Samedi, 8 May (Paris sketch)
Saturdays do not feel the same on vacation. Essentially, there has been a week of Saturdays already so a proper one is just in name only. And rain was falling. Staying in bed seemed a waste but going out isn't such a hot option either. So we went to church--even paid for entry no less. Sainte Chapelle is like a brightly colored kaleidoscope, shimmering and glittering. The stained glass windows were still more dazzling than the camera flashes going off (despite posted signs prohibiting flashes). A tour guide repeatedly shushed his group. I tried to follow the iconography of the windows, but didn't get very far. Across the Seine we stopped by a used (English) bookshop that was closed. Instead, we sat in a cafe on Sainte Germain to read and watch people walking in the rain. Some folks without umbrellas persevered and walk grandly on--others twitch like acid is hitting their skin. Pollution in Paris is high so perhaps it is acid. I had to hold the side of my umbrella to stop it from flapping in the wind. Back to Shakespeare and Co to find a copy of Anna Karenina for Brian to read, and then back to hotel to read. Why did we read so much on holiday? Honestly, its a rare pleasure to sit and read for a few hours. My usual reading amount is about fifteen minutes on the train or before bed. Dinner under an awning warmed with heat lamps. The waiter took away the empty plates and told us we had caused a holacaust on the food. He meant that in a good way.
Dimance, 9 May (Paris sketch)
The last day of holiday is sort of sad since there is an actual chance that you'll never return to the place. And obviously it's sad because it's the last day of holiday as well. Another grey rainy day. Exited the metro at Palais Royale--joggers have tracked a little course around the perimter of the park. Apparently the French do not stay slim by consuming only yogurt and water. Headed westerly towards the Opera. Realities crashed together when a large and very busy Starbucks was at one corner. At the beginning of the week I had been dreaming of a large cup of American coffee, but no, not like this. Lunch was a picnic in the Tuileries under the trees so the leaves were an umbrella. My father had asked for a sketch of Paris--nothing specific, just anything in the city. Brian and I sat by the Seine and I began to sketch the Musee d'Orsay facade. A nasty, cold wind whipped down the river and numbed our fingers. My father will have to settle for a mind sketch. Headed back easterly towards the Pompidou to find a cafe to sit and read. Later down to the Marais area for dinner--the streets were packed for a Sunday night. We chose a different restaurant than planned but its owned by the same fellow. By the time we sat down to eat the restaurants emptied. Brian noted that happy hour ends at 8 pm. My appetizer included some meat that I am not entirely certain what it was. Something to do with livers, but livers of what? Dessert du jour was a mango crumble. Tossed and turned and slept badly for fear of missing the alarm and the flight. Then, suddenly, Brian and I were sitting on our sofa in our apartment like we had never left at all.
