Despite best-laid plans to ran sans-map, sans-phrasebook and sans-plan, SaraJane foiled it with an excellent gift bag for all the wedding guests containing—among other prizes—an excellent map, a phrasebook and a hand-made foldout itinerary complete with maps.
We, along with the maid of honor, argued specifics of structure versus business, over carafes of wine, coffee and French cigarettes. Being able to hit the ground—er, walking—yesterday for shock-adjustment to Paris time was great. We caught up, ate meals, took photos, and made an epic supermarket run.
Mule’s T-shirts have proved inadvertently popular in the French capital. Having worn it for 36 hours straight, smoking and unshaven I feel like a native. American Airlines assures me that my misplaced luggage will be back in my possession later today. Been unable to find lactase nor soy lait and frankly I’m getting an urge to nibble chese.
Keeping my fingers crossed that there’s an extra room in a friend’s apartment in St. Germain. My hotel is serviceable, but a hike from the rest of the wedding guests. Enjoying being near Sacre Coeur.
Paris is fucking beautiful, an infinite tangle of new and old, lit up by melodic syllables, scooters and bicycles, warm and light out late. I’m going to go get lost again.