the road to chambord . . . (is not this way!)

It is Spring Break! Rachael and I decide to take the opportunity of being out of school to go on an excursion outside of Paris. Not too mention, we were in desperate need of some real physical exercise! Comme d'habitude (like usual), my day of exploration turned into a bit of a mis-adventure.

07h45 Sound asleep, the phone rings. It is Rachael. "Do you want to take the 09h15 train to get an early start? I will meet you at 08h45." I hang up the phone and rest my eyes for a few more minutes.

08h15 I wake up in a panic. What day is it? Where am I? Then I remember. I must leave in 15 minutes to meet Rachael. I pop in the shower, barely rinse off, throw on some jeans and a sweater and rush out sans dry hair and make-up.

08h45 Transferring from line 8, I meet Rachael on the Bastille platform of line 5. Together, we take line 5 to Gare d'Austerlitz in the south of Paris.

09h05 We wait in line to buy a ticket for the 09h15 train departing in 10 minutes.

09h11 We are finally at the front of the line buying our ticket. Plenty of time, the clerk says. You have 4 minutes. Typical French response - relaxed and never concerned for time. Sure we have time for the train, but no time for un petit café. Now that I am fully addicted to my morning espresso, I can not bare the thought of a 90 minute train ride without one. But alas, no time for a café. (Peut-etre it is time I succomb to the Parisian smoking addiction instead - at least it is a portable habit.)

09h14 We board the train and search for two seats together as the train leaves the station. The 90 minute train ride gives us plenty of time to plan for our day. We are taking the train to a town called Blois, which is considered the gateway to the Loire Valley. From there, we will rent bikes and ride to Chambord (about a 1 hour by velo) to see France's largest chateau. It was actually built to be a hunting lodge (with 200+ rooms) and was only lived in for 45 days after it was complete. After our historical journey, we will bike back back to Blois, have a leisurely dinner and take the last train to Paris that departs at 21h00 (9 p.m.)

10h45 We pull into Blois. We had been carefully listening for the conductor to announce the station, as there are no clear signs at each stop and one could easily miss the station if they do not know how to understand French as well as Rachael and I do (please note the sarcasm). I remember when I was une jeune femme, my dad would pretend that my sister and I were French cooks. One of us was called "Chef Blah Blah" that he would pronounce in his best French accent and we turned our gourmet meal of mac and cheese into les noodles avec formage. It turns out that Blah Blah is truly a French word - as that is exactly how the town of Blois is pronounced. "Blah = Blois" So if you are not careful, it is easy to think the conductor has just announced, nous arrivons (we have arrived) a blah, blah, blah . . . but really he means la ville Blois.

10h46 Although eager to start our day, there is tension. Not because we do not enjoy each other's company, but because we had been awake for 3 hours now and I was without my café and her without her tea. Grumpy mood and all, through a prior mis-adventure, Rachael knew to stop and check what time the ticket office closes in Blois. Even though we knew our train left at 21H00, the ticket window closes at 20H20. With that pertinent knowledge in hand we left the station and started into town desperate for caffeine.

11h10 We find ourselves walking from the station to the center of Blois and stop at a park. Time and time again, I find myself wandering in France only to come upon a beautiful park or monument. Is this the same in the States? Perhaps I never noticed before. My memories are clouded by strip malls.


(Beautiful park in Blois)

11h20 First things first, we stop for an early lunch and coffee in a square outside of the Blois chateau and the house where Harry Houdini had lived. About halfway through lunch we hear chimes and out of the corner of our eye see a dragon tentatively poking one of its heads through a window in Houdini's house. Surprised, we glance harder and sure enough each of the 8 windows had either a dragon's head, tail or claw doing a little dance to the chimes of the clock. Bizarre.



12h30 Finishing up my gallette (un crepe sans sucre), we trekked to the office of tourism and inquired about bike rentals. Although we inquired in French, directions were provided in English (a very frustrating problem here in France - as much as I attempt French, replies are often given in English if I am suspected to be a "foreigner" as if the blond hair isn't a dead giveaway).

