Paris Part Deux

The last 48 hours have been quite something.

To recover from a virulent cough/flu/cold/plague, I slept for most of yesterday. It was beautiful outside and it was Paris, but sometimes rest is absolument necessaire. I had a TON of robutussin-fueled dreams of awesomeness. I think I may have resolved a quarter-life crisis or two in my sleep. When I awoke this morning, I was bright and chipper and ready to tackle anything.

Then it was off to Les Invalides to explore the tomb of Napoleon's I, II, and III. Napoleon (the original) is a huge figure in France; people revere him for initiating the French Civil Code, instituting much of the architecture and infrastructure of modern France, and ushering in a revived empire of culture and conquest. He was not actually that short, according to the French. Rather touchingly, Bonaparte allegedly wrote, I wish my ashes to be scattered along the banks of the Seine, close to the French I've loved so much.

His tomb is immense; even the casket is a structure the size of a Peugeot, in a dais surrounded by huge marble statues. Too much? Jamais. Nearby was the French Military Museum, which was actually pretty neat. There were many uniforms donated by the families of French, British, American, and German combatants from the two world wars, some still torn with bullet holes. One of the uniforms still had a tag affixed, indicating that the soldier had been wounded in battle. It was pretty affecting stuff, considering that many of the boys who died in the wars were much younger than I am now. Leaving the assortment of buildings was much harder than it looked, since most of the exits were blocked. A very helpful Frenchman guided us out in the way that "required the least amount of thinking." Apparently, he had dealt with Americans before.

I received the ultimate compliment at dinner, when a waiter provided English language menus for everyone at the table but me. He left one French menu at my chair.

In the evening, we stopped by a used music/record/book shop. I picked up a copy of Flaubert's Trois Contes, which are sure to be bawdy and very flamboyant. I look forward to reading more from the creator of Madame Bovary. It is so much easier to read about love, than to face it head on in real life.