Paris day 2

Wednesday Sept. 12

I woke early, threw on some clothes and departed to get a jump on the crowds at Notre Dame. The air was misty and cool--perfect walking weather after a night of indulgence. 170 years it took to build this gothic masterpiece. There were throngs of school groups (one of my favorite ways to watch a true city experience--through the children that are growing up there who know little of the rest of the world). I love stained glass and Notre Dame was a treat in that department. I sat for a while and reflected on the people who find such great comfort in their faith. Being raised in the Catholic faith this was very familiar to me. Christianity is so huge in our world and the overwhelming presence of centuries of this faith when I travel in Europe is compelling.

We enjoyed lunch at a steak frites place that was really unique. After waiting a while in the doorway with several men with jowls that could rival any drooly dog, a little table was pulled out and Christine slithered into the booth as the table was swiftly being shoved back in front of her. I took a seat on the other side (besides jiggly old men there were some really beautiful specimens and it only seemed right that the single girl should have the view). Feeling a bit squirmy still from the previous night's indulgences, I ordered a little hair of the dog (hold the jowls)--what they refer to in France as "whiskey Coke." A bottle of Coke and a glass of whiskey over ice--mix as you see fit. I love that style of cocktail presentation. The "house mother" I called her, the lead lady in charge, looked just like Olympia Dukakis. The waitresses all wore black dresses with white collars around their necks and white aprons around their waists. No menus. I ordered my steak medium, she scratched something on the paper table cloth, and a few minutes later I was presented with a small salad. Soon after that, a plate with sliced steak covered in a parsley mustard sauce and good 'ol french fries. A hungover girl's dream.

There was a woman stuffed next to Christine on the bench that stood close to six feet tall, had floofy blonde hair, and was all gussied up, brooch and all. Her lipstick was drawn a little outside the line of her lips and it seemed to me her face was getting oilier by the minute. Eavesdropping on her conversation with her friend, which was partly in english (I missed understanding what my neighbors were talking about on this trip. i had to make up stories in my head.), it seemed as though she was a real estate agent, and a successful one at that. But she was not going to pay for lukewarm meat, even if she did make a sizable income (her words). When it came time for us to leave, I pulled the table out for my friend and my empty Coke bottle tipped over. "Huh! American." What?! How DARE you call me an American?! Wait--I am an American. What that had to do with my lovely manners but somewhat shaky table moving skills, I don't know. It was a rich experience, nonetheless.