Mais oui Paris

I honestly don't even know where to begin.  I literally had the time of my life this weekend.  I ate my weight in baguettes and cheese, stood among enough wealth to buy a good-sized nation, made a complete fool of myself in a language I do not speak, and found out firsthand why half the world is in love with Paris.  (The other half just hasn't been there.)  Here, in brief, is how it went down.

Our home: A rented flat, located in a quiet Parisian suburb, complete with full kitchen, bed space for everyone, a hot tub and sauna, TV, couches, treadmill, skylights, bamboo floors, and down bedding.  In an area three times as nice as the best hostel, with lower prices than the cheapest.

The sights: The Eiffel Tower.  Notre Dame.  The Louvre.  Sacre Coeur.  Montmartre (the artist district).  The Moulin Rouge.  The Catacombs.  The Arc de Triomphe.  The Champs d'Elysees.  The Palace of Versailles.  The Eiffel Tower...at night.  The Palais Garnier, the Paris opera house.  Le Marais (the medieval district).

The food: Baguettes.  Croissants (pronounced 'quah-sohn') - plain, chocolate-filled, raisin-studded, almond-flavored.  Cheese, both delicious and rotting-feet-esque.  'Petit cafe creme' = three tablespoons of coffee for 1.50 Euro.  One macaron pistache.  Quiche.  More baguettes.  Occasionally even a fruit or vegetable.

The people: Sometimes sweet, like the owner of the bakery near our flat who smiled at our feeble French attempts and waved at us the next time we passed his shop.  Sometimes awful, like the other bakery owner who got crazy mad at us and was not pacified by the fact that we didn't know how to say sorry in French.  Or that we didn't really know what to be sorry for.  Sometimes awesome, like the guy who put on a puppet show on the subway.  Sometimes creepy beyond comfort.  But always entertaining.

The bad: The Musée d'Orsay, home to the art I really wanted to see, being closed on Mondays.  Never quite understanding the train ticket system.  Staying in the Louvre so long that by the time we finally got out and found lunch we were about to literally eat each other.  Getting caught in a spontaneous typhoon and having our view from Montmartre hill blocked by fog.  Walking through over a mile of catacomb tunnels six stories underground with the bones of six million people stacked neatly on either side (fun fact: I'm claustrophobic about underground tunnels like that).  The hot tub exploding all over our bathroom floor on our last night.  Not being able to see the auditorium of the opera house.  Barely making our flight home.

But really, all these things are totally eclipsed by-

The wonderful: Coming up from the subway station and gasping at the Eiffel Tower right there.  Ditto for Notre Dame, and the Arc d'Triomphe, and the Palais Garnier.  Getting into the Louvre for free.  Being in cathedrals that have borne witness to millions upon millions of prayers.  Watching the sun set over the fountains of Versailles.  Coming up from the subway station and shrieking at the Eiffel Tower lit up at night.  Shrieking again when the lights started twinkling.  Perfecting my pronunciation of the sentence, "Bonjour, parlez-vous anglais?" Looking in through the window of one of the upper boxes in the opera house and being able to see the ballerinas onstage rehearsing.  Coming home completely and utterly exhausted from such an experience.

Sorry that was all so vague and un-Melody-catastrophe-filled.  (It was a shockingly light trip for such mishaps.  I only got left behind like twice.  My luck must be improving.  And/or karma finally caught up to me.)  I am still mentally exhausted and mellowed out from so much excitement.  Thanks for your continued thoughts and prayers.  Coming home is coming up, and I couldn't be more excited to see you all.


Love,
Melody