A lot to catch up on, I know. So....
We left grimault in the early morning after my last post. Drove through the rain and the mist for a very wet (but still wonderful) Paris. We had a coffee with Caroline, a friend of Alice and Davids who we had met before, a beaming woman bedecked in black furs with a tiny white dog named shushu who came complete with a pink bow in his hair. Then we hiked across the city, through the rain, and though emotions were running high we finally made it to the d'Orsay museum, where the lovely Whitney Turley was waiting with tickets (she had been waiting in the rain for an hour or whatever and complained endlessly about it). The museum was a wonderland of brilliant art and stunning architecture. An old train station of impressive red brick arches redone with ultra-modern iron adornments, with a massive ornate  clock covering one entire wall and bright light pouring down from the skylights. Highlights of the museum included stunningly complex and terrifying ten foot tall paintings by -------, some terrific sculpture of medieval and ancient warriors, a massive sculpted door modeling the entrance to Dante's inferno, a flawlessly delicate scaled model of the Paris Opera house, the luscious paintings of ------ and the flat surreal paintings of Manet (not to be confused with the bright flowing works of MOnet). Breathtaking.
Needing sustenance, we headed upstairs to the shockingly ornate gilt dining hall. We were surrounded by white, pale blue, and gold, with heavenly murals above, and a perfect view of Paris outside the window. Extravagant, opulent, and delicious, were the champagne and foi gras, duck and risotto, that we consumed in high spirits, with flushed faces and loud laughter. We criticized the haughtily French waiters and stared at the inappropriately sensuous sculptures that bent voluptuously over our table. After tasting a dozen types of gelato, we traipsed down the stairs to explore more of the museum and then emerged onto the streets.

Bidding farewell to Alice and David was not easy, though we will see them again soon, but farewell it was, and then again the City of Lights was our playground.

Whitney showed us around the vintage shops of the Marais neighborhood, where we were crammed into tiny spaces full of stylishly dressed people checking out the coolest clothes in the world. A narrow winding staircase wound down into a brightly lit cellar full of even more clothes. These were places that would put any Californian shop to shame, and I know that even as someone with a minimal knowledge or sense of fashion. We made some choices and wore our new finery for the rest of the evening. Then we wandered over to an open air market where, as evening fell, we bought dinner supplies. Ratatouille, roast chicken, a fresh baguette, and a bottl of rose were hastily prepared and then leisurely consumed in whitney's apartment, a tiny but elegantly furnished flat on the river with views of Notre Dame. We lot candles and threw open the windows so that we could enjoy the sights and smells of the city, the park below the window, and the nearby cathedral, as Edith Piaf songs filled the apartment. We were in utter awe of our own luck and brilliance finding ourselves here, now, blissful, in good company, in great spirits, on the right bank, in the Right place. After dinner we explored more of the cities nightlife, and staggered (I mean walked) home at, well, late at night.

But after a few hours I was up again, and hiked through pre-dawn Paris, waiting for the sun rise as I searched for my destination. I arrived at the Paris Opera House just as the sky was lightening, and circled it in awe. Amazing architecture and legacy with the names of all the great composers engraved upon the columns. I imagined I could faintly hear operatic scores ringing dreamily from the halls.

Then I struck back to Whitney's apartment through the grand entry of the Louvre and across the Seine right as the sun burst over the city. I arrived just in time for the arrival of Suzanne Turley, who swept stylishly into Paris with her companion Cathy Dennison, to be greeted by Whitney's screams of delight.

After a much needed round of coffee and croissants, we headed out into the bright sunshine (although the weather in Burgundy was fairly cold, this day in Paris was bright and sunny) and wandered down to the Luxemborg gardens, a splendid composition of tree-lined avenues and geometric flower arrangements. The flowers were splendid and there was a fountain with a pond upon which children sailed little mini sailboats. We also saw an incredible old fountain tucked away into the trees, with a powerfully carved Zeus gazing down on lichen and green water. There was a massive protest going on nearby which destroyed the peace and quiet but then, how could one huge economy-crippling, utterly inconvenient and obnoxious protest a week be enough for the French. We then got lunch at a very cool Chinese restaurant (recommended by Suzanne) where we ate delicious noodles before heading back out onto the streets where Whitney led us to an incredible wildlife shop that sold everything from beautifully presented insects to stuffed birds and even stuffed mammals. These included, among others several tigers, lions, rattlesnakes, deer, an elephant, a giraffe, and, well, most every other member of the animal, bird, and reptile kingdoms. All the stuffed beasts were being sold for between 5,000 and 20,000 euro. Although quiet disturbing at times, seeing these animals was certainly breathtaking.

Our wonderful little fellowship then wound it's way back to Notre Dame, and the apartment, where we bid a fond farewell to Suzanne and Cathy and a very brief one to Whitney before heading off for a series of traveling disasters or, as I like to think of it, Damn The French: Episode Two.