12h40 The path to the bike shop led us on a beautiful stroll along the Loire river.

13h30 After 2km and many photos later, we arrived at the bike rental shop which was really a small outbuilding housing bikes in someone's backyard. A sign instructed us to return to the front of the house and ring the doorbell.

13h32 A man, wearing slacks and a sweater poked his head out and said "j'arrive, j'arrive".

13h37 Minutes later, the man appeared clad in mechanic's coveralls and outfitted us with two old school "townie" bikes. His only words to us were explaining that we must cross the river, but not over the bridge directly outside of his house. That bridge was reserved for motorists only (and very dangerous), so we must backtrack and take the scenic "pont" that led to a path for bikes and would take us to Chambord. If we stuck to the bike paths, we should arrive in Chambord in less than 90 minutes.



14h58 Traveling through the Paris countryside is a bit similar to traveling through Costa Rica. Ok - I know an odd comparison. But I remember one day while visiting my good friends Liz and Rob, we were in a taxi and I asked Liz what was the address to give to the driver. She replied that they did not have addresses in Costa Rica, only landmarks. For example, the address to their house was something like "turn right at the supermarket, 300 m past the hydrant, 2nd driveway after the yellow rose bush". (Liz/Rob, please confirm - this not an exaggeration!)

15h35 Alas, traveling to Chambord was not easy. Our map had only a few major routes and of those routes, only half were labeled. Of course the streets in the towns had signs about half of the time - and a different half than the half labeled on our map. And the road, which we think was a bike path (although we ran into an occasional car) was not on the map at all.

15h38 The day grew warm. Rachael was always in front - with me frantically pedaling to keep up. Countryside bugs flew into our mouths one after another such that we finally had to stop talking and breath only through our noses.


(The only sign to Chambord we saw that day.)

16h05 Hours went by and we have not reached our "90 minute" destination. Only then, did it begin to dawn on us that we were completely lost.

16h44 We came across a small village. We were not in Paris anymore. Instead a magical, quaint country village appeared, with children running in the streets. I have expected them to start singing the Munchkinland song from Wizard of the Oz. Maybe if they had, I could have clicked my heels and wished Rachael and I to Chambord (or home)!

16h55 We stopped for a quick snack of crackers, chocolate and water and referred to the map. After asking an embarrassing question of "ou sommes-nous?" to the shop clerk, we found our approximate location on the map and realized that we went over 25 km south instead of directly east to Chambord! Argh!!! We knew we would have to hustle to make it to Chambord before it closed at 18h00.

17h06 The word "hustle" did not bode well with me. I could not bare the thought of getting back on the bike. No proper seats, no shocks, no bike shorts - but wait - bike shorts, they are just padding right? Across the street we saw a pharmacy. A lightbulb went off in our heads. Just a little padding - that was all we needed. Do you see the picture below? Yah that's right, we bought extra long, super thick maxi "pads" to make some pseudo bike shorts. We each stuffed three in our jeans and headed onward.


(Extra Longue)

17h22 Rachael started to pick up the pace. If you remember earlier in the story, I was always falling behind, but now I am trailing by a couple of kms - but with every pedal my butt hurt a little more, my legs ached and I grew tired of swallowing bugs. Minutes are now hours. Pedaling faster and faster we went through a short-cut in the Chambord forest (a short-cut reminiscent of the "short-cut" Erin and I took the summer of Eaglesmere, nearly ending in tragedy).

17h45 I felt a bit like Hansel and Gretel trying to make our way through the forest following breadcrumbs which to us appeared as cryptic signs pointing toward Chambord that were few and far between. And then, out of nowhere, a clearing in the distance and a fairytale castle appeared. It was like magic - if you do not believe me - just check out this photo! It was the grandest sight I have ever seen!



17h48 We were there!!! Of course at that moment I could barely appreciate it because all I could think about was the painful bike ride home. But Rachael thought perhaps we would make it in time to take the last bus back.

17h51 Approaching the ticket window, we see that it is closed and the last ticket for entry was sold at 17h45, just 6 minutes prior. Our hearts sank.

