But first I have a shower and get dressed and go downstairs. The breakfast is 8 euro which is more than I would normally spend, but it's convenient and very nice, with fresh fruit salad, juice, rolls and the biggest, most delicious croissant I have ever had. Lucky I don't eat like this every day! I take the roll and cheese to save for lunch later.
After breakfast I begin to make my way down the streets, heading for the Rive Gauche, on the other side of the city. The streets are incredibly quiet and deserted; apparently nobody gets up and about before 8am here. I am quite enchanted to find I'm walking past the Louis Pasteur Institute. I find I'm able to read almost everything I see. Mr Curnow, my 5th form French teacher, would be proud of me. I haven't forgotten much after 27 years.
The cars are parked so close together on the sides of the road that I wonder how any of them can get out. Some cars have only 10 to 20 cm of space in front and behind.
People are beginning to come out and shops are starting to open as I get closer in to the city. I take a few wrong turnings. In a square there is a man in a wheelchair who has a big clock and a bicycle bell. He is begging. I have never seen that before, and I pretend not to see him. Probably the wheelchair is just a ploy anyway. I get about 30 meters down the road and then I look back at him. He has a nice face and I suddenly think of the parable of the good Samaritan. Here I am rushing to church and ignoring a poor man on the roadside in a wheelchair. Shame on me. Who am I to judge whether he is really disabled or not? I know all the arguments about not giving homeless people money because they may just spend it on alcohol, but my conscience won't let me carry on, so I reach into my bag and pull out four euros and one of my little packets of Emmental cheese and I go back to the man. Bonjour, and I put them in his hand. He looks grateful.
Finally I find the Seine. It's a huge river with two islands in the middle of it, Ile de la Cite and Ile Saint-Louis. Every inch of the islands is covered in huge buildings, all made out of the same yellowish-tan coloured stone. The church is on the other side and due to my bad sense of direction I am going to be late; I've been told the meeting starts at 9.30 am. A few more wrong turns but finally I find Rue Saint-Merri and then I'm very excited to see the church sign on the building. I stop across the road to straighten myself up before going in, but then to my utter disappointment I realise that the building is all closed up. They must meet elsewhere during the summer holidays.
I feel a bit dejected after my long walk and I'm not sure what to do, so I wander a little bit further along the street. There is another homeless man sitting on a corner, with the saddest looking little dog I have ever seen curled up next to him. I know the dog is probably just a ploy, but my heart goes out to the poor little thing and I take my other packet of cheese and walk over to the man. Pour le chien? I say and he nods and I crouch down and offer the little dog a piece of cheese. I have never seen such a dejected looking little dog, and he doesn't seem to know what cheese is, because he sniffs it and licks it a little bit, but leaves it alone. I put the cheese down in front of the dog. The trouble with speaking French to people here is that then they assume I know what they are saying back to me, and half the time they are speaking too fast and I can't make head or tail of it. But the man seems to be saying, you can pat him, he won't bite. I know they have rabies in Europe and I keep thinking about what my mother would say, but I just have to reach over and let him sniff my hand and ever so gently stroke the side of his face. I would like to take this dog and love him and show him green grass and ball games, but I have to turn around and leave. I won't forget this for a long time.
I find my way to a square with quite a few people milling around. In the centre of the square is a fountain with a lot of weird colorful sculptures spouting water. I sit down on the steps to get my bearings. There are some little boys playing soccer and the ball accidentally hits me in the head. Just what I need. Then a young woman comes over to me with a clipboard. I wonder what she wants. She points to the paper. Deaf and dumb association of Paris. She signs that she is deaf and dumb and she is asking for money. The paper says 20 euro for the deaf and dumb. I pull one euro out of my bag, gee I am so gullible. The girl's manner changes. Her meaning is clear. Only one euro? Je n'ai pas vingt euro, I say. She looks very cross and writes on the back of the paper, 5 euros. Non, je n'ai pas cinq euro. I do have more money in my bag, but I figure out what is going on, and I can play this game too. Non, je n'ai plus. C'est tout. She signs, deux euro. Non, I am saying, c'est tout! C'est tout! I show her my Mastercard to make a point, and she turns on her heel in a huff, and flounces off to look for her next victim. A fool and his money are soon parted, and it only cost me one euro to learn that.
What to do next? I have begun to feel slightly unsafe, so I manage to find where the "cars rouges", the buses which do a two day hop on, hop off tour, stop. It's good to be on a bus... It gets me away from all the people and it should be a good way to orient myself to the landmarks. The buildings and the stonework are certainly amazing, and at first I take lots of photos, but after a while they all start to look the same. Each ornately carved stone building seems to be competing with all its neighbors to be fancier than the next, and most of these were commissioned by Napolean in a chest-beating brag about his latest conquest. The guy certainly had a big opinion of himself. I bet he was a horror in the sandpit at kindergarten. I mainly want to know, how was all this stonework done without cranes or power tools? What sort of engineering and craftsmanship went into it? I don't know if there is anywhere in Paris that you can find out.
The Tour Eiffel is certainly a spectacle, but I'm unimpressed by all the crowds and I don't have any desire to queue for hours to go up it.
I decide to get off at Notre Dame, resplendent in all its Gothic ugliness. Again, there is an overwhelmingly big crowd outside but I join the queue and we slowly file towards the entry. I can't imagine what possessed someone to design such a monstrosity. Inside, there are signs saying " Silence" and there is a mass going on. It feels a bit weird to say the least, to be walking around the outside of the cathedral taking photos, while the green-robed priests are reciting the mass with their golden candelabra, in front of the masses of the faithful. I am quite impressed though, by the main priest who suddenly bursts into the Gregorian chanting thing, and he is exactly on key, because the organ comes in right after him. The guy must have perfect pitch. There are confessional boxes and one offers confessionals in five languages. I suppose you have to pay, but how convenient! I wonder how much it costs per sin.
I've seen enough stained glass and Gothic arches to last me for quite a while, so I exit the cathedral. I'm feeling desperate to go back to my hotel room, but I'm soooooo far away, and with my map reading skills I could well end up somewhere entirely different from what I intended. I start the long walk, and several about turns later I finally have found the right street. Thank goodness, and this time I don't encounter any beggars. It's ok for Mother Teresa, but I am not so streetwise, and I have a family to get home to.
What a relief to find my lovely little hotel, and to get back to some familiarity. I have been walking for over five hours. It's been an adventure, but I've had enough for one day.
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