July 19, 2006: from the Paris backlog
Posted Wednesday, August 09, 2006 @ 12:17 PM

11:18PM, Paris

To begin writing after a full and tiring day can be a difficult task. I am exhausted, balmy, sweating, hot, cranky, and to try and reflect in any meaningful or coherent way is nearly impossible. The hotel we're staying in—Hotel de Cujas—is really quite good, but our particular room only has a window to the courtyard, rather than to the outside street. Because of this, our room is nearly ten degrees hotter than Rainier and Erin's; they have a window which opens to the street, and you can feel a breeze. Our room smells like feet and sweat and damp towels because there is no air circulating. As a result, we never turn the lights on, and I'm very short with my parents and frustrated with the lack of space. Heat can do terrible things to my temper.

This morning I woke around 5:45 and laid in bed for nearly an hour. I began to read (by then there was barely enough light), and after Dad woke and showered I got ready and went to join him downstairs; Mom had just woken up. We (naively) hoped that the air conditioning would be back on in the lobby, as it was when we'd arrived, but they'd not yet turned it on. After passing through the lobby a few times today, it seems they use the air conditioning more like a fan than anything, turning it on and off at will, rather than leaving it at a certain temperature. After a few minutes in the lobby we decided that, if we left then, we could stroll through les Jardins de Luxembourg, eat some breakfast, and make it back before anyone else came downstairs. There is a little breakfast stand run by la Brioche Doree, which is sort of like the Subway of France, only of course it's delicious. Croissant, pain au chocolat, and some water. At our strolling pace, we were nearly plowed over by numerous joggers—the park was infested with them. Judging by the number, most Parisians don't go to work until nine—they seemed like the "before work" crowd, and it was already 8:15. When we walked a few blocks to the metro around nine, the streets seemed busier, so I'm pretty sure that's the case.

Once Dad and I had wandered back to the hotel, Erin, Rainier, and Mom had congregated in the lobby and we all decided that it'd be best to head to Rue de Passy to shop for our annual Eiffel Tower picnic before the day grew any hotter. I always forget how far St. Michel is from the Eiffel Tower area; it took us over twenty minutes to arrive at Rue de Passy, where the metro stop is at the far end, away from the markets. We walked until we found the fromageries, boulangeries, etc. and shopped for a good half hour. Raspberries, blackberries, pasta salad, prosciutto with mozarella, tomato with mozarella, and our favorite cheeses—plenty of chevre for Erin, pyrenees pour moi, et grenouille (a strong swiss) to round us out. Oh, and a chevre covered in rum-soaked raisins. Two baguettes, tiramisu, coke. It's a good walk from Passy to the tower—you have to cross a bridge over the Seine and walk a few blocks to the tower. I'm always amazed that there's no metro stop right by the tower. I suppose it's the French way to let the tourists know how they really feel.

We managed to find a shady spot near one of the tower legs and away from the sprinklers, although a gypsy came to beg for food and money and nearly made off with one of our chevres—we had to physically remove it from her hand. She was bold, to say the least.

Despite the heat, we took the metro to the Opera stop, where we passed les Galeries de Lafayette and went in the three-floor Paris H&M, the mecca of European shopping. We've ducked into a few shoe shops and a Zara or two, but other than that haven't done very much shopping; it's too hot to spend time in unairconditioned, brightly-lit stores. I made out with a bright red-orange pencil skirt, a blue frilly button-down, and some hair clips. Perhaps there's more shopping to come when we visit Le Mans and go to Carrefour, although there's less time this year since there's the party on Saturday.

Erin felt nauseous and became overheated, so we came back to the hotel for an hour-long break. We took showers, and lay down for quick naps. We left again for the Catacombs, which took forever to get to, and waited in line for half an hour before we realized we'd never make it in before they closed. They were letting in less than a person a minute. Since it's the main thing we want to see while we're here, we plan to go tomorrow morning before we have to come back and check out of the hotel. That leaves the Pompidou, the Louvre (for Mom—I've had enough), and maybe Montmartre and a jazz club on Rue de St. Germain. And more shoe shopping, I hope.

We came back from the catacombs and everyone took another shower and another nap, and Erin woke me up to go to le Tabac de la Sorbonne, the little 24-hour place down the street that has wifi ("weefee" as they say in French). Rainier needed to look up train times for tomorrow and I updated and uploaded a few pictures. Jerome, Rainier's friend, met us there as we were finishing our panaches, and we walked with him a few blocks to a restaurant which served Raclette—basically, cheese fondue with pickles and potatoes. Delicious, but probably not the wisest choice considering that it required a hot plate to be set on the table, which radiated heat for the whole meal. Jerome was very nice, funny, and fairly easy to understand. My French was probably just a tad better than his English, but I understood much of what he said as he spoke to Rainier. He said that none of us look American, although we don't look French. "Anglais ou Australien, peut-etre," he said. I liked him very much.

After a long meal we walked up the street for gelato. I had my favorite, hazelnut and pistachio. Erin had pampelmousse—grapefruit. Delicious.

Here we are back in the hotel, cooled off a little from showering (AGAIN), and nearly ready for bed. I hope tomorrow is not so hot. It seems like we are always damp, either from showering or from sweating profusely. I wonder how long my skin can take this.

I confess that while I like having my computer available to write, it makes me miss the internet more than if I had not brought it. It's like missing icecream because you have an empty freezer.

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