Day 23
Tuesday June 7
Today we took our second stab at the Catacombs. Since we were going home on Saturday, I was suddenly feeling a lot of pressure to maximize every second I had left in Paris. (which is why I couldn't find the time to blog until now...back in Los Angeles) So we make the trek out to La Defense, which is at the very end of the train line, and we saw some people outside the tres subtle entrance to the Catacombs. We approached and found that little cluster we saw from afar was actually a GIANT TWO BLOCK LONG line up close. So we make the five-minute walk to the end of the line, and it started to rain. Blah. Over the next hour, we make about 20 feet of progress. Awesome. So to make the time pass, we sent Diana on a wine run. She comes back with an uber convenient twist off pinot grigio, and we get to work. The next hour passes much faster, and before we know it we're being ushered in. Now. I had never been carded a single time in Paris--all the clubs, bars, markets, museums, etc...no problem. So, four weeks in, I finally stop carrying around my passport (its not very safe to have it on your person for fear of pick pockets). But now, at the Catacombs, the uberjerk woman behind the ticket counter refused to give me the reduced price for people aged 14-30 without picture ID. How old do you think I am, lady? Apparently two university IDs aren't enough to prove my youth either, or the advocacy of my similarly young friends, who happened to have their passports. Thus begins my downhill slide into old age and wrinkles. I knew 22 was a bad age.
Ten euros and a huffy descent down hundreds of stairs later, I found myself ducking to avoid hitting my head on the damp rock roof of the too-claustrophobic tunnels beneath Paris. As we walked through the dark and dank labyrinth (its probably my greatest fear to get lost and stuck down there), bones started appearing on either side of the tunnels. The bones of 6 million Parisians past. Gross. Yes I touched one. Yes I debated smuggling one out in my bag, but its a good thing I didn't because we were searched on our way out. Apparently disappearing skulls has been a problem for the good people at the Catacombs before. While they were cool, I was excited to emerge from the slimy, dark, creepy tunnels.
At this point, we were desperately hungry. I LOVE fancy cheese and baguette and butter as much as the next Parsienne, but something fresh was starting to sound realllly good. Sushi. Done and done. We feasted at a little place off Saint Germain with old Brittney movies on tv. Then we found yet another little bookstore that Diana's guide book recommended (Abbey), but since it was raining, the place was packed! Too crowded for us, so Rose and I wandered around and window shopped and tasted artisan sweets and olive oil, and we stumbled upon Cafe La Perle. We sat with a glass of wine, then headed home to meet a friend for dinner. Allison is a lovely french girl we met on our adventures, and after dinner at Cafe L'Industrie, she came back to our place and hung out with us before heading out for the evening. We drank our usual wine, but since she is from Bourdeaux, she couldn't handle our cheap taste. Ha. Again, our wine offends the French. She told us that one of the bottles we had on hand is the stuff the homeless people drink.
Anyway, we headed out to Andy Walhoo's a trendy little bar in the Mairie that has the most delish mojitos. We danced etc, then hoofed it home for some late night baguette and sleep.
Voila, Day 23
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