After a short nap, we met our friends here in Paris for a walk through St. Germaine-des-Pres and by the Sorbonne on our way to a nice little restaurant nearby. We had a lovely meal and got to catch up with Eric and Chrystele and their totally adorable 1-year-old Luka. He grinned nonstop, only pausing to graw on the heel of a baguette, apparently his favorite indulgence. Such a good little Parisian. When we came out of the restaurant into the drizzling Paris night, the narrow street was swarming with people, with an ominous, drunken roaring at one end. Eric at first hesitated wheeling the stroller that way, and explained that France was playing England for the championship. We past the bars spilling out rugby fans, and got some AMAZING gelato nearby — sorry Mio Gelato, but this far surpasses anything we’ve had in Portland. Sort of like comparing Nescafe to the real cafe.

Well, all was good until we tucked into bed — and realized our cute little hotel on a “quiet sidestreet” was just down the street from a bar, or some such. Or perhaps the whole city was on fire with drunken, rowdy Marseillese-singing rugby fans who had just witnessed their team win. It was a long night, let’s just say. The last revelers finally shut up about 3:15 a.m. or so. So no wonder we just got up at 9:15 a.m.
We are off to Eric and Chrystele’s for brunch, then maybe Notre Dame, the Roman ruins nearby and the Pompidou, a mecca for modern art and a word Rick just loves saying.