17h52 We realized the bus we had heard about was not a reality and we only had a little over 2 hours to reach the train station back in Blois. Our hearts sunk further.

18h07 Frantically, we took as many pictures of the castle's exterior as we could in the 15 minutes we allowed ourselves to stand in awe before heading back on the road. Luckily, we knew if we chose the right route home we could get back in 90 minutes.



18h20 Back on our bikes, waving good-bye to the destination that we came so far for but barely saw, we came upon our first round about. We could either return via the bike bath or follow the main road home. If we were to take the bike path, it was not clear that we could make it back on time - as the bike path is how we got lost in the first place. The road seemed tame enough. A country road, infrequently used with a wide shoulder.

18h31 We make a quick stop on the side of the road to stuff the last 3 maxi's in my jeans. I was now at six extra long super maxis - enough that I could have been used as a flotation device in a swimming pool - or at least enough such that I could have soaked up all of the water in the swimming pool.

19h00 All of the sudden our country road disappeared and turned into a treacherous highway, reminiscent of I-5 (or the Autobon) but with only two lanes and no shoulder! We had a choice to make. Either we could turn back to try and find the bike path which would guarantee missing our train, or we could attempt the highway. The highway was elevated with no shoulder and a grassy cliff on either side. It would be physically impossible to fit two cars and a bike across the width of the road.

19h05 Unfortunately with many km to go, we had no choice. Entering onto the road was a bit like a game of Frogger. (Remember the Seinfeld episode?) The pleasant soundtrack that usually plays in my head turned into soundbites of the retro videogame. For each pace that I advanced I heard a beep, crossing my fingers I would not hear the sound equivalent to a splat.

19h12 Even though I was the Frogger champion in junior high, I will reluctantly admit that if it was not for Christopher Pinkerton (the runt of the 7th grade) I would have been the last to be picked for any sort of team game in gym class (e.g. the ever popular dodgeball). I have often been the last to finish a race and the last to come off the mountain on my Sunday rides with Mary and Chris. But on this day, even the toughest of my Boulder friends would have been proud. As the adrenaline pumped full throttle through my veins, I have never pedaled harder in my life. Forgetting everything, sweat tripping, tears forming, I pedaled and pedaled and pedaled racing like there was no tomorrow. So fast that Rachael whom I could not keep up with the entire day lost sight of me.

19h19 Glancing to my right, I saw a trail had formed next to the river that we had been following. I broke right and got off the highway at last able to catch my breath. Unfortunately the dirt trail shortly turned into sand. For those of you who ride, you know it is impossible to ride for a long distance in sand. For a bike sand is more like quicksand - the bike slowly sinking until you are pedaling in place.

19h20 Hopping off our bikes we raced back up the hill and merged back onto the road.

19h23 Back on the road, hoping my naturally high cholesterol level has not had a lasting impact on the condition of my heart, as I needed every beat to keep me going and could not afford to have a heart attack at this moment. I rode on faster than ever. Even Lance would have not stood a chance racing against me that day.

19h27 Voila! Another trail down below - but I could not find an entrance. With a car in front and a truck directly behind me, I knew I had to exit fast. I made a quick break to the right and found myself heading down the cliff at almost a 90 degree angle. Behind me I heard Rachael scream. Expecting the worst I turned around to see Rachael off her bike, skidding down the hill through a patch of stinging nettles. Quickly assessing her hands and ankles filled with poisonous stingers, but determining it was not life threatening, we continued down the trail. 500m later we hit a DEAD END! Merde! (French for Sh*t!)

19h30 Merde! Merde! Merde! We had to back track, climb up the cliff, through the nettles and back on to the highway. This was suicide!

19h34 Bravely merging onto the highway for the last time, we knew we just had to push through and take our chances on the roadway that posed strong possibilities of ending our life. Thinking only with the adrenaline running through me --- if I suspected two cars were going to pass next to me, I gauged whether it was critical to slow down or speed up just enough such that I would not be next to them as they went by. Being inline with two cars at once would mean sudden death. We were without helmets, but I have little doubt that it would have mattered should we been at 100 km/hr.

