Rose Petal Macarons Equal Life

After attempting to wake up early on Sunday, we ended up finally leaving around 11am. Stopping in a boulangerie on our way to Notre Dame (to see the inside), we ordered baguette and munched on the way to the metro. We got to the cathedral and it was still packed, but the line was thinner than the day before, so we stood in line and entered slowly.

Shad was taken by the grandness, but I was underwhelmed. Of course it was magnificent and beautiful, but the hoards of people, many of whom were rather disrespectful, spoiled the experience a bit. Every church and cathedral I've entered, I've been practically one of like twelve people there,  and so they have been quiet and peaceful. It was not the case this time, and I intend on taking him to other cathedrals so that he can have the experience that I did.



After exiting, we went and got some ice cream, like we had intended to do the day before. OH WOW. Best. Ice cream. Ever. I got strawberry and dark chocolate, which was so rich and thick with cocoa that I felt like I was eating liquid Lindtt. Amazing. We then just decided to make an effort towards the Louvre, jardin de Tuilleries, Champs-Elysees, and l'Arc de Triomphe, since they are all in a line that runs next to the Seine.



We were, once again distracted, by the eye sore that is the Pompidou Centre, random street dancers and a caricature artist. While walking back, some random Italian guy grabs at Shad (seriously, SO many people grabbed at him the whole time we were in Paris. I don't understand this, out of self-preservation, there's no way in hell, if I were a guy,  I would grab at someone Shad's size, nor try to haggle him for things) and convinces him that we need to have our caricature drawn.



Me: "No, we're good. Come on honey."

Random Italian Guy: "Ah, but ma prima donna! Ma Mona Lisa! You are in Paris, you must have a picture of you!"

Shad: Longing "please" look at me.

Random Italian Guy: "Normally I do picture for 25 euro, but for you I do both you for 20? Come sit."

Me: "Ugh, fine."



He insisted on twenty-five anyways, whatever, Shad's fault ;)

We came upon some other random buildings and towers, and finally found the Louvre. It was beautiful from the outside! It was closed. Dammit. We sat by the pyramid amongst the fountains and ten thousand other people and rested. There was a little boy running through the fountain pools in his underwear.



Fiancé: "I thought that sign said to stay out of the fountains?"

Me: "They're French, there are some things that the French don't care about. Running through fountains seems to be one of those things."



 After a few minutes, we continued walking, but towards the end of the jardin de Tuilleries, we had to stop again, because my feet were screaming at me. Seriously, I felt like the Little Mermaid (if you don't understand this allusion, go read the original by Anderson, it's so much better than Disney's version). Pain was radiating up my legs and I could feel the screws in my feet pulling at my tendons, so we sat and being the good fiancé that fiancé is, he massaged my tortured feet, while we looked at all the pretty art around our bench.  



When I felt like I no longer needed amputations, we continued to Place de la Concorde (the middle of a really busy street/the place where several famous people, including Marie Antoinette, were beheaded during the French Revolution) and then on to Champs-Elysees.






We had to stop AGAIN to let me rest, but there was a pretty fountain to look at, and we people watched for a while. Later, we decided that caffeine was necessary, so we stumbled upon a Starbucks. Warning! Starbucks outside the US is disgusting!



Making our way to l'Arc de Triomphe, we saw more dancers and the rest was a blur of pain. We were going to climb it, but just decided to watch the flame be re-lit and walked back down Champs-Elysees on the other side of the street. The only thing I can really remember is passing by Ladurée with its gorgeous green and gold decor and outdoor chandeliers and thinking, "We're coming back tomorrow."



The next day, we woke up to grey skies threatening drizzle, but decided to go to Montmartre and see Sacré-Cœur. On our way to the metro station, Shad and I were waiting to cross the street, when we heard the screeching of tires. A guy, who was paying more attention to his phone than the fact that he was walking into traffic, ran into a car. It knocked him over a little and the driver was shaken. He jumped out of he car to make sure the idiot was okay, and Shad carried on for the rest of the day, "We saw a guy get run-over!"

After the metro ride to the other side of Paris, we emerged half-way up the hill and I was drawn into a little shop. Finally, I had found a change purse (you need one in Europe, considering they have 1 and 2 euro coins, 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, and 50 centime coins also). Coming out of the shop, rain began and so I wrapped my scarf around my head.

Fiancé: Giggles, "Baby, you're so cute."

Me: "What? Leave me alone, it's raining."

Fiancé: "I wasn't making fun of you, you can just rock anything, let me take a picture."



He's a mess. We caught a little car/train thing-y up the rest of the hill and went inside the basilique. It was beautiful and much less packed than Notre-Dame. They are also stricter about no talking and what not there. We then exited and, while descending the stairs, a group of guys ran up to us and were grabbing onto Shad (again, WTF were they thinking?) and tried to tie "bracelets" that were actually just pieces of thread onto our wrists. I'd already been warned that people do this and then hound you for payment when you try to walk away, so I was like, "Um, non!"



