Not-so-Good Friday

{Sunday, September 14}

When we last left our heroine, she in the midst of making plans to see the flesh-and-blood, real live leader of the Catholic Church, that fine fellow clad in white; you know him, you love him…Pope Benoît XVI! Prepared to face the crowds, the closed metro stops, and the French police force

, she and her sidekick Monica would stop at nothing to catch a glimpse of that beloved benevolent as he addressed the pious Parisians. The two set off from the suburbs armed with cameras and 2 ½ hours of extra time, one with a fierce hunger and the other with a fierce cold. They walked the streets with which they had become vaguely familiar, photographing the occasional oddity,

Ahhh! The evil empire!

filling Monica’s growling stomach, and each enjoying a cone of ice cream.

The two intrepid ladies then traversed the Pont Notre Dame and tried with all their might and French-speaking skills to enter the sacred courtyard…but to no avail. For there is a place, my friends, for Parisian parishioners within this holy courtyard, reserved by a certain yellow piece of paper referred to a carte des gens, and there is a place for blasphemers and foreigners and it’s known as the street.

Apparently, going to see the Pope is no small feat. I asked one of the volunteers how to get a yellow card, and she literally said that they were only given out by priests at the churches, and that we could go west to where the cars and foreigners were, and follow them all night. So, try as we might, we didn’t even get close to dear Benoît XVI, but watched him on large TV screens from the closest open street to Notre-Dame,

We even got a little closer than this, but it was tough to take pictures above everyone's heads.

and we may have caught a brief glimpse of him from afar, but that was the best we could do. This was also the most unpleasant day of my illness, so the odds were generally against us, and we capitulated after watching the speech. Still, we’re both glad to have gone, and will remember the experience fondly {despite an unsavory incident involving a Starbucks bathroom}.

Back at the apartment, I literally crashed, reading for about 20 minutes before giving in and turning out the light at 8, neglecting to set an alarm because I needed my body to start cooperating again. Sadly, I spent most of yesterday indoors, but it was definitely a good idea, despite not making for my most exciting day in Paris. On a positive note, my bed is very comfortable, the internet actually functioned in my room all day, and Ce Cher Dexter {the French version of Darkly Dreaming Dexter} is enthralling; it’s usually better to read the original version of literary texts, and I will someday, but for the moment I get to practice my French and enjoy the murder mystery off of which one of the few TV series I watch is based, so I’m happy. And, of course, I am much less totally disgusting today, which is always a plus.

And finally, per Cora's request, a few more pictures of my humble abode. Those of you who are disinterested can feel free to disregard this section and skip straight to commenting and/or enjoying the rest of your day.

A very shadowy picture of the window in my room, with its lovely view of wall in the courtyard. By contrast, my favorite mobile window {courtesy of Fae Messier} sits floppily on the dresser, next to the lamp.

My shelves. Cora, look to the right.

The {very narrow} hallway that connects all of the rooms.

The cute little kitchen where I have breakfast every day, and where everyone eats dinner.

One half of the living room...

...and the other half!

Thank you, and goodnight!