Paris Diaries: Long Day's Journey Into Night
I barely managed to drag myself back to the hotel. Although I couldn't justify ordering room service as it would be missing a night in the Paris air, I also couldn't walk that far both from exhaustion and from pain. I hobbled to the restaurant next door with the cute waiter. I ordered a glass of wine and sat there, dreamingly contemplating the Belle Epoque windows of the Boulevard. I'm sure the waiter thought I was nuts even though we talked about the Parisians* (according to him, they are snobby and obnoxious) and how he came to speak English so well (He had lived with an English family). We chatted about music, The Ramones and the Cramps (his favorite). I'm sure he was wondering, despite our pleasant chat, why wasn't I on the Boulevard Saint-Michel pondering the Seine or some other lovely place? Why was I on this little nothing side street peppered with motorcycle and camera stores? I should have felt badly, I suppose, about not going to some amazing restaurant or bothering to even go farther than my block, not bothering to even find a new restaurant, not riding up and down the Seine on some party boat even. But I wasn't. I was completely content to be exactly where I was. I sat there and watched the sun slowly set while I drank red wine.
Unfortunately, while I was sitting there, I discovered that despite minimal usage my camera battery was verging on death. I decided I would save what little energy my camera could muster for my grand outing to Versailles otherwise I would have taken a picture of that view of the street, just so I could remember the peace I felt looking at it.
Because of my plan to go to Versailles I told myself it was OK to take it easy, to save my strength for that grand outing, but the truth is it was my vacation and I was completely content to sit and drink red wine. And shouldn't that be what a vacation is all about anyway? Having effectively convinced myself that my minimal evening outing was completely justified, I dragged my ass the five feet back to my hotel to prepare for the next day at Versailles.
I fell sound asleep, but woke in the middle of the night. As I dragged myself to the bathroom, I thought my right ankle seemed a bit swollen. I was concerned, but I was also exhausted and sleepy. I couldn't do much about a swollen foot at 2 am anyway. Might as well just go back to sleep and worry about it later.* Parisian, in this case, refers to people born and raised in Paris as opposed to a French person born outside of Paris who moved there. In Paris, it's very clear that Parisian does not refer to a resident of Paris but rather a "native" of Paris.
Bad Bunni posted at 9/02/2007 08:43:00 PM