Woke up Tuesday morning hungry and disoriented, quickly realizing that I’m not in my bed. I’m in a small bed at a Comfort Inn in the middle of Paris. Stomach was growling after 10 hrs of sleep so I made my way to Bistro 77, same place as the night before. Isabelle had said that they serve breakfast so there I was.
I had my first real breakfast in Paris. A nice big baguette, which came to my table with butter spread across, followed by ham and cheese omelet. So simple and yet so good. I just love that in Paris, butter is not on the side. It’s spread across the bread, where it’s supposed to be. Pure heaven. While I was having my breakfast, Isabelle asked one of the patrons if he spoke English. Turns out that the guy was a Lebanese lawyer in Paris, spoke English, and even a few words in Armenian. When he found out that I was in town by myself, he ever-so-kindly offered to be my lover and tour guide for a week. I nicely turned him down. Mr. Short Fatty didn’t stand a chance.
After the ridiculously good breakfast decided to take a walk. Didn’t know where I was going but somehow ended up right in front of the Pantheon, a burial place for the very famous French but only those that have made important cultural contributions to France (and the world). The likes of Jacques Rousseau, Voltaire, Victor Hugo, and my favorite… Alexander Dumas. Seeing Dumas was emotional since he’s one of my favorites and I’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo in three different languages, several times.
Kept walking aimlessly, still lost, and found myself standing in front of the Notre Dame.