19h51 The city of Blois appeared on the horizon as the sun was setting on the Loire river. The bike shop was just on the other side of the motor bridge. (The one we were advised not to take, but we knew we had to risk it as time advances faster in Blois than in Paris.)

19h58 Ringing the bell for the second time that day, we waited anxiously for the proprietor to put on his coverall over his day clothes and open the shop. We handed in our bikes with the hard metal seats and exited back to the rue along the Loire River.

20h06 The ticket window closed in less than 20 minutes and we were 3 km from the station. My first few steps off the bike were shaky. My legs were cramping and my knee swollen. At first frozen, and then nearly falling to the ground my eyes met Rachael's. We knew what we had to do, it was our only chance. At first we walked quickly, then jogged, breaking into a run and ending in a final sprint to the gare!

20h20 Just as Gare de Blois was in sight, we saw the gates going down!

20h21 Noooooooooooo! And then I was standing alone. In the flash of lightening Rachael sprinted toward the ticket office. The lightening changed to slow motion and I saw her running like the bionic woman in a moment of eternity. Ferme! As I caught up to her time resumed at its normal pace and I heard Rachael begging for two tickets at the closed window.

20h23 Taking pity on us, the clerk produced the last two tickets of that evening. For not the window in the way I could have kissed her!

20h25 Sitting down for a minute to catch our breath, (only appropriate for a 75km bike ride followed by a 3km running sprint) I realized I was famished! Besides the crackers and chocolate we had not had a proper meal since 11h30! Our dreams of a leisurely dinner had vanished and we settled for a day old baguette sandwich in the train bar. But I had the coldest, most delicious beer that I had perhaps ever had in my entire life. Basked in complete exhaustion, Rachael and I sat quietly, reflecting on our day too tired for conversation.

20h56 Comme d'habitude, not paying attention to time, we nearly panicked as we realized the bar had cleared out. We scrambled to the platform as the last train to Paris was ready for departure.

20h59 We climbed aboard and found a 2nd class compartment to ourselves, closed the curtains and each laid across the four seats on either side. We heard someone peek in our compartment to see if we had some extra room, but anyone glancing at Rachael's facial expression would quickly realize that they were not welcome in our space. We were too fatigued to be polite.

21h10 I happily backed Rachael's need for seclusion. We turned off the lights and prepared to nap for the two hour train ride home. And then the giggles started. As we slowly recounted our day, our giggles turned into an uncontrollable laughter until tears filled our eyes. It was not the day we had planned, but we knew it would be day we would never forget and one in which a friendships was forever forged.

23h16 We pulled into the Paris station - exchanged kisses and boarded our respective metro lines anxious to complete the final stretch home.

23h51 Just minutes from midnight as I was walking into my flat, calling for the lift (the six flights of stairs incomprehensible) my phone buzzed with a new SMS (text message). It was Gitte (my good Danish friend).

u want 2 meet @ bastille 4 cocktail? i am just on my way out 2 meet friends. c u! bisous xoxo.

00h01 Not even a Chambord martini could entice me. And for the first time during my stay in the city that doesn't sleep, I replied,

staying in 2nite. bisous.

Bisous & bon nuit to you all. Until next time . . .

b.

the "rebel" of l'atelier 9 . . .

I am afraid I have made a grave mistake. Please take note that my description of Eric was a bit off as I meant to describe him as a "James Dean" character - but I mistakenly put "Marlon Brando". But come on - I'm young! All of those brooding male actors of the 50's (or was it 60's) are the same to me! But really, Eric is an absolutely cutey - much more James Dean. To your comment Eric - I am not sure what "fais gagne" means - but I think it's something like "you will pay" and since I am already paying to go to your school, I think perhaps you mean I will pay in the form of some other horrific punishment. So my great aplogies to Eric - the "rebel" of L'Atelier 9.

the long way home . . .

