Locomotion

We slept for four hours, woke at 3 AM Paris time, but not really awake, and then fell back to sleep. At 11 AM we got up and inquired about our luggage at the front desk. One bag had arrived at 12:30 AM... the one bag we didn't really care if it arrived or not because it was the bag that is intended for the shopping - the extra bag. Hmmm... One for three.

We explored our area and rambled through Le Marais. Croissants and coffee (espresso) are everywhere. Not just in our area, but all of Paris. We stopped in for both on occasion throughout the day and the entirety of our stay. In Paris, the cafe experience is remarkable. There are so many wonderful patios at boulangeries (bakery) and brassieries (cafe/restaurants). The remarkable part of these cafes is that one can have a coffee, or a wine, or an ice cream at any time and more often than not, without ordering food (although that is more difficult during the dinner hours). I loved that A could order a beer while I had a citron glaces (lemon ice cream) and we could just linger as long as we liked. We often pulled in for a break from rambling around and did just that. In Paris, the waiters (a completely distinct part of French society) do not bring the bill until you ask for it. This is lovely when all you care to do is sit. The client controls the duration although they do not control the transaction - that the waiters do. The waiters are overworked methinks. I must do some research on their union effectiveness/influence. Waiters were not always patient with us lame-o English-speaking orderers. To order...sometimes, it was agony, sometimes it was pleasant and very rarely was it delightful.

Did I mention that the weather was HOT? Yeah, really hot. Sweaty hot. The French were not impressed by it either. In our plane clothes, rambling, hot and hopeful that next time we touch base with our room, a bag would be waiting. At 3 PM, A's suitcase had arrived. Mine had not. Two for three...

We opted to check out the Latin Quarter, arrondissement 5, across the Il de la Cite (home of "my" lovely Notre Dame Cathedral). We rambled up towards Hemingway's former residence in which he wrote a good portion about in A Moveable Feast. We love Hem and just drank in his surroundings. I read that book again while in Paris, picturing his inspiration for writing, his circle of writer friends such as Scott Fitzgerald and Ezra Pound, and eating some of the same food he did at some of the same cafes (maybe).

Exhausted and well-fed, we headed back from La Contrascarpe and Rue Mouffetard toward the 4th arrond. and I tried not to focus too much on wanting my suitcase so badly to be there, waiting for me. I bet that it wouldn't be just to get over the disappointment before the fact. It had been 24 hours... watev.

11 PM, tired, sweaty and a little bit ill from my plane-head clothes, my big suitcase met me in the room. Yay... Paris will now know how darn cute I really am!