Yes, Paris again. I can't get enough of that city. She shows me something new each time I visit her. So, it was only proper that since Martha was coming to visit me in France, that we actually BE in FRANCE for some time. While Toulouse certainly has a lot of offer, it just HAD to be Paris for the last day of our trip.
We awoke early in the morning to catch our coach and then our plane. As usual, I slept for most of the plane ride (I thank my Mother for this wonderful ability of sleeping like a log). I never thought I would say this, but it was nice to get back to speaking French after our time in Italy. I finally understood what everyone was saying and could converse with ease. That skill helped Martha and I make friends with the French couple sitting next to us on the plane. Since we didn't know Orly airport at all, they kindly offered to help us find the Orlyval train that would take us into inner Paris. Even though we easily found the Orlyval and bought tickets, and even though we knew exactly how to get to the hostel without getting lost, it still took us over two hours from the time we landed in Paris until the time we dropped our bags at the hostel. In the end, I'm thankful that we dropped our bags off since we were out sightseeing until midnight, but at the time all I worried about was the time we were losing.
We hadn't eaten in the morning, nor had we eaten lunch since the lunch hours were spent on the metro traveling to our hostel. Thus, by the time Martha and I popped out of the metro near Notre Dame we were irritable and starving. We looked diagonally across the place..."The American Cafe" read the nearest awning. Were we really going to eat in an establishment, in Paris, that boasted it's American-ness? We didn't care. We just wanted food. The meal was fabulous, and it turns out that the name of the cafe was NOT the American Cafe but rather the' Brasserie des Deux Palais'. The alternate 'title' was simply a little descriptive phrase signifying the bi-lingual staff and the menu made up of 'typical' french dishes according to Americans. It didn't serve American food at all. Instead, it served the same foods a student of french learns in their first years of taking french: omelets, croque monsieurs, croque madames, cappucinos & cafes, baguettes and cheese, etc. We both polished off our coffee (well I had hot chocolate) and our food (a croque madame for Martha and a ham & cheese omelet for me), then made our way across the street to Saint Chapelle.
The entire trip I'd been hearing about how Martha wanted to re-visit Notre Dame. I myself wanted to visit Saint Chapelle which I didn't know much about but had heard that it was one of 'THE' things to see in Paris. With the rain starting to come down and the line into Saint Chapelle getting longer and longer our hope of seeing both before closing time was quickly diminishing. I tried to tell Martha that she should "Go." "See." Notre Dame again. As I pointed out after about twenty minutes of waiting, "I'll probably still be in this line when you get back." Martha was adamant that she would stay with me which I was secretly nervous about. I really didn't want to ruin her one day in Paris by forcing her to see something she had no interest in seeing. She assured me, as if reading my mind, that she was up for seeing something new in Paris. It took over an hour, but when we made it inside I decided the wait in the light rain had been worth it. The base chapel was really orate and pretty. Then we climbed the narrow, stone spiral staircase up to the upper chapel, and my breath was taken away by the sight that greeted our eyes. Surrounding us were the most beautiful stain glass windows I've ever seen rising almost from floor to ceiling, throwing sparkling color around the inside like a jewel box. Just as we'd done in the Sistine Chapel, Martha and I sat in chairs to the side just staring up at all the tiny scenes played out in glass. It was one of the most beautiful things I've seen in Paris apart from Sacre Coeur and the Eiffel Tower.
Almost too soon, but really quite some time later, we made our way across the Ile de la Cite toward Notre Dame. To our surprise, when we entered the church, there was a mass happening. In the very last row we seated ourselves. There was a choir singing so beautifully, the sound carried around the big cathedral in a way that you felt it while you heard it. I never wanted it to stop.This was a Notre Dame I hadn't seen before. The first time I'd visited I remember it being dark and stark and, although impressive, almost unwelcome. This though, this huge space vaulting higher and higher with shining chandeliers and lovely music...this was moving. This was Notre Dame in her glory. I'm really happy that we got to visit when we did, because truthfully I wasn't all that interested in visiting again after my first time. After the mass was over a most curious but wonderful thing happened...
We had neglected finding the address to La Cure Gourmand (the chocolate and pastry shop we found in Carcassonne) in Paris. We were leaving the next morning. I was sure that we wouldn't happen across it in such a big city and, even if we did, it would be closed for the evening.
...As we were sitting in Notre Dame (we had moved closer after the mass) a man waked right in front of us with a medium sized La Cure Gourmand bag. Immediately my hope flared up as I quickly beckoned him and asked where he'd found the shop. "It's quite near here. A 5 minute walk maybe. Let me get my wife, she'll know which street it was on." He beckoned his wife, who then needed to beckon a friend who knew, but within 5 minutes Martha and I were on our way to the shop, crossing our fingers that it wasn't closed.
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