It’s 7:58 a.m. and I have just returned home from a night of “clubbing” and am wide awake. Charles (a Parisian in the group tonight) has told me that when they were kids living in the Paris suburbs, they would ride the metro in, have dinner until midnight, have a drink at a bar until 2, move onto the nightclub until 6 at which point they would go out for a café and breakfast. Then the metro starts up again at 7 a.m. and they would return home avoiding the expense of the short taxi ride. On this particular night, we started with 10 and ended with 3 – myself and two Scots. Around 6, when Charles would normally go out for a café and breakfast, alternatively, Stewart, Duncan and I stopped by Duncan’s flat, grabbed a blanket to sit on, a bottle of wine to drink and left for a park to watch the sun rise over the Eiffel tower. Granted I missed the actual sunrise as I just "happened" to rest my eyes at the same time the sun came out - but the night as a whole seemed everlasting, refreshing and magical. It is just now after returning from this night that I realize I must send you an entry that I was about to toss. It is an entry that strays from my normal mishaps and misfortunes --- but is more descriptive and I think important for you to experience as well. So here is the story that almost did not make it to you.

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I thought today I would immerse you further into the Parisian culture. I will try to include a funny story or two, but mostly I want to describe what it is like to live within one of the most beautiful cities in the world. A city where at every corner you are stunned by a building, statue or monument towering over you. A city in which people live amongst history ancient and precious . . . and a city that does not require you to travel 5,000 miles to try and capture the magic in seven short days in a hot summer week.

To best describe the feeling of this city, I will tell you about last Wednesday, when I took the long way home.

To be honest with you, I went into my first museum only yesterday. I know, it seems crazy but when I was here 15 years ago, I think I crammed 10 museums in 3 days. This time around, I am trying to experience Paris through the eyes of someone really living here and not just en vacances. Sure I will return to Le Louvre or explore the Cluny – and the musee de Picasso I saw yesterday was marvelous (not only his life’s work, but the building that housed them), but for today, this is my story of a day in the life.

The good thing about living in a place the size of an American bathroom is that you do not ever want to be in it, so I spend little time at home. Usually I am outside wandering around, getting lost and loving it. On a typical day I leave my flat about 8:30 a.m. I cross the street to the Montgallet metro and ride the 10 stops to my school. After departing from the Grand Boulevard station, I take a couple of winding turns and step into my favorite boulangerie. My favorite order is une viennoise. It is similar to a baguette filled with miniature chocolate chips, yet the bread is dense and hearty – and often still warm from the oven. It is very normal to see Parisians everywhere walking with their tarte au fromage, baguette or pain au chocolat in the morning slowly peeling back the delicate tissue wrapping, taking small bites as they walk rapidly to work. A Parisian block is not long, maybe 5 buildings per block, but I promise, rather guarantee, that on each block you will find at least one café, brasserie and boulangerie. On every other block you will find a charcuterie, a fruit and vegetable marché, and perhaps a wine or chocolate shop.

What you NEVER see is a Parisian walking with a latte. NEVER. While it is socially acceptable to eat your breakfast (as long as it was purchased from a fresh boulangerie and not the “Quick” or “McDonald’s”) it is not acceptable to carry a drink. To do this would not only instantly label you as a foreigner, but will expose you to many stares or shall I say glares and probably attract pickpockers, etc.

Instead, of the portable latté, you pop into your favorite café, stand at the bar and order your café or your café crème (should you require something milder since a café is really just one shot of espresso). You can also sit down, but that is for those with extra time and is a bit more expensive. The size of a café is only a few sips so most workers have time to pop in and have their morning fix before heading into the office. Perhaps because we have taken the shot of espresso and added 4 cups of steamed milk in our Venti cup that we find it necessary to drink the American latte on the go otherwise we would never arrive for the dreaded morning meeting on time. (By the way, conveniently, many of the morning cafés turn into the evening bars, thus it is not uncommon to visit them twice per day - once on the way to work and once on the way home for a biere.)

After my brief stop at the boulangerie or café, I walk the remaining blocks to school. Around 11 a.m. we stop for a quick “pose” or break. Often a few students and I pop out again to the boulangerie for a sandwich crudité. (Baguette filled with tomatoes, brie, eggs, cucumber and so forth . . .). Then back to school until 1:30.

