A lazy day, spending the morning napping to recover from the excesses of last night, telling myself it was merely the remnants of jet lag. Plenty of fluids, and a short writing session in my garret, rejuvenate me enough to creep downstairs. I take in cafe creme and an enormous platter of eggs, bacon, sausage, and salad at another bistro just off La Place de la Republique where I am staying.<\/p>\n
The apartment that I am staying in is quirky and I think kind of fun. Yesterday I had problems getting in, the host of this AirBnb had sent me a photograph of the planter that the key was hidden in, but the concierge was clearly offended at being bypassed (perhaps looking for a few Euros for herself), and came out of her cubby to glare at me.<\/p>\n
A kindly soul had helped me with the multiple electronic locks to get in, but when I apologized for my stammering attempts at French, having forgotten most of what little I had learned 40 years ago, he said \u201cmoi aussi\u201d. He was my age and had the same relationship to English that I have to French. We bonded.<\/p>\n
I truly did not appreciate how small the apartment was until I saw what 15 m2<\/sup> really looks like. It\u2019s really small. With room taken up by the micro-kithenette, computer desk, and table, there is barely enough for the bed and my luggage. But I don\u2019\u2019t plan on spending any time in it. Having the computer desk is great for planning the day\u2019s adventure in the morning on my beloved iPad.<\/p>\n After a langorous brunch, avoiding the temptation of the hair of the dog, I brave a French pharmacy for the toothpaste and brush I left behind at my sister\u2019s visiting her in England. It is bright and modern, and everything is densely packed. Eventually I give up, and consult Google Translate for the key phrases I need.<\/p>\n Except I really don\u2019t need them. I open my mouth, and am immediately greeted with perfect English and helpful service. In fact throughout this trip, perhaps because I make the effort to at least try to speak French, I have not encountered the famous Parisian attitude that I remember from my youth. And I do in fact manage to stumble by even with people who don\u2019t speak, or don\u2019t speak much, English. A few key phrases, \u201cl\u2019addition s\u2019il vous plait\u201d for the bill, the time I spent plowing through Duolingo, it all seems to work. And people are smiling when they talk to me.<\/p>\n I do wonder a little whether this will change when Patricia arrives. From what I see on the Metro and in the cafes, French society seems as divided on racial lines as American. What will the reception be like for a mixed race pair of travellers? Or is the division really on class lines, will her patronage be as gladly accepted in Lilas as mine, where I only had a coffee and a couple of drinks to occupy a table for hours writing in imitation of my hero Hemingway.<\/p>\n I am now an expert at navigating the Metro, at least when staying within the central zone. Up to Gare du Nord on the 5, then down on the RER B to Luxembourg, then walk up Rue Soufflot in the Latin quarter to the Pantheon. A marvellous neo-classical monument, originally a church but now a mausoleum for the most distinguished of French citizens.<\/p>\n I am here to pay homage to Jean Moulin, the hero of the French Resistance who united the warring factions in one council. Only to be betrayed a week later to the Gestapo, and commit suicide. rather than reveal his secrets under torture.<\/p>\n The ground floor of the Pantheon is unbelievably rich, massive murals, the incredible domes, statuary of the revolution, of the Unknown Warrior.<\/p>\n And down in the crypt, a hush as I search the computerized index for Jean Moulin\u2019s remains. I find the chamber easily, there are less than ninety people honored by internment in the Pantheon. I reflect for a while in my Rise and Resist t-shirt\u2013In America we call ourselves the Resistance, but these were real resisters.<\/p>\n Suitably humbled, I head down side streets to Boulevard Saint Germaine, with the bright and the beautiful. I can barely afford a cafe glace and a martini in Les Deux Magots, but it is clearly still a place to see and be seen as it was in Hemingway\u2019s day. More time with my trusty iPad, critiquing a fellow student\u2019s work for a class we share, and losing time to Facebook. A friend once referred to Facebook as \u201ca massive brain suck\u201d, I am addicted to its dopamine micro-hits.<\/p>\n Seeking something less expensive than Les Deux Magots, the first cafe I run into is La Rhumerie, a rum- and Caribbean-themed eatery. And more just occupying space while writing\u2014I seem to be tolerated every place I stop, there is never the hint that my time is unwelcome. People seem to just sit for hours in French cafes, the tradition unbroken from before Hemingway to now.<\/p>\n Back off to my apartment. Charles de Gaulle airport to meet Patricia in the morning.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A lazy day, spending the morning napping to recover from the excesses of last night, telling myself it was merely the remnants of jet lag. 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