Sunday in Paris

The clock reads 5 am, and I’ve been wide awake for more than an hour after taking a sleeping pill at 11 pm. I was so tired, and now I feel like I’ve been chugging coffee. I’m hoping for a nap in a little, ideally before the sun rises. My hopes are not high.

Yesterday was Sunday, I’d slept most of the day, and nothing in Paris is open anyway. Well, that’s a filthy lie. The Marais is open as is the Plage. My plan had been to go to the flea market if I’d been up in time. I figured I needed to exhaust myself if I was going to get any sleep that night. I took the Metro to Bastille and walked through Place des Vosges.

Hang on – the sun is rising, and I think I’ll try to sleep again.

OK, back now 3+ hours later. I might have slept. The machine definitely got my laundry cleaner than any American machine I’ve ever used (and btw, took all 3+ hours). When we left our hero, she was having a profound sleep disorder uncurable even with delicious French sleeping pills that have always worked before.

I did have a realization about what I do wrong in relationships. But I can’t tell you about it, or I would have to kill you. Code to self: R (4 letters) and continuing with the same system.

I was surprised to find the Marais so crowded. Most disappointing was the huge line at the Jewish bakery, but I also noticed the pastries were 3.5 euros. French pastries are generally around 1 euro. So, I figured I could hold out until tomorrow for 3 pastries instead of having 1 today (think marshmallow study – ask me if you don’t know what I am talking about).

Eventually I found my way to the completely awesome Plage. Here are some photos:





By the time I got here I was famished as I had packed myself a meal before I left the house and was already hungry at that point. I sat by the side of the river with so many others on a giant picnic table and had my sandwich. I wasn’t able to illustrate very well in my photos that they provided a different kind of seating every few hundred feet along the river: picnic tables, hammocks, beach chairs, etc. I didn’t document some of the cooler ones. I still love it when the French dance – they are so much less self-conscious than other cultures, so much more able to live.

From there, I walked across the Seine to the Left Bank. I strolled through St. Michael/St. Germaine teaming with tourists and closed shops.
Then back across the river to Notre Dame, then across the bridge to Ile St. Louis where I stopped for a while to listen to music.

I decided to walk all the way home despite already being tired and having a bum hip to wear myself out for sleep. You know how that worked out for me.

I should have mentioned this in my last post, but Mose has a website. Click on it every week. I also wanted to add that it rained on us at the barge party.