Day 11: Just me 'n my pot of Nutella!

Knowing the weather was planning on reaching the 80s today, a flowing dress was the only answer. I still sweated like a pig, but at least I did it in style.

It was hot hot HOT. Add in the fact that we are walking from place to place along with the amount of second-hand human heat radiating off all the tourists, and voila, you have Marlena as a soup. She completely melted.

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Today was difficult. Not because of the heat but because of the heaviness of the required explorations.

Each memorial was powerful in its own way. The Martyrs of Deportation had red carvings in the walls down below, almost blood-like, contrasted with pink roses blooming up above.

The darkness and interred nature of the exhibits resulted in almost an even more suffocating feeling. Awareness is incredibly important, no matter how arbitrary the use of those words sounds.

The Shoah had clothes present belonging to a little jewish girl, a genuine yellow star patched on, and a bone grinder that the Nazis used to cover tracks at the end of the war. Absolutely sickening.

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Later on, after a gentle walk in the sunlight acting as a breather from the heaviness, we stopped at L’As du Falafel on the historic Rue des Rosiers. Delicious and heavenly, I could have stayed there, scarfing down pita and hummus for eternity.

Then a walk to the bright green Place des Vosges, where a little bit of sitting and relaxing took place. It has been marked on the list to come back to. (One arch in the entrance to the greenery felt strangely familiar and brought back a flash of memories from 8 years ago with my parents in this city after having already been living abroad for two years; silly how the world works sometimes.)

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Unfortunately, all the synagogues were closed but the outsides were modestly gorgeous and I plan to return to see the undoubtedly more elegant inside.

It was a sweaty walk back to Reid Hall but necessary after all that falafel.

Class consisted of a small discussion of Julia Kristeva and I thought of you Dad, our run and our discussion of her before even coming to Paris.

Then it was an even faster walk home, a quick cold dinner, and the RER C to the theater to see La Leçon at Theatre de la Huchette, a play that has been playing there every night for who knows how long.

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Next on my list was a jar of Nutella. Bought from Monoprix, I ate it straight with a plastic fork as a couple of us sat on the edge of the Seine, sipping on white wine. What class, I know. I am SUCH a lady.

We chatted until midnight until collectively people needed to pee. Some had this urge more strongly than others. Anna was practically running home all the while debating that if she could not make it, she would pee in the bushes along the way.

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On the Seine, we touched many different subjects ranging from travel stories to concentrations, to doubts and frustrations. A notable quote from Anna is as follows:

I know a lot of poets, and they look like they are on the brink of decay. That is how I know I am not a poet. I am a poet-adjacent.