Thursday morning we made a plan at breakfast: The Dad, The Sister, The Boy, and The Girl would go to Notre Dame and Sainte Chapell. Having seen both, I would stay at the hotel and play family historian and then meet up with them at the center of Paris.
There really is a center of Paris. All distances are measured from it.
I was excited for all involved (except myself) when I heard that they went up in the tower to check out the gargoyles (in French gargoyle is: gar-gwee -- clearly not spelled that way). I didn't hear that part of the plan, and usually The Dad doesn't want to stand in an additional line, so it didn't dawn on me. Ah well. The kids and the sister loved seeing the stone creatures up close and getting a view of the city different than the one from the top of the Eiffel Tower. And truth be told, my legs were so tight from the billions of stairs the day before that I think they might have gone PING! and snapped right off from my body.
After meeting up we planned on all going through the cathedral, but The Boy was almost in tears because he needed the toilet so badly (he had already gone twice since leaving the hotel, so The Dad was slow to assist). So again, we separated -- the girls made a sweep of the cathedral (and I got updated on shenanigans that happened while I was at the hotel between The Dad and The Boy when they went to a store to buy drinks -- the two of them are so alike they often frustrate one another... it was very funny in the retelling, though I could tell the girls are starting to get miffed at the boys). Then finally, we were all together again.
Unbelievably, The Girl realized that while she absolutely had not needed the toilet when The Dad and The Boy set off to locate one (again -- Paris is stingy with her toilets), as we headed out to find lunch she realized that she now needed one -- badly.
While searching we passed the Hotel des 3 colleges where Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote the novella: No One Writes to the Colonel. We make a point to mention authors that we like -- maybe a brief who they were or what they wrote -- because it's human nature to like things that we're comfortable with. Every reference is just a little familiarity.
Toilet found (after a few attempts and head shaking: Noh!). After stopping for supplies (oh, I can't express the mirth bubbling out of the kids when they made The Dad order "two Paris-Brests" at the boulangerie. Yes. I know.), we went and had lunch in the Jardin du Luxembourg. It was fun (that garden is so pretty), but the cheese and bread wasn't as good as the day before. But even mediocre bread and cheese in a park in Paris is better than no bread and cheese, or no park in Paris.
While at the park we received a call from our Parisian friend (The Dad served his mission in France and is still very close to the most lovely family), and once again we decided to split up because of logistics (number of car seats, etc.). The Sister wanted to see some of the fashion that Paris is so known for, and The Girl wanted to check out a cute pet store that we went to last time by the Parc de Bercy. So, The Sister and I went to Galeries Lafayette, while The Dad took the kids to meet up with our friend and check out the pet store.
Apparently there were darling bunnies at the pet store.
As for The Sister and I, we saw how the other half (or other 1%) lives. It is indeed a lovely shopping space, and there was an impressive quantity of designer clothes, handbags, etc. Perhaps my favorite area was the food shop. Among other lovelies there were sugar cubes in the shape of birds that I got really excited about... before I saw the price. We bought nothing, but had fun being together.
Walking to our rendezvous point -- the Musee d'Orsay -- we passed by the opera house, through the Place Vendome, across the gardens, and over the bridge -- which is a very picturesque (and preposition-loaded) way to approach the museum.
While The Sister and I were in line we both saw a kid with his head studiously bent -- studying the floor plan -- dart past: The Boy!
We all love the museum, but we were all too tired. The benches were like magnets to our magnetic bums. I can't express how draggy we were by this point. We gave it a good go. The Boy was really enthusiastic at first, and begrudged us the benches, but even he started to falter before The Dad would throw in the towel. When the kids and I passed of piece of art with the image of a woman holding her breasts while a red liquid gushed out of the nipples, the kids looked at me, and I looked at them and we decided that we were done. Finally, The Dad conceded to move along.
Our next stop was the Pont des Arts (bridge). We walked down along the river to get there, and I'll have to say that I did not begrudge the stench of urine radiating from the stones -- I know how hard it is to find a toilet in this town. Our destination was the bridge because we had a padlock to add to the gajillion padlocks that have been added to the fence along the bridge. I guess it started in Rome over ten years ago because of a book, and now most of the big cities have a padlock bridge. We even see random padlocks affixed to the fences around Central Park. The deal is that you write the name of who you love and then throw the key in the river to ensure that the love is never broken. There are many variations to the theme. The Dad wrote all of our initials on one side, our family motto on the other, and as there were three keys we gave one to each youngster and told them to make a wish and chuck it in... after the police passed.
For posterity: the location of our padlock is by the sixth light post (starting at the left bank) -- because it was the 6th of June -- facing the Pont Neuf.
I mentioned we were insanely tired, right? And yet The Dad felt we should do one more thing... walk to the top of the Arc de Triomphe because it was the only opportunity that he felt we would have. Grrrrr... We did it. More stairs, yes, more stairs. When we got to the top and I scrambled up on the ledge to look out I couldn't quite bend my legs right to hop back down. The kids are like little gummy children. They chatter away as they climb the stairs and have made no mention of achey legs (though they do have a rash... grrrr again...). The details are extreme. The stairs are many. Perhaps I'm missing the sobriety required of an arch, but I will say that the plans that could have gone there (an elephant building!) would have been good, too. I like these facts about the arc.
It was almost 11 in the pm when we finished, but apparently somebody had promised something about glace. Finally we found a restaurant that served it, but it was a much bigger, and longer production than could be imagined (when The Dad started asking if anybody wanted to "mix in toppings" I was like: are you kidding? This is not the time for mix-ins... this is the time for get-it-done). I sat down at that table feeling like I would never not be tired again.
