Day 6

To class this morning, where we did practice dialogues about buying train tickets (time, train to-from, what class, one way or round trip), and also about verbs of daily activities. Before class, we students had fun making comparisons between the French disposition against smiling, and the American/British tendency toward it, especially when we feel embarrassed or vulnerable. Or maybe the French never (allow themselves to) feel vulnerable? 

Christine is such a wonderful teacher. She is animated, and usually finds a way to explain things in French, without resorting to English. But she knows when we need a bone, and tosses accordingly. She also does a good job at discussing important points of French culture, history, and politics with us so that we understand the French temperament. And she is good at allowing the extroverts to also amuse the class, as well as draws out the introverts. 

 I was distracted by my feet. My toes, especially the large and second ones on each foot, are swollen, red, and warm. I expected the first two. Indeed, I can't wait for the second toe nails to fall off, as those nail beds are bruised, and so swollen that I look like I have clubbing on those digits. However, the erythema worries me. After class, I checked in at a pharmacy, and got some things for my toes, on the pharmacist's recommendation. I decided to go back to the apartment, taking a short detour to look at possible purse choices (since the bag I brought seems to be losing the strap ... Disappointing, since I got it at a reputable adventure store in NZ).

Back at the apartment, I looked up the things that the pharmacist recommended, and found out that arnica gel really won't do the trick. I looked up information on English speaking doctors in Paris, from a few online sources, including the US embassy, and spent a frustrating afternoon trying to call them. It seems like such a little thing, but not knowing what the dial tones mean can really wreck one's afternoon. 

Finally, I got a hold of Stephen Wilson, general practitioner. Sounds like he could be an American ex-pat, doesn't he? Well, he sounded pretty French to me. And, he was busy until next week. He gave me the phone number of Dr. Bache, who I called immediately. Her lovely, British receptionist answered the phone, and made an appointment for me for Tuesday next week. I was a little disheartened at the wait, but figured it was better than nothing. However, since then, I found a listing on a blog, that I might call, to see if I can get in sooner with someone else. It's too bad that there is not a government listing of Anglophile physicians in Paris, but apparently it's illegal. Why, is anyone's guess. 

Spent the rest of the afternoon surfing the Internet. I made a reservation for a foodie tour of the Marais, and am thinking about booking one to learn to make French baguettes and breads. The thing is, I never really eat bread back in the states. There really is just something magical about the French baguette, especially if it is freshly baked and still warm. With butter, cheese, or even on its own, it's a small piece of heaven. Alex says it must be the flour. I'll have to look into it. If it's true, I may have to get some to bring back to California.

Then, I started to get restive. Yes, I'm concerned about my foot, but I am also in Paris! So, I decided to get a couignette and chocolates from Maison Larnicol, and take myself down to the Eiffel Tower for a bit of scenery. I made it down to the ground level, and felt a few drops as I walked through the tiny courtyard. Back up I went to get my umbrella, and then I was off. 

Walked west along the Boulevard St. Germaine, which I guess is a rather shi-shi street, according to Miriam. Passed the Roger Patrick store, which I noted for future reference, and finally found Larnicol. What an enchanting place! Chocolates of all sizes, shapes, colors, and tastes, all in containers, waiting for cacao lovers to scoop them into bags to be weighed and paid for. But wait, there are also delectable macaroons and buttery pastries as well. Absolutely delightful. I made a bag of a few chocolates and caramels, grabbed two couignettes, and made my escape. 

Walking back to the St. Michel metro, I ran into Sean, who is in my French class. He is from Washington (DC or state, I don't know), and laughs a great deal, especially when he makes a slyly funny remark in class. I almost told him the other day that he reminds me of Woody Allen, until I stopped to think that that might be viewed as an insult. Anyway, he was with a giant of a man, who wouldn't look out of place in a lumberjack town, but who actually moved out of the beginner class into a higher level. We all conversed for just a few minutes, and I thought that Jack's French wasn't noticeably better than mine. Maybe I will move to the next class next week? Sean told me that he'd had a premonition that we'd run into each other tonight. Funny, how easy it is to voice a correct premonition after it's already come to pass!

I made my way back to St. Michel, and took the RER C over to Champs de Mar/Tour Eiffel. Compared to the other metro lines, the C line moves at a sedate pace, as if such an elderly and distinguished line was above ramming through the subway tunnels of Paris. I found a secluded spot in a children's garden, and wrote this post. My original thought was to stay until the iron lady started showing off her lights, but since it's only 20:30, I'm cold, and the sun doesn't set until abou 22:00. I may just pack it in and go home ... ? Then again, I've got all the chocolates to keep me warm, as I've only had one couiginnette. Only? The thing was a delicious explosion of butter, pastry, and passion fruit in my mouth. Although I do agree with one of the yelpers who said that they would taste/feel a little better if they were just a tad bit warm.

I did take a beautiful photo of Notre Dame. You'll have to check fb, since I still haven't figured out how to post photos from the iPad. Anyway, as I exited the metro, the sun peeped through the clouds to the west. I saw it paint the roofs with gold. And as I came into view of Our Lady, ther she was, in all her splendor. I rushed across the street, and snapped the photo. Thirty seconds later, the heavens closed, and she was again cold and grey. But for one minute this evening, she shone like gold.