No matter. That thrilling realization - I was in freaking Paris (!) - greeted me anew every morning as consistently as my alarm clock's beeps and never waned. I got up and followed the pattern of attempting to complete a light cardio workout in my cramped room (without bumping into a table, chair, or bed), checking the weather forecast, and making myself as presentable as possible without an operable heat-styling device, after which I ate breakfast with Joyce and Jim (my usual breakfast companions) and attended Malcolm's scattered but enthusiastic 9 a.m. lecture.
At 10 a.m. we were off by public bus to Saint-Germain-des-Pres with Malcolm as our guide for a walking tour by the Sorbonne, St. Genevieve Cathedral, St. Etienne du Mont (where Owen Wilson's character is picked up and transported back to the 1920s in Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, a popular photo spot for my tour mates) and inside the Pantheon and its eerie basement crypt containing the remains of famous French citizens such as Victor Hugo and Emile Zola.
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| The Sorbonne |
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| The Pantheon |
As we left the Pantheon, the rain stopped on cue and I joined Lisa, Nanette, Edna, Becky, Ron, Jim, and Malcolm for lunch at a nearby cafe, where I made a safe choice - Salade Italienne (mozzarella and tomato salad) and a cappuccino.
Then we all - minus Malcolm - trooped across the street to the phenomenal Luxembourg Gardens (Paris's Central Park), where the rain held off long enough for photos and a walk by the dazzling fountain.
We were on our own for the rest of the day. I didn't have any plans, and frankly I was afraid to wander off on my own (the memory of the airport incident still fresh in my mind) and unsure if I could find my way back to the hotel, so I happily followed Lisa, Nanette, and Edna to a bus stop and on to Le Bon Marche, Paris's grand department store (where even the lamps are works of art). I was struck there, not for the first time, by the graciousness of Paris's service industry personnel (unfairly and inaccurately maligned - in my opinion - as snobbish) when a lovely young woman described - in fluent English - her section's merchandise to a group of American tourists in response to a question about what looked like a fancy glass paperweight.
I was grateful for the company, but I enjoyed recharging alone in my room after we shared a taxi (in which my tour mates boisterously sang along with the driver's Otis Redding music...oy!) back to the hotel. I was lying on my bed, flipping through that day's photos when I was surprised by an "Are you OK?" message from one of my coworkers. Of course I'm OK, I thought. Why wouldn't I be? For a moment, I thought maybe I hadn't updated my Facebook page soon enough for her liking. And then I checked CNN and read about the attempted - and thankfully thwarted - terrorist attack on a police officer outside Notre Dame, exactly one day after my group had toured it. Wow.
I freshened up later and met Lisa, Nanette, Edna, Becky, Ron, and Jim at Les Barjots, the scene of our exceptional welcome dinner two nights earlier. My meal was very similar to what I'd previously ordered - poulet (chicken) with buttery vegetables in a mushroom sauce - minus the wine and dessert. And the company was equally enjoyable. We swapped stories about our most memorable concert experiences and travels and laughed a lot.
I returned to my room after and called my Mom to tell her about my adventures and assure her I was safe (despite inevitable terrorist efforts). Her first question - then and always - "When are you coming home?" (Ugh. Really, Mom?). Afterward I set my alarm for an early rising and attempted to wind down as I went to sleep dreaming of the next day's adventure: Versailles!
