I got dressed and ate breakfast with Jim, Joyce, and Lisa, after which we had a 9 a.m. Louvre warm-up lecture from our British historian, Malcolm, followed by a 10 a.m. departure for the Palais Royal area, where we walked around the shops, rested in a pretty nearby garden, and lunched at the Normandy Hotel. (I had a desperately-needed cafe creme and a huge chicken Caesar salad with bacon.)
Both provided a second wind for the Louvre, though our entrance was delayed until Malcolm, our Louvre tour guide, joined us at 2:30. After that bit of hurry-up-and-wait (endemic with my travels), we entered the hot, stuffy, crowded, frankly overwhelming museum - the world's largest - featuring 35,000 pieces of artwork. Our tour mercifully focused on the "three dames": Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, and Winged Victory (all of which I managed to photograph despite the crush of fellow tourists). We didn't see much else, and truthfully I lacked the stamina for more. I didn't feel well, so I sat on well-placed (and well-used) benches when I could, and sipped water throughout the tour. Based on my tour mates' sweaty, tired appearances, I guessed we were all ready to leave before our scheduled 5 p.m. meetup.
Despite my fatigue, I had a second adventure in mind. As a direct result of the previous day's successful train ride to Versailles, I now had the confidence to ride the Metro solo to the Memorial de la Shoah holocaust museum, only a few stops from the Louvre. Louis gave me directions, but even with those (and Google Maps assistance), I wandered a bit when I arrived in the Marais until I found a street sign that pointed me there. I made it inside but struggled embarrassingly to pass the security checkpoint (having to remove my bag and audio tour device) before I was free to explore its contents.
By then I was hot, sweaty, stressed, and wiped out, but determined to have the full experience. Gradually I pulled myself together, peeled myself off a bench (the story of my day, really), and walked through a wall of names, an exhibition of holocaust comics, which I carefully read at leisure, and a crypt punctuated by a lit Star of David.
This memorial site was the polar opposite of the Louvre: quiet, uncrowded, and subdued. I spent a peaceful hour there, then struggled to find my way back to the St. Paul Metro station through the winding maze streets. While walking, I was surprised by a phone call from Lisa inviting me join her, Nanette, Edna, and a bottle of wine in our hotel courtyard. I told her I'd love to, but I was wandering in the Marais and - quite literally - wasn't sure when I'd find my way back.
Finally, after at least 30 minutes of examining street signs and Google mapping, I saw the carousel that I'd passed upon my arrival and gratefully rode back to my home station. I was ready to collapse, but I knew I needed something to eat before I did, so I limped down the street to the Carrefour City Market (basically a Parisian Wegmans) and wandered back to the hotel with a falafel microwave meal and fresh apricots. On my way to my room, I found half my tour group in the courtyard but opted to keep it moving. I would have undoubtedly enjoyed their company, but I needed to tear off my shoes, eat, and get off my feet ASAP (in that order) or die.
