... oui! oui! ...

i need to back up a second and jot down a few things about getting from london to paris - for posterity's sake, you know.  first, i was ill. very (subjective term) ill. deliriously ill (the fever, you know). though, i'm thankful the germs decided to get me while i was still in an english speaking country, as i am not sure i would have had the wherewithal to facilitate my way through a language barrier to get what i needed (hard core drugs: penicillin -- c'mon: if you think about what that drug can do, it's totally hard core. totally). as it was, utilizing the walk-in clinic in london was a cinch (the rush hour subway ride to the clinic won't make my list of "best london memories," however): fill out form; see doctor; brief examination by doctor; diagnosis; medication dispensed; bill paid ($122 -- worth every penny); first course of antibiotics making way to bloodstream; leave office; done. 

back to hotel via the (much less crowded) subway to fetch suitcase and then on to st. pancras international and the eurostar terminal. my friend (and primary travel consultant) sue suggested the eurostar as a means of transportation between the two cities and, considering the circumstances surrounding my travel that day (which neither of us could have predicted), she could not have pointed me in a better direction: talk about easy (thanks, sue!)!  i scanned my electronic ticket, showed the immigration officer my passport, and put my bags through security. done. no long lines; no physical search; no hassle -- i didn't even have to take my shoes off (total aside: that's another thing i noticed in the u.k., the lack of security -- metal detectors and the like -- at museums and other places where i thought there would be more of a presence. then, again, this observation could just be another manifestation of my lack of worldliness ...). 

once checked in, i just waited for the train and then boarded when it was time (and that's another thing: people seemed to be way more patient in the u.k. when it came to mass movement: repeatedly, i found myself in the middle of a massive group of people, all headed for the same three points of entry to any given place -- and people just move along, without pushing or elbowing or making a fuss or getting angry because the queue is moving too slowly ... so civilized): car three, seat 66 (and a nice man helped me stow my bag when he saw that i was struggling to lift it onto the rack -- people ARE good!).

the ride was effortless, relaxing, and fast -- just over two hours. i sat next to a french woman and regret that i wasn't feeling better, as i would have made more of an effort to visit with her (instead of just staring at her sandwich that was bright with the reds of lush tomatoes and the greens of ripe avocados).  getting off the train, on the other hand, that, that was mayhem (at least for me).  first, i didn't even realize we were in paris (blame the fever) because i could not understand any of the announcements that were made, even though the first round was always delivered in english -- i thought we were doing some kind of transfer on this direct route from st. pancras to gare du nord (again: blame the fever). thankfully, i was not too embarrassed to ask the gal sitting next to me: are we in paris? oui! then, once i entered the station, i had no idea what to do next, as there was absolutely no order. i thought i'd have to go through customs again but there was no line, no immigration officer waiting to check my passport and tell me i was cleared for entry into the country (passport control happens in london -- no need to go through customs again in france, i learned via the internet later that evening -- had to make sure i wasn't breaking any rules, you know) -- i even stopped at the information desk to make sure i wasn't missing anything (and that's when that attractive lybian man cut in front of me and then, chagrined, gave me his place in line, claiming beauty before age as motivation and, adding, that he liked my "baby face.").  and, the next thing i know, i am spit out of the station and onto the streets (well, sidewalk, square?) of paris.

oui!

i am swept up by a cabby, who, no doubt, could spot a forlorn looking american miles away, and without missing a beat, i am paying 65-euros for a 3-kilometer ride to the flat i've rented for the duration. who cares, though, i am in paris! 

i. 

am. 

in. 

paris.

did you hear me?!? paris!!

(this is a montage chronicling the strep's progression from: "i don't feel so good" all the way to "i am in paris, and i feel fiiiiiiiiiiiiine!") 

and then, finally feeling almost fully restored, i decide to make a day of exploring the champs élysées (french for elysian fields), a boulevard in paris' 8th arrondissement, 1.9 kilometers long and 70 meters wide, which runs between the place de concorde and the place charles de gaulle, where the arc de triomphe is located.  sounds like a good plan, right? too bad it's pouring rain, something i don't fully realize until i'm out the door and on my way. no big, whoop, though: i can stop and get an umbrella at the monoprix (a french department store, akin to a super target (but one that also sells liquor), i guess) down the road. done. and i am still on my way, only the wind is blowing and my umbrella is more of a nuisance (thanks to the wind) than it is a help; but i persevere, though i've lost my way in the commotion of managing my umbrella and dodging puddles. i duck into a starbucks (kind of lame, i know) and treat myself to a .... wait for it ... coffee (just kidding: i had a cappuccino -- skinny) so i can regroup and reroute. back on track (and caffeinated), i resume my travels towards champs élysées.

on the way, i encounter this bridge over the seine (i'd seen a similar bridge the day before en route to notre dame) -- note the padlocks, or love locks. "sweethearts" affix  these "love locks," which are often inscribed with names or initials, to bridges (and other structures) to symbolize their love and send the message that they are "locked in love" forever (awwwww....). You can read more about the movement to stop the practice here -- 700,000 locks purportedly hang on the panels of one parisian bridge, 500 kilograms for each panel -- a blight, according to the city.

to cut to the chase, i never did make it to the champs élysées that day because i stumbled on into the louvre, which was completely unexpected. but, when the louvre just crosses your path, you go inside (especially because you have the museum pass and there isn't much of a line).

since i really wasn't prepared to visit the louvre (e.g. i had not yet taken the time to fully understand what exhibits are on display and formulate a plan for what do once inside), i simply made sure to see the "must sees," which for me, were three things: the mona lisa (only because you pretty much HAVE to see the mona lisa -- it's not a painting i particularly care for); the winged victory of samothrace; and the venus de milo.

the venus de milo practically brought me to tears (ok, it did bring me to tears) -- aphrodite, the greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and procreation, or amphitrite, the wife of poseidon, who was venerated on milo? such a beautiful, graceful, mysterious statue ... i spent most of my time at the louvre engrossed in the greek, roman, and etruscan antiquities collection; there is something about sculpture that makes me feel so much more connected to history than other forms of art -- and we all know how much i love those ancient greeks! -- i could spend days among those statues, days.

museum going takes it out of a girl, so once i left the louvre, i decided to just make my way back to the flat.  by that time, the rain had stopped and the blue sky was attempting to peek its head out between the clouds. i can't bring myself to use public transportation, even though it's readily available, because there is so much to see and experience just walking from place to place (besides, paris is a very walkable city and i need and want the exercise). i am mesmerized, mesmerized by the streets of paris -- i could take a picture on every street corner and i still would not have enough pictures of this beautiful, beautiful city. 

i'm just going to go ahead and say it (because it's totally obvious): i am smitten, i am a smitten kitten (what's not to love about a city that decorates its street corners with carrousels and crepes stands?). needless to say (though, i'll say it anyway), i am going to have to come up with some sort of strategy to manage my lovesick heart when i return home. it's really not a bad problem to have ... 

oui!