Note: Journaling is a great way to build your stories. When you keep a journal you can record details that would be long forgotten if you let days pass. Then when you look back at your pages, you relive those moments and your stories emerge. Sometimes journals can be stories in themselves.

__________________________________________

My last day in Paris.

I am out of the house to the Musee d’Orsay by 9:15 and in line. It takes about 40 minutes to get in. This time I have the right ticket. I spend the time chatting with an American couple and their two teenagers. They tell me about another vacation rental place, this one is run by an American family that has about 15 apartments in Paris that they rent out. This family is very happy with their place. It is Vacation in Paris. There are cafes nearby to where they are. I take note of the rental place they used. I used Vacation Rentals by Owner VRBO.com.

The d’Orsay is fine. I’ve seen a lot of the paintings at the recent exhibition in San Francisco already. And there are of course many others too. But it is crowded in there and the building is beautiful, the old train station with the soaring ceiling. It is wonderful, really, but I am hungry and feel tired from standing and being out late the night before.

I go over toward the Rodin, my last stop for the day. Well, this is perfect. There is no line and it is a garden. Katharine told me about it, our new pastor. I love it. There is a little restaurant right in the garden. They have some beautiful salads. I have one with tuna and a water.

  


It is all convenient and wonderful and not like the crowds at the d'Orsay. The rose bushes in the garden must be absolutely spectacular when they bloom, they are so strong and healthy with buds all over them. It is about 75 degrees and perfect weather.

After my lunch I feel fortified and stroll in the garden, have my picture taken, she takes two just to be sure, a nice British woman.

I go into the house and see the sculptures. Rodin doesn’t resonate for me so much as Michaelangelo did in Florence. Rodin’s style is less smooth, it is different, new. He is friends with Monet and they both talk about the new art. While I love impressionist art, this sculpture that feels rougher and less polished, while beautiful in its way, doesn’t move me in the way that Michaelangelo’s David did, that my niece, Katie, and I stared at from every angle for many moments.



  

Then I leave. Susan suggested we meet at the Ritz bar. I suggested 5:30. I want to stop for a café au lait, but I need to go back and pack.

So I go back and I pull out my suitcase. I can’t believe it is time to go. I am very organized. I start putting things away, laying out my clothes for tonite and for tomorrow morning, a sweater for the plane where it is always cold. I am getting all my things together, figuring out what to throw out in the kitchen, what I will eat tomorrow morning.

I have time to lie down for 45 minutes which is nice. I am looking forward to the Ritz as a nice ending to a perfect trip.

I tell Susan I’ll text her when I leave around 5. At 5:10 she texts me and I am frantically looking at my map realizing that I don’t know where Place Vendome is. Finally she texts me her French number and I call her. Ah much better. She shows me, I still get off at Concorde but walk down Rue St. Honore to the Place Vendome.

Well! I can tell you what a fun walk that was, all the shops are there, all the designers, the beautiful clothes. I’ve never been on Rue St. Honore before. Then there I am and the Place Vendome opens before me and beyond is the black awning of the Ritz. It is a beautiful old hotel and the word grand doesn’t begin to describe it. I walk towards the Hemingway Bar, there are 3 bars. I don’t know which one Susan is in. This French businessman is sitting there in the hall with a newspaper. As I walk back, he asks if he can help. He says they have music starting at 7:15 on the piano. He asks me where I am from and I say San Francisco. I ask him the same and he says he is a lawyer in Paris.

I go into the Vendome Bar and see Susan at a table from behind. She has her glass of wine and they have put out some olives and nuts with raisins.

It is good to see her. I thank her for meeting me here and we talk easily and about an apartment in Paris. She is going to continue looking for one during her time here. We agree that it is good to be happy with yourself.

We finish our drink and then agree to go to one of the other bars in the Ritz. We walk down the hall looking at all the expensive merchandise in the windows, the windows, jewel cases, a hall of mirrors. There is an enormous flower arrangement right before the hall of mirrors and a very kind Asian woman who is walking by sees us admiring it and asks if we want a picture taken.

We look in at the Hemingway Bar and it would be cozy on a dark rainy night, but it is a bright, sunny day. In the garden bar, it is lovely. It is expansive and very modern with a beautiful patio. There aren’t very many people there now, but probably later at night it is full and the people are grand in their designer clothes, speaking in French.

Well, after one more glass of wine for me and an hors d’oeuvre that is like those middle eastern meat filled things that you dip in hummus I am ready to go but Susan wants to linger. “I will leave you then,” I say, giving her some money. I know we will keep in touch.

I decide to walk back along Rue de Rivoli, it is still warm and nice out. Back at my apartment I finish up getting ready. I text Susan and send my last email saying I am looking forward to seeing her when she returns. She says she will see me this summer.

I go to bed at 10 and sleep soundly till 3, am awake for an hour processing re-entry stuff about Easter and work and life back at home. I am leaving in the morning.

I get up at 5 and decide I must wash my hair for this journey. I will arrive in San Francisco about 4 a.m. my time the next day. I’ve finally gotten adjusted to Paris time. I’ve felt rested the whole time I was here.

I pack, I leave the key in the slot for Madame Housekeeper. Last night I wrote some nice things in Isabelle’s guestbook about fun things that I did.

As I walk out the door, the shuttle pulls up and I am on my way home.

Good bye Paris, au revoir, until we meet again.