My second morning in Paris started with immaculately crafted croissants bought a block away from 'Tcha's apartment, consumed on her tiny rooftop terrace under blue skies that defied the meteo's dire predictions. We then blasted off past the Pantheon and into the neighborhood she'd suggested we could find much nicer hotels for a future iteration of the Tour; from the number of yuppies pushing BMW-equivalent baby carriages I could certainly tell we were in a different world from the gritty environs we'd walked through yesterday.

Sure enough, entering the birdsong-filled courtyard of a little hotel off the Rue Mouffetard, and talking briefly with the quartet of American sorority sisters who were just checking out, I could tell we were in the equivalent of Polyface Farms paradise after the industrial-tourist CAFO hell of the neighborhood I'd be navigating a couple of weeks later with my thirty charges. Alas, despite this being the perfect little Paris hotel one would stay in if one didn't have the benefit of incredibly generous Friends with Terraces, the news was not uniformly good, in that their maximum group size is ten, and their brochure seemed to indicate that they would not accept reservations next July until March--too late for Summer Abroad coordinators who need to have accommodations locked in nine months in advance. But perhaps we could divide the group, use different close-by hotels and the like? It was worth looking into.


After coffee with 'Tcha's mom opposite the Luxembourg (punctuated by loud and confident suggestions of several more things I would've could've should've investigated), we ambled through the park to a possible classroom facility over toward the Montparnasse, again marveling at the difference in vibe as we stepped into a courtyard and saw what might have been / might still be: overcoming my usual reluctance to go up to fonctionnaires and risking disappointment, I found myself being shown around the various classroom spaces, several too small for our group but the last "just right"--and apparently things became less busy in July and we might be able to work things out.

For me these matters are fraught with all sorts of peril, as multiple contingencies and complications lead to analysis-paralysis: the nice woman was going on vacation for a week; she wasn't sure of the charges; I wasn't sure Summer Abroad would go for it (or whether they had already to committed to an alternative classroom site); perhaps there was some hidden barrier that would render this just a fanciful dream. In this way my pessimistic side too often leads me to not even ask, whereas my lovely and optimistic wife usually "goes for it" and wonders why I'm such an Eeyore. I'm sure there's deep psychologizing to be done on this.

Meanwhile we walked back, with me churning over the e-mails I would have to craft before heading to Brussels that afternoon. On the way we spotted improbably sights like this canary-colored bird with her appendages...










... and once in the park again we ran into a neighbor, whose cries and laughs waft through the skylight and inevitably brighten Tcha's life.

So before packing, I dashed off my e-mail to my soon-to-be-on-vacation administrator, then sorted gear (leaving my carry-on with hiking boots and miscellaneous items I figured I won't need til Paris in two weeks) and headed downstairs to give the key to my gracious hostess who was eating lunch with a friend, and rolled my enormous suitcase to the Odeon metro, thence to Gare du Nord, and via TGV to Brussels to catch my brother's last cantata concert on Sunday.

But that is for another post. (I wrote most of this one Sunday morning, having awoken on my pad on the floor of my brother's cello studio, bright and early at 6AM. If this be jet-lag, let us make the most of it.)