Day 37: My adopted Independence Day...sorry USA

Waking up exhausted, I dressed myself in subtle "blue, white, and red" for France's Independence Day, Bastille Day, July 14th: my light blue heals, my two toned blue jeans, and my white blouse with red embroidered flowers on it. To change up the morning, "host mom" very kindly put out some brioche bread which I quickly toasted as I poured coffee into my thermos so I could make my way towards the Esplanade des Invalides, a good vantage point to see the French military exert their prowess in the sky.

---

Unfortunately, I missed the planes that sped through the sky with blue, white, and red coloring. The internet told me they would be flying overhead later, so I only ended up seeing the tail end of the fading colors. Nonetheless, I still had the opportunity to see some truly large airplane carriers and fighter planes zoom above me. My phone's camera could not do them justice.

---

After watching a helicopter land in the same field that Anna and I have frequently enjoyed delicious picnics in, we made our way towards the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen.

Before getting to the flea market, we stopped at an Urban Outfitters just for the heck of it. I tried on some dresses that did horrible things for my physique, and consequently did not buy anything. After this little pitstop, we eventually arrived at the marché and were thankful for the cooler air of the day which lent us the willpower to explore all the little antique stalls. Rows upon rows of furniture and rugs were lain out before me; it was unfortunate that none of it could come back with me. If only I lived here, my apartment would, without a doubt, embody the aesthetic essence of these great antiques. Looking and not buying, we finally called it. Time to move on with July 14th's adventures.

---

Naturally close to Montmartre, we thought we would would cross another "must see" off our lists: Café des 2 Moulins. This place's claim-t-fame only comes from the shear fact that it is where Amélie worked. Otherwise they win absolutely NO points for service. Upon entrance to this pink-chaired and mirror-walled restaurant, they seemed quite friendly. The moment we sat down at our table, they were ruder upon rude. I swear I saw one throw a menu on a table. I ordered a medium sized café au lait. Not only was it not even good, but it threw me when I saw its cost. Never order anything other than a small in a place like this. My coffee was 8,90 euros...EUGHHHH! They even gave me the wrong change back after, I had to go remind them how to do simple arithmetic.

---

Exhausted simply due to the fact that my body has not had sufficient rest since I have been here, we decided to take a leisurely walk to a park close to the restaurant we had a reservation for this evening: Le 404. Sleeping in the park for the briefest of moments, we eventually made our way over to the restaurant which was also just a strange experience to say the least. What is it with weird condescending male waiters today!? Eugh!!! This Moroccan restaurant was undeniably beautiful inside. Gorgeous deep brown wood and intricate carvings gave way to red-patterned, low-sitting seats at tables delicately lit with just a lamp. It is not that I did not find it pretty, it is just that I found the service a little strange. To me, it felt like an unattainable place, and like the service knew that. An institution I know, maybe it had gotten a little too comfortable in its recognition. What I mean to say is that I know I will not be returning. Putting all that aside though, my food was quite good and authentic, but I also know it was nothing I couldn't get at the Grand Mosquée, an experience that I treasure more than this one. I ended up having a tagine with kefta, traditional dish that came bubbling on my plate. The flavors melded together in a symphony, and I left quite happily thanks to the food. To add to the list of why I found this service strange, when I had to sign the receipt for my payment, I used the word "autographe" which I know I have heard people use before in this language. Because the waiter had been strange to begin with, the fact that he essentially made fun of my use of the word solidified the degree to which I found him impolite. Goodbye 404.

---

Heading towards our final destination for the evening, we arrived at Anna's family friend's apartment that was approximately three minutes from the Eiffel Tower and had only one other building between it and the Champs de Mars. In short, the view was spectacular. The huge metal structure rose up powerfully before us which meant our view of the firework show was utterly impeccable. We had been invited into this space with access to a bottle of white wine and champagne if we so desired. We took advantage of both of those offers as we finished the Sancerre and clinked our glasses with champagne. Unexpectedly, the owners of the apartment walked in to catch the finale; Anna and I were taken aback as we did not expect to see them at all that day. Standing out on their balcony though, champagne in hand watching the fireworks soar above us and light up the Eiffel Tower, I felt very lucky to have this experience. It was dream-like, an experience to last a lifetime.

---

Heading out so as not to impose after the end of the show in the sky, I felt giddy which I will probably attribute to the finished bottle of wine (shared among three people).

Anna and I decided that before calling it a night, we wanted to take a quick walk just to the nearest bridge which was Pont Alexandre III that gives way to the Esplanade des Invalides.

Everyone was in celebration mode. To add to the national holiday, Algeria also won the semi-finals African football match against Nigeria and was moving to the finals against Senegal. This is code for: the streets were insane and people were celebrating BIG TIME. As we walked around, we felt it necessary to add a merguez hot-dog into the mix. We even succeeded in dropping the price one euro. Our French is getting that good...

Walking a quick circle by the Seine with hot-dog in hand, I call this night one for the books.