Princess Diana

....is really not the topic of this post, but whatever.

I had the rest of last week off after my Michigan adventure (which, thankfully, did not include Michigan's Adventure), but Wednesday didn't count because I landed at 3:00 and spent the rest of the day groggy. David had the day off for another random French holiday and picked me up from the airport. I was so happy to see him and spent the rest of the day smiling lazily while I tried not to fall asleep.

On Thursday I did something really stupid and went into work. Something to do with saving myself from even more work next week, helping the intern get some stuff done, I don't even remember. It was a bad idea. I did get stuff done, I did help the intern, but the relaxed, zen-like tranquility I should have had after taking a week-long vacation never had a chance. Why can't I learn a lesson from the French?

Friday David went to work and I overslept, but blamed the cold and kept on sleeping. Finally I dragged myself out of bed and agreed to meet Clemens in the city for a bike tour. Probably not the smartest thing to do when I was sick, but I was determined to enjoy my last days of vacation. So we rented bikes near Notre Dame and proceeded to ride along the Seine. We recklessly rode along the Paris beach, which was pretty difficult with so many tourists, even on an overcast day.

Clemens knew the site where Princess Diana was killed, so we stopped for a gander. I'd forgotten the 10th anniversary was coming up. People had written messages along the top of the bridge and left flowers and photos. One woman left a plastic bag filled with what must have been at least 500 origami cranes.

We rode to the Eiffel Tower, where a couple of bored cops shooed us off the sidewalk, then all the way back to the Hôtel de Ville, where we had to wait at least 20 minutes to find a spot to dock our bikes. This is the flaw with the bike rental: it's always difficult to find a place to park. So you end up frantically riding around, getting further and further from your intended destination, all the while paying for every extra half hour on the bike.

Anyway. On Saturday we overslept. The only thing we really did that day was find a replacement driver's side mirror for the C2 after some local kid (I'm unfairly assuming it was a kid) smashed ours. This is how we found the French auto parts store, with the help of our trusty friend Wally (merci encore, Wally) and the Tom Tom.

Come nightfall we met Clemens at Gare du Nord for an evening out. Clemens was kicked out of his student housing in Beauvais and has taken up residency in Guillaume's (see French dinner guest) apartment while Guillaume takes his requisite French holidays in Corsica.

We took a tour of Guillaume's classic Parisian apartment (6 flights of stairs up, ugh) and clambored onto his roof for a beautiful view of Montmartre and the Eiffel Tower.

Clemens holds the window while David climbs down from the roof

Back inside, Clemens and Dave flipped through a magazine of The Best of Paris and selected a bar within walking distance. The evening was mild, so we enjoyed the walk. We passed the Canal St. Martin and the boys marvelled at the locks while I hung back and made fun of them for being nerds.

Eventually we found the bar, which was closed for summer holidays. No one was the least bit surprised or disappointed. C'est Paris. Instead we settled at the bar next door with outdoor seating in a large courtyard. We had drinks and I had a late dinner (still blaming the time difference) and Dave and I grinned with delight while the waiter tried to flirt with Clemens and Clemens squirmed.

On Sunday Dave had a date to play cricket with some colleagues. We were to meet under the Grand Arche in La Defense. Well, we forgot how much we hate driving in La Defense. It's a real maze, that place. So we ended up 15 minutes late, and no one had a cell phone, so we missed the game. Bummer.

In the center of this photo, off in the distance, you can see the Arc de Triomphe.

Since we were already out there, we walked around in the dreariness for a little while and stopped for a coffee. David officially declared that Starbucks coffee is now too weak for him. Next to the café was a little conveyer sushi place, and I officially declared I wish I worked in La Defense.

We came home and had lunch and decided to spend the rest of the damp afternoon in a cozy movie theater. So we went down to Les Halles and saw Ratatouille. We had some discounted movie tickets from Dave's work, and as he pushed them toward the guichier, the guy stammered in broken English that movies were only 3 euros that day, and he imagined that was cheaper than our discounted tickets. He was right.

Two things crossed my mind. First: how badly I felt for that guy trying to speak English. He was literally trembling. And obviously we could have swung a little bad French, (Dave managed to say "deux billets" before he cut us off) so he didn't have to try so hard. Second: how much I love happy accidents in France. Why on earth were tickets only 3 euros? Who knows?

Today at work David learned that all movie tickets in Paris were 3 euros yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Still don't know why.

Anyway, after the movie, which I loved, by the way (David was a little creeped out by all the rats), we went home for dinner. Then we watched The Queen, which wasn't as much fun. But I found it interesting that Princess Diana had popped up twice in my weekend.