Believe it or not we are always starved after school, but not for the boulangerie, rather for the afternoon meal or dejeuner. Between 2 and 4 we head off to a street side café. Excellent people watching and food. I had the most marvelous salad exotique on this particular day. It was comprised of fresh greens, thinly sliced chicken, fresh mango, cashews, hearts of palm, tomatoes and corn. It was lightly dressed with a mild mixture of oil and lemon. It was fabulous!

After a lovely lunch with my friend, Lill-Anne, I did not feel like stopping at home for my afternoon nap before dinner. Starting in the 9th arrondisement, I walked south toward the Seine and found myself in front of Notre Dame. I have walked by many chapels and cathedrals in Paris and none are more impressive than Notre Dame. Just on the other side of the Seine is the Latin Quarter, filled with Mediterranean food delights. But on this day, I continued east walking past the river side merchants vending freshly painted water colors and came upon Pont Neuf, one of the oldest bridges if not the oldest here in Paris. Captivated by Pont Neuf I chose to walk past it, taking the next Pont so that I could capture it on film for you.



I realize now on this warm Spring afternoon, that I have been wandering for hours and perhaps I should take the stairs on the next corner that descend into the Metro station. Paris is brilliant, although I carry a pocket map wherever I go, it is easy yet impossible to get lost. If you are lost you only need to pop into the closest Metro to navigate your way back to your home station. But this day, my knee was strong, the sun was shining and although I did not want to wear my iPod (because it was important to immerse myself in all of the senses), as usual I had the appropriate soundtrack playing in my head the whole way home.

Forgoing, the metro I continued forward on foot. After crossing the Pont I was again North of the Seine, now in the 4th arrondisemnet and peut-etre (perhaps) my favorite. This area is called Le Marais, a very old and quaint arrondisement and also Paris’ predominately gay neighborhood. The streets are more narrow and windy here and are full of the best boutiques of Paris as well as many outdoor cafes occupied by the “beautiful people” dressed to the nines and perfectly coiffed. I discovered the musee de Picasso in Le Marais among other treasures including Place des Vosages, an enclosed city park.

Before we continue on my journey, I must describe the many jardins tucked away, hidden deep in the city. Just when you think you have not seen a lawn, a tree, a flower or any sort of plant for days, you come across a gated park, plush, and perfectly manicured full of vegetation. (It is typical for the French to cut off the tops of their trees so they are perfectly groomed, but this sight is most disagreeable to me as I find something strange about trees with flat tops.) In these secret gardens, I love to sit with a hot crepe avec beurre and sucre - on the iron bench near the fountain and watch the children race their sailboats as I often do in the Jardin du Luxemborg. My favorite secret garden is Jardin des Palais Royal. It is less visited than the others, as I think perhaps it is hard to find. Rather than being enclosed by tall iron gates, you will find it hidden behind the four walls of the immense Palais Royal.

Michael, “the substitute” asked us to describe our favorite place in Paris without naming it, thus allowing the other students to guess the location. An excellent exercise for writing as well as diction. Alors, here is my paragraph – describing the Palais Royal.

Dehors il y a de grands immeubles et un batement. Aussi on y trouve beaucoup de magasins des bijoux dans une rue active. Mais dedans, on trouve que c’est très tranquil. Il y a une exposition temporaire d’art mordernne. Quelquefois il y a des enfants qui jouent mais comme d’habitude c’est un bon lieu pour lire et être tranquille. Avec des arbres il y a des lampadaires allumes et on y trouve des bancs en metals pour s’asseoir et réfléchir. Quand on le quitte, on revient a la realitie.

