Day 7: When I found out alien funk music was not for me...

Anna's birthday! Woot woot! So we decided it was necessary to have French pastry in the morning fresh from a boulangerie/patisserie. Thank you Eric Kayser, we deeply enjoyed your pilés aux chocolats. Flaky, sweet pastry dough, custard and a modest amount of chocolate inside...yum. This breakfast in walking has been one of the best decisions yet.

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Although it was Friday which characteristically means no class, we had a rendez-vous with the journalist Balla Fofana to finish up his lesson he started last Monday: the one where we had to intercept strangers on Parisian streets and ask them questions about their lives. You know, no biggie. After class was over, he handed out his book that he co-wrote for Bolewa Sabourin, a man whose life is utterly interesting, powerful, heavy, and inspiring all at the same time. La Rage de Vivre. I had already read it as it was a requirement for class, but I would read it again in a heartbeat. Get your eyes ready to tear up. If they do not, you are heartless. (Also, for those interested, it will be translated into English soon and published/available; keep on the lookout.)

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After class came lots of walking. Who would have guessed. I have never walked so much for so many consecutive days in my entire life. 6ème. 5ème. 4ème. Walking through les Jardins de Luxembourg, passed the Pantheon, across the Sorbonne, towards la Seine, across the river, into the 4ème, around la Bastille, and eventually into the 12ème where sadly the desired café has been entirely reserved for the day. Mokonuts, we are coming back for you (and please disregard the disheartening name, it is supposed to be incredible)

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Plans fall through so we decided to traverse even more of the city to reach a restaurant on a whim, Yemma Office. Past 14h, exhaustion from the week, and brains diffused from the utilization of only French between Anna and I, we decided that speaking in English for this late lunch was a birthday gift. I cannot deny that it felt good. What felt even better, though, was the delicious middle eastern food swirling down towards my beckoning stomach. Wrapped in a thin bread, covered in a spicy yellow sauce, topped with mint and red cabbage, sloshed down with sparkling Orangina, my whole being was beyond content. Some almond crescent shaped pieces of heaven for desert and onwards. A quick walk to Montmartre and le Sacré-Cœur, you know, just a solid hour or so away...

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At this point, we have walked so much of Paris, we could just go home now. I mean we have seen it all...okay, not even close but I am still giving us credit for this.

Our philosophy: to get to know this city means the guts to walk this city. Our free metro passes mean nothing to us unless it is midnight and our feet no longer work.

I died at the side of the Sacré-Cœur on very comfortable green, enveloping grass.

Saw a couple get engaged. Awh, PDA at its finest... Then, we kind of napped.

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Since we were so close to this beautiful church, we felt it was necessary to continue the trek. And, we continued as high as possible. Up the 300 steps in a cramped spiraling staircase to the open windows that would have so many preventive measures in the States, we saw the whole of Paris. Despite my toes tingling from explicit fear, the view was impeccable. The vertigo along with the feeling that the walls were closing in was not enough to deter me from this experience.

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In the busy-ness of the day, coffee had been slightly forgotten and was now starting to catch up with me. Off to a touristic café, Au Petit Creux, for coffee that in the past has been a traditional crêpe stop of my family. Owen, a friend from Harvard, met up with us as we were collectively being solicited by artists wanting to draw our quick portrait. Who did they think we were? Tourists...pffff come ON. Owen was referred to by one of the artists as the one with the "beau face and Pokémon hair." We were trying to figure out if it was a compliment or not.

Then, we walked even more if that is even possible, back to the 4ème to go to l'Alimentation Générale where I had a beer (une Blanche) and listened to three saxophones JAZZ it out on the stage. Then, I proceeded to be assaulted with weird space jams of older French people singing original songs in English. One was entitled Teenage Space-Invader just for some context.

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Over the course of the day, we came up with various catch phrases I think are worth mentioning:

-Utter nerd

-Bland and I like it

-Beau face and Pokémon hair

-Go full berry!