Day Seven: 28 Aug. 2002

It seems brighter this morning - still overcast, but not so oppressive. We make a list of places we'd still like to see, and then I go downstairs and ask the concierge to make a reservation for dinner. We finish getting ready, and then head for Ile St. Louis for breakfast. We don't feel like a huge lunch, just a light breakfast, but that can be hard to find. We wander through ISL and the Latin Quarter, increasingly hungry and frustrated, and finally settle on L'Allegro, a creperie on Blvd. St. Germain. The buckwheat crepes were marvelous, and I learn that in Paris, "Limonade" is a fizzy drink that tastes a lot like Sprite. Okay. There's a very old structure across the street, and we figure out that this is the Thermes de Cluny & Musée Nationale du Moyen Age. Neither of us are big Middle Ages fans, but we decide to check it out.

The entry is on the other side. The Hotel des Abbés de Cluny is beautiful, and the medieval works inside (illuminated manuscripts, sculptures, furniture, tapestries) are impressive. The Gallo-Roman baths seem alien, incongruous, squared-off and clean compared to the leafiness of the medieval stuff. Afterwards we meander towards St. Chapelle. We see a building marked "Palais de Justice," and I'm wondering if that's where Parisians go to elope, then Kathryn says "I think that's it." St. Chapelle is part of a cluster of buildings, but we find the entry. We're on the ground floor, the lower chapel, which is beautiful. A low, vaulted, starry ceiling, with unusual almond-shaped stained-glass windows. There's a small gift shop. Back in the corner is the stairway to the upper chapel. It's a narrow spiral turret staircase, with tiny vertical window-slits here and there. My camera lens bonks the railing a few times. We enter the upper chapel and suddenly the lower chapel looks like merde. The space is much smaller than that of Notre Dame, but it feels so much more glorious. The entire chapel is made of stained glass windows, with very little space between them. People are hushed but excited - every four minutes or so a French tour guide says authoritatively, "Shhh! Silence s'il vous plait!" and the room quiets again. I consider taking pictures, but what would be the point? The incredible windows have been photographed thousands of times; their photos are as good as, or better than, mine. We sit briefly on the side bench, and then let someone else take our spots. We need ice cream.

We cross the bridge to Ile St. Louis, curious about the source of the famous Berthillon ice cream. We ask around, and a woman at an art gallery tells us they're closed in August. So we go back to one of our favorite spots so far, La Flore en l'Ile, for a sundae. Oh yeah. This gives us the shopping energy we need. We shop and windowshop our way down the center street again, and have pleasant conversations with some of the shopkeepers. An asian woman tells Kathryn she wants to become a comedienne, but it's hard to get that kind of work when one has an asian face. A man asks, as he's wrapping our presents, if we've thought of moving to Paris. He says once you live here, it's not such a vacation anymore. It's just regular life. My sugar-energy soon runs out, and I notice that my back is very achy. I can find no place to sit down. Kathryn takes a break with me, sitting near the Seine, and we soon decide to return to the hotel for a little rest before our dinner.

We take the Metro from the St. Paul stop to the Louvre stop again, back to the hotel, and find that our dinner reservation hadn't been made after all. Dang. We quickly make reservations at Bofinger, which has a non-smoking section. We're seated in a bright, mirrored room with a beautiful Art Nouveau dome above us. I'm feeling adventurous. The waiter forbids me from having my first choice, the andouille (tripe sausage). He says he wants me to enjoy my experience at Bofinger, and Americans never enjoy the andouille. Okay. I trust his judgement, and I go for the Choucroute Paysan instead - 6 varieties of sausage on a mountain of sauerkraut. Oof. Not bad! Later that night, on the Italian channel, we find free porn.

On to Day Eight