And now as I exit the park on this Wednesday and return to reality as described in my French entry, I moved onward toward home. I saw dusk rapidly approaching and realized if I wanted to avoid the metro I must continue forward briskly. After the Marais, I admittedly got turned around. Just as I was going to take out my pocket map (indispensable for both the tourist and the local), I turned the next corner only to see a tall skinny monument in the middle of a roundabout. Mais oui, c’est le Bastille! The Bastille was just the landmark I needed to orient myself to the proper direction for the last hour home. That is how Paris is designed - one minute you are admist the magnificent buildings influenced by M. Haussmann and the next minute you stumble across the Eiffel Tower, Le Louvre, Hotel De Ville, Le Bastille, the Pantheon or Les Invalides. It is impossible to cross more than two streets without seeing a structure that makes you awestruck time and time again.

On y va! (Let us go on!) Next I have turned onto a busy boulevard full of fruit and vegetable stands, wine shops, lots of “fake/discount” shoe shops – oh and the occasional homeless person. (Side note – I actually just moved from the 12th to the 10th so now I am lucky enough to be in the ghetto and get to pass by the prostitutes as well. C’est la vie.) Just un more kilometer and I am home. Glancing at the clock on my cellphone (as I am no longer wear my watch – partly because I am trying to stray from the habit of monitoring time and partly because I lost it on my first day in Paris), I see that it is now 7:30 p.m. Wow – 6 hours had passed since I had left school. It is exhilarating to walk like this – and I do it every day – ok – not the marathon everyday, but on average I probably walk 3 hours a day in total if not much more.

As I close into home, I pick up some fruit, a baguette and a bottle of wine from the many markets in my neighborhood. Mark my word, upon my return to the States, I will purchase one of the rolling carts that is essential to every Parisian’s life, used to cart groceries and goods from the many varieties of markets. Of course at home, I will fill it with purchases from Target and Whole Foods – although I have a feeling, American security will not like me filling the bag prior to purchasing the goods as they do here instead of pushing around an enormous shopping cart. Oh well.

As I arrived home, I only just removed my shoes when I received an SMS (text message) informing me that the usual suspects were meeting on Rue de Lappe – a lively pedestrian street full of bars and cafes. Ok – this time I took the metro.



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If you recall, this story began with sunrise at the Eiffel tower. Recently, I stumbled quite literally onto the Eiffel tower at sunset just prior to meeting a friend at a nearby brasserie. I had not even realized I was in the same arrondisement - but there it was just as the sky was turning a deep rouge. Suddenly 10,000 lights began twinkling, illuminating the tower - and the moon was full, larger than I have ever seen. Still in awe, I met my friend and we walked back toward to her flat. A few blocks later we came upon a building with a breathtaking gold dome reflecting off the moonlight. Les Invalides – Napoleon’s tomb. I asked my friend who has been here for 7 years if she still noticed buildings like Les Invalides. She replied that she preferred the 1 hour walk home than the 15 minute metro ride metro for this very reason.

I think perhaps this is my longest entry – and I realize not my typical collection of mishaps, but it was important for me to share with you the spirit of daily life here in Paris as I believe the beauty and vitality of this city is the driving part of the core of every Parisian. It is the sound of the market vendors, the feel of wind tunnel as you go underground, the smell of a cafe, the taste of the croissant, and the sight of the grandest monuments in the world – it is this feeding off the city that feeds your personal vitality.

Although Paris has awakened my senses, at this stage in my life it has also separated me further from the typical American lifestyle. I admit I often have similar experiences on a sunny day walking down Pearl Street mall in Boulder or pedaling to the Holcomb’s for a home-cooked meal, but I have not allowed these experiences to encompass my entire life as they do here in Paris. How can they when 50 – 70 hours per week is expected in our jobs? When we are on call 24/7? When we are coerced into coming home, heating up dinner, passing out in front of the TV by 8 and in bed by 10 with exhaustion? When we are too tired for friends and too lazy for walking. I love my home, and I love Paris for allowing me to recognize how I should not only love my home, but enjoy my home. Next time I need to get from Baseline to Mapleton, or from Old Columbia Pike to Sea Change Lane, or from Madison Avenue to Queen Anne, I will take the long way home.

Bon nuit,

b.

(Stay tuned for next week’s entry as mon amie Rachel et moi traveled to Chambord the largest chateau in all of France – and trust me it was full of mishaps! How else would a 20 km bike ride turn into 75 km?)