Shad yanked his arm away from the guy who had a hold of him and they left us alone after that :)
We then went and sat on a bench that overlooked the Montmartre and, since the bench was wet, I sat on his lap. A group of other tourists came up to us and asked if we were French. We said no, and they tried to switch to English and asked us if they could take our photo. "Um, sure." I went to remove my scarf/rain protector off of my head, and they said, "No! Leave it."



We smiled and they took one, and they were like, " you look at him," so I did. I don't know what that was about, but whatever, Fiancé's head was inflated for the rest of the day. Wandering down the hill in no particular direction, I knew that I wanted to see the Moulin Rouge, but other than that, I just wanted to see the neighborhood, so we continued. We came across a street with nothing but fabric stores on it, and just as I was going to suggest that we go into one, I was overcome with hunger. Shad also seemed to be experiencing severly low blood sugar, so we continued to wander, but we were then on a hunt for a restaurant, cafe, bistro, anything. Unfortunately, we found ourselves in the shopping-non food neighborhood.



FINALLY, we found a cute little place and split chicken, fries, and coffee. Afterward, the rain was getting heavier, so we made a heading for the Moulin Rouge. Shad didn't know anything about it, so when sex shops, strip clubs, and an erotic museum began to pass by us, he finally asked where we were going.

Me: "We're going to the red light district. The Moulin Rouge was practically the first dance-hall/strip-club thing, ever. The French can-can was invented there too. You'll have to see the movie about it eventually."



Walked a little more.

Fiancé: "There are toys and boobs everywhere!"

Me: "Red light district."

We finally found it, took some pictures and made our way back to the apartment.



Tuesday morning, we did go back to Ladurée, but after we climbed to the very top of Notre-Dame, as in tip-top, including going into the bell towers. Not going to lie, there were a few places that were difficult for Shad to squeeze through. There aren't any signs that say, "If you're 'this' big you can't walk up, because you won't fit." Being tiny, it was funny to watch Shad and the other larger tourists try to squeeze through the small spaces.



400ish steps later, the view was amazing! We waited in line for almost two hours to see it (sandwiched between some complaining Australians and some stylishly dressed German-speakers). During which, we almost froze, so I ran across the street and bought a Nutella crepe from an outdoor vendor. Walking back to my place in line, I saw a sign that said they only took people in groups of twenty, so I went back and reported to the Australians and Shad that that is why it was taking so long. It was only written in French, no wonder everyone was griping, no one understood what was happening. We were finally admitted to the gift shop/holding area and wandered while waiting for the official to come back and get us.



The first stop was in between the two tall bell towers. We got to go inside one of them and Shad posed like Monsieur Quasimodo.



We were then led up even more steeply inclining spiral staircases and emerged on top of the right tower (if looking at it from the front). The view was breathtaking, but obstructed by a giant metal cage. People and their stupidity.



After descending, we had planned to try the Louvre again, but the Australians told us that it was closed again, man! Oh well. We walked in that direction anyway, and I told Fiancé that I wanted to go back to the pretty restaurant on Champs-Elysees. He didn't remember, so I just led him to it.



We entered and it was Ashley-Heaven. The Versailles of restaurants and tea salons. To our left was a huge line of people, pressing against a counter filled with the most beautiful and delicious pastries I'd ever seen.



"Deux?" a hostess asked us. "Oui madame, merci," I quickly responded. She led us up a grand marble staircase with golden rails. Upon entering the second floor, we devoured the rich view of beautifully carved ceiling moldings, renaissance art, mint green walls accented with more gold touches and sugar pink curtains. I smiled and began feeling giddy. If I were a bit more impulsive, I might have jumped up and down and squealed a bit. It was adorably Victorian.

We were seated next to a window between a Russian-speaking couple and a German-speaking couple. A petite woman came by us and brought us a carafe of water and took our orders. As gorgeous as this place is, it's that much more expensive, and we'd already had a little lunch anyway, I mainly wanted tea and pastries but we ordered a plate of cheese anyway.

She brought a small round of golden goat cheese to us (which comes from one place in France and is considered by many a food critic to be the best goat's cheese on the planet. I'd heard about it from my host mom, but she said it can be hard to find at stores). There was a little salad on the side and a plate of bread, so we shared the snack and both ooed and ahhed the whole time at the moldy magnificence in our mouths, then sat back and decided which pastry we wanted to share.



We sat and people watched, as it seemed that every table had a different nationality of people. We more eavesdropped on the pretty languages, than anything else. When our waitress returned, we asked for a pastry that had strawberries, custard/whipped cream amazingness, and puffed pastry all rolled into a little hill of deliciousness. I ordered Marie Antoinette tea also, which was the best black tea I've ever tasted.



We shared the masterpieces, and as we left, we got some macarons. French macarons were invented by this place, so we couldn't leave Paris without trying them. We got chocolate, lemon, and rose petal. Oