. Maybe a mix of both?

I brought a book called Paris Walks that had been highly recommended, and ended up not using it while there. Just too inconvenient to carry around (and pull out). The map I used most often (that I found invaluable) was Streetwise Paris. All streets are listed and the whole thing is laminated, folded, and waterproof. It was easy to see the area in which I was standing (by partially unfolding) without unfolding the entire map.

I am glad that I am able to walk around Paris mapless, but then again I have all the time in the world to do it. :-)

I'm right with you in Paris...thanks for taking me along.

remember-all who wander are not lost-
sometimes you just gotta ditch the maps

Never stayed on ISL but love to roam around there and we will be close on this visit coming up. Stay where you want and no need to explain...it's your trip!

I agree about the joy of walking around a city without a map, but it requires a degree of familiarity, and time, to be able to do so.

What a great start - looking forward to more, swandav!

Bookmarking. Next trip. Sounds grand.

Hi G’hopper!! Yes, I’m having fun!

Thanks for the tip, ParisAmsterdam, but I already bought that little kit. (And actually that’s what gave me the idea and the template to make my own!) I found the text to be inadequate, though. There is almost no historical data (maybe some “Hemingway ate here” notes that don’t interest me much) and too much focus on where to shop and where to eat.

Yes, I realize that maps are not always the best traveler’s best choice. Believe me, I’ve spent a portion of my adult life lost in Paris. But remember that these maps were to guide me on specific learning walks; these were not supposed to help me navigate while exploring the city.

kerouak, no he had no phone. He crossed in front of me to wash his hands, and though he was wearing clean clothes (puffy orange coat, dark pants, and clean white sneakers!), he had that energized, confused face of the manic and the dirty and tousled hair of the homeless. I wasn’t watching his every move, but I didn’t see a phone in his hands or him putting a phone into his trousers pocket. He had no earpiece. He was civil enough to wash his hands, however, and to nod agreeably to me as he walked to the sink.

The story --

My cousin arrives this evening, and she’ll stay with me in this small (advertised as “large”) studio. When I originally reserved the studio, I didn’t realize that we would be sharing. We had coordinated our dates for a mutual visit; when I sent her a link to show her “my” apartment, she asked how much her share was. Well. Uh.

I live alone. I’ve lived alone for most of my life, and it pretty much defines me. I’m like a cat; sharing territory doesn’t even enter my consciousness. But my cousin is an incredibly wonderful woman, a great smiling face with a large family and boisterous life, and I know any effort will be well worthwhile. As will her share of the rent.

Since I live alone, I also travel alone. I’ve never really understood those threads asking the whys and hows of single travel. Well, I do understand them, I mean I understand that travelling alone is new and unknown to a lot of people, but it’s impossible for me to get into those heads. I cannot imagine having to share my travel day, my planned adventures, my long hours of observing and musing, with another soul with its own agenda (yeah, how self-centered am I? I admit it). It took a few days for me to adjust my thinking and to mentally put away about half of the laminated cards I had made up, and I’m eager to share the adventures and Parisian air with my delightful cousin. But, basically, this is my last free day.

Today is probably not interesting to any one of you. Today I relive my 1974 self. I lived in the 16th and attended classes in the 7th, and I daily walked between the two, even though I always had the Carte Orange. It was just interesting and fun; some of the things I saw and little vignettes are still with me as little postcards of my definitive “Paris.” Anyway, today I’m doing that walk again. However, I used to vary my route quite a bit, so I’ll probably spend the day meandering down one street, then meandering back on another street, then meandering forward again another way. I’ll be looking for ghosts and memories. Oh, and yes, I have my laminated card with map.

My walk into the past begins at Mo. St. Francois Xavier, and my handy dandy RATP app had told me yesterday that bus #87 goes directly there; I prefer busses to metro, so I was a happy camper. Until I was standing at the bus stop for #87 and saw that the schedule for bus #87 for Sunday had no times listed but instead red words to the effect that, no, there is no bus today. Hmm. I walked onward to the next stop in the dim hope that the bus just skipped minor stops on Sunday, but no, the next stop had the same irritating red-worded Sunday schedule. Zut alors. My stomach was acting up, which was no surprise; in fact, I was surprised it had given me two beautiful days in Paris with no problems. My stomach is my own personal spoiled child who resists any kind of change – climate, geography, or routine – and acts out. I was just a few blocks from the apartment, so I went back for a few minutes, then headed for a pleasant walk to Mo. St. Paul.

Well, so, time had not stood still in Paris. I wandered around Ave. Dusquene, les Invalides, Pl. Vauban, and Ave. de Segur. Only Ave. de Segur looked vaguely familiar, but the address where I thought I had attended classes was now a modern apartment building. No one would tear down a stately architectural beauty to put up a modern building, would they? Hmmmm, next time, don’t trust the 40-year-old memories. I lingered up and down the avenue but didn’t get any old vibes from any of the facades. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the wide avenues lined by rows of glorious, leafy trees and the splendid Haussmann mansions behind. This was where I spent my year in Paris, and this was quintessential Paris to me. When I was a starving student in Paris, I used to walk the streets and wonder what kind of lives were going on inside that splendor, what kind of glimpses I might catch from the windows. I still do. I enjoyed seeing a regular young woman with dark hair barge out a door with a tiny dog, carry him to a strip of grass, and wait impatiently hugging herself in the cold while he decided where to do his business. I imagined her apartment in the building behind us, three rooms, maybe, with the little dog scampering across the worn wooded floor. How small is her kitchen? Or has she remodeled it and made it large and “American”? (You see that occasionally on German real-estate shows – “And here we have an open ‘American’ kitchen . . .”). I saw a young, fit man leave another door dressed in an outlandish running costume, all fiery red with short shorts on this cold day, holding a water bottle. He trotted off towards the river.

And then I realized that there was another running man. And another. Ok, there is some kind of organized running event. I followed the flow to the river where there was a torrent of runners all wearing the garish red top and numbered vests. What a fun an unexpected treat! I watched them and soaked up all that runnerly energy, then meandered away and walked down Ave de la Bournonnais, the area where I may be renting apartments in the future. Since I was so close and since it was noon already, I headed for Café Constant to check it out.

I opted to eat upstairs, in a small room that could easily fit about 12 tables and where there were 18. Yes, I counted them. That geeky. The tables are about 1 ½ feet square and seat two people crowdedly. There were only three single diners in the room, so the room was very . . . neighborly.

As an aside, one of the things that I miss in France is the way Germanic diners always acknowledge each other in a dining room when sitting down and when leaving. Nothing fancy, just a quiet nod or “Grüss Gott” to the folks at the table next to your own. I’ve seen and done this everywhere, from Garmisch to München to Zug, and I think it brings a camaraderie to the dining experience. Anyway.

I had foie gras, naturally, don’t know why I waited so long to get it, and pork cutlets. They were good, but not fantastic. Then I had a chocolate tart that wasn’t just a chocolate tart. It was a spoon-some-vanilla-ice-cream-then-some-chocolate-tarte-then-swirl-the-spoon-in-the-caramel-sauce tart. It was heavenly. As were the wait staff. They weren’t dashingly handsome or anything, but they treat you as if you are their favorite Aunt Molly, even if you are butchering their language. Just a relaxing and fun place to be.

My stomach truly rebelled at the food I ladled into it heavily. I wasn’t ready to give in yet, so I continued on my walk of nostalgia to the Eifel Tower and was astonished. The crowds. There were elevendy-hundred tour busses lining both sides of all the streets adjacent to the Tower. In October!!! Geeez what must this place be like in August??? In addition, there were new waist-high green-wire fences to keep the herds off the grass, with little maze-like aisles where we were allowed to walk. I remember walking with wild abandon through the grasses and under the Tower every day of my Parisian youth, so this shocked me. Then there were the tall grey wire fences that kept folks from crossing the street except at one single spot. With the fences herding people and with the crowding, it felt more like a theme park than it did like the Paris of my memory. It was depressing. I decided that enough was enough, gave in to my stomach, and went back to the apartment to rest and work until time to pick up Cousin S at the airport.

To go to CDG, I used the RER from the St Michel/Notre Dame station, which was empty of attendant. I walked over to the ticket machine but it was out of order. There were a handful of folks jumping the gates; I wasn’t ready to do that, so I used a regular metro ticket to get in, then rode uneventfully to CDG. I expected at any moment to see the metro police and to be challenged, but one never appeared. Leaving the station at the airport, I saw we had to use the ticket to exit. Uh oh. I flagged down a policeman (actually I flagged down one, and three came over) and explained that I hadn’t been able to buy a ticket at St Michel/Notre Dame, and that I now couldn’t exit the station because my ticket wasn’t good. They asked if I wanted to leave the station, and I replied that, yes, I wanted to pay the correct fare and leave the station. One of the guys waved his wrist over the gate, it opened, and we all walked through. I assumed they would march me stiffly to the office, but they just wandered away, with me muttering behind them, “But . . . but . . . where do I pay?”

It’s a funny thing. Army officers have the power to send people to jail for minor infractions, and when you have the power to send people to jail for minor infractions, you get a bit concerned about, well, not infracting, yourself. Well, at least I gave three nice police folks a decent story for their night’s work.

The next day --

Today is my first full day with Cousin S. Her daughter is getting married, and her primary objective here in Paris is to get the Mother-of-the-Bride dress. So, we headed off to Rue d’Alesia in the 14th to check out the discount stores and hoping to find a bargain. I found it unnatural to move through the city like this. Like two people. I am used to moving through a crowd on my own, picking out a trail through the gaps in the crowd and sliding around quickly, sorta like picking a line down a slope when skiing. That doesn’t work so well with two people. The gaps were too small for two people to pass abreast , and our two paces were rarely in sync. In addition, Cousin S has this bizarre habit of wanting to chat while walking, which, to me, totally interferes with the job at hand, which is to get to our objective. Oh, sigh.

When we did get to the right block of Rue d’Alesia, we spent a few hours walking down one side of the street and up the other side, popping into some stores and looking for a dress with the right look and the right feel. Naturally, we didn’t find it so quickly and easily. Also, about half of the stores are closed on Monday. Rats.

For lunch, I used the Trip Advisor app to find a restaurant. It showed a variety of restaurants near us, with the star rating for each one popping up when I touched the dot. The app will then point you to your chosen restaurant. It was a good little app that led us to a very comfortable little Brasserie that specialized in fish. I don’t much care for fish, so I ordered a steak with Béarnaise sauce, which I’d been craving, but the steak was tough and the Béarnaise tasted like fish.

Cousin S and I then took the metro to St Michel to walk through a corner of the Latin Quarter, by the side of Notre Dame, and to the Deportation Museum. Cousin S is Jewish, but not practicing, as far as I know. The museum was closed (Monday . . .), but it brought up some stories of how and why her grandparents had left Germany in 1933.

My old Friend C was due to arrive today from D.C. Friend C has just retired from the US Army and is currently between careers, so naturally, Paris seemed the right place for a career hiatus. I gave her the address of the apartment where she could find me and Cousin S. It felt like a scene from a movie: me looking down from the apartment window to the sidewalk and the Seine and seeing Friend C, whom I haven’t seen in about 15 years, and yelling greetings at each other while tourists wondered what rich Americans had an apartment on the Ile. HA! We chatted in the apartment for a few minutes, then walked to a creperie on the other side of the island and had crepes. BTW, Friend C walks just the same way I do through crowded sidewalks. Not sure why . . .