Today I didn't ride. I didn't go to any museums. I have what are, perhaps, reasons or excuses--depending on your point of view--for both.
One is that after I wrote yesterday's post, I took a late night ride into the wee hours of morning
and through a rainstorm I should have seen coming. Clouds thickened and skies darkened even before night fell; I guess I was fooled when hours passed and it hadn't yet begin to rain.
I had just pedaled up the hill of Montmarte and was starting my descent of the Rue Ronsard when the la deluge a commence.
I zigged and zagged down the Right Bank streets and across the Pont de la Concorde faster than Lindsey Vonn on the slalom at Val d'Isere. Then I dodged cars picking up and dropping off very fashionable (even by Paris standards) at cafes and nightclubs in the Latin Quarter. By the time I got back to my apartment, I was soaked and giddy. Despite the very late hour, it took me about an hour to fall asleep.
Getting back so late from a bike ride meant, of course, that I woke up late. It was probably just as well: If I'd awakened earlier, I probably would have tried to do some shopping, drop into a gallery--or take another bike ride--before a lunch date with a friend I hadn't seen in eleven years.
Even though dejeuner translates as "lunch", those two words don't mean remotely the same thing. The French are known for long lunches during the week. But on a Saturday that happens to be a fete nationale (L'assumption), dejeuner can fill any and all of the hours between the morning coffee and sundown. At least, that we somehow managed to do that: After we finished our crepes, we walked from the Montparnasse to St. Germain des Pres and St. Michel, crossing the bridge to l'Ile de la Cite (where the Notre-Dame Cathedral and Sainte Chapelle are located) into Beauborg and le Marais--stopping a couple of times along the way for coffee.
The walk was, I felt, as much a part of "lunch" as the crepes and coffee. I wouldn't mind another lunch like it with Jay, my old friend. I just hope I won't have to wait another eleven years for it.
One is that after I wrote yesterday's post, I took a late night ride into the wee hours of morning
and through a rainstorm I should have seen coming. Clouds thickened and skies darkened even before night fell; I guess I was fooled when hours passed and it hadn't yet begin to rain.
I had just pedaled up the hill of Montmarte and was starting my descent of the Rue Ronsard when the la deluge a commence.
I zigged and zagged down the Right Bank streets and across the Pont de la Concorde faster than Lindsey Vonn on the slalom at Val d'Isere. Then I dodged cars picking up and dropping off very fashionable (even by Paris standards) at cafes and nightclubs in the Latin Quarter. By the time I got back to my apartment, I was soaked and giddy. Despite the very late hour, it took me about an hour to fall asleep.
Getting back so late from a bike ride meant, of course, that I woke up late. It was probably just as well: If I'd awakened earlier, I probably would have tried to do some shopping, drop into a gallery--or take another bike ride--before a lunch date with a friend I hadn't seen in eleven years.
Even though dejeuner translates as "lunch", those two words don't mean remotely the same thing. The French are known for long lunches during the week. But on a Saturday that happens to be a fete nationale (L'assumption), dejeuner can fill any and all of the hours between the morning coffee and sundown. At least, that we somehow managed to do that: After we finished our crepes, we walked from the Montparnasse to St. Germain des Pres and St. Michel, crossing the bridge to l'Ile de la Cite (where the Notre-Dame Cathedral and Sainte Chapelle are located) into Beauborg and le Marais--stopping a couple of times along the way for coffee.
The walk was, I felt, as much a part of "lunch" as the crepes and coffee. I wouldn't mind another lunch like it with Jay, my old friend. I just hope I won't have to wait another eleven years for it.
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