Les Flâneurs (The Wanderers)

This morning we cheat on Landemaine and decide to try the boulangerie on the next block, Le Pain Retrouvé. For breakfast, I savor the first quiche lorraine I've had in years. The quiche is quite nice and creamy, with good balanced flavors, but the crust could use some work. We get a couple of sweet pastries too, both of which were a bit dry for our liking, and a sarmentine which follows suit. That's what we get for infidelity.

This morning we walk to Palais Garnier, the home of the Paris Opera. The bus route I used to take to the American University every day passed by there and I would always marvel at its opulence, but this is the first time I have visited. It has just opened so we fall in line beside a small family whose youngest child is throwing a fit. By the time we get through the line we are thoroughly done listening to him and try our best to quickly get away from the family. But in a building known for its acoustics, there is no escape. We only lose the sound after ascending two flights of the grand baroque-styled staircase and ducking into a side hall that leads to the museum and library. We are immediately dumbstruck at the height and density of the impressive library, whose two-story dark wooden shelves stretch from floor to ceiling. Crowded into the shelves is a mixture of musical reference materials and scores used in performances. The museum portion just contains a bunch of paintings and busts of famous opera stars and ballerinas. We turn a corner and find ourselves at the end the gold-bedecked Grand Foyer, which resembles the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. From there we step outside onto the balcony facing Place de la Opera. Vehicles and pedestrians alike are milling around in a chaotic jumble below. It feels like a good place from which to address the masses with a historic speech but we decide to hold off on orating for now and instead head back inside.

Palais Garnier

Above the Grand Escalier (Great Staircase)

Beneath the Grand Escalier

Opera Library

Grand Foyer

The devil is in the details.

Charlie presides.

Whether inside or outside the imposing building, every time I find myself standing on a balcony I feel the urge to erupt into song. A couple of times I hum quietly enough for only Charlie to hear and his eyes widen with the fear that I might actually do it. I don't really want to get thrown out though. Besides, another toddler has taken up the tantrum song and it is echoing throughout the tall open structure. I can't compete with the volume. We find an open door leading into the auditorium. There several other tourists silently marvel at a ballerina practicing her routine to a quiet recording while stage hands busily prep the set around her.

The auditorium stage and its magnificent chandelier

Having seen and heard as much as we want, we decide to go for a wander of the quarter. Down one street we can see the impressively tall statue-topped column at the center of Place Vendôme and walk toward it. Soon we find ourselves surrounded by the chicest stores in the city, each with suited security guards outside to see that only the right people enter. We peek at the goods in a few windows. For those that deign to put price tags on anything, the numbers usually start at €500 (about $570) for tiny things like bracelets, not even necessarily made of precious metals. We feel like we are too underdressed to even go into the stores, let alone buy anything. As such, we move through the sprawling, plaza and enter the Tuileries Garden. There we sit by the large circular pond facing Place de la Concorde. We watch the male ducks swim around and compete for the females' attention. The wind picks up occasionally and blows crunchy brown leaves into the pond. From our vantage point we can see the Eiffel Tower, the Grand Palais, the Luxor Obelisk, and the Arc de Triomphe way off in the distance. Charlie lights up a cigar and we take a short rest.

We resolve to walk all the way to the Place de l'Étoile where the Arc sits. It takes awhile, and includes a short detour to walk by Charlie's old place of work, Taillevent, but eventually the Arc rises triumphantly before us just like its supposed to. Once again, I find myself with swiftly diminishing energy. After all, it is barely noon and we've already walked at least six miles.

Our morning walk

We take advantage of a nearby café (or maybe it takes advantage of us) and sit for lunch. The food is edible and there is nothing particularly offensive about it, but the waitress ignores us and treats us like stupid tourists. At least it isn't too expensive. Now it is time to head back to the 9th for our daily siesta.

Charlie has gotten into contact with an old friend, Philippine, who worked at Le Cordon Bleu while he was a student there. We agree to meet her for dinner in the 16th arrondissement. During the long, rocking metro ride I find myself dozing, exhausted from our long walk earlier in the day. At our stop, we emerge from underground, orient ourselves, and head toward the restaurant. Down the block I spot a young black cat, tail straight up, excitedly greeting a man on the sidewalk. The man seems surprised and confused by the greeting, so I deduct that it is not his cat. As we approach, I begin calling the cat and it comes right up to us. It leans against me as I pet it and then stands between Charlie's shins for more petting. A concerned elderly woman approaches us asking whether the cat is lost. We say we don't know, but then the cat answers the question by slinking into the gap of a nearby fence and returning to the home enclosed therein. We are happy to see that it clearly knows where it is going.

Just around the corner we find Philippine at Le Brandevin, a typical French bistro, where the proprietor seats us together at the back of the nearly empty restaurant. It is still quite early for the French (7:30 p.m.) and the place will not start filling up until an hour later. We all eat our fill of comfort food and catch up on what has been going on in our lives for the last six and a half years. It is so nice to see a familiar face here and to reconnect. But a couple hours into our slow meal and long chat, I start fading fast, so we part ways and head home. My feet are destroyed and I am practically sleep walking. According to my Fitbit app we have walked eight and a half miles today and my body is not letting me ignore it. We get back to the B&B, where I promptly lie down on the bed and fall asleep fully dressed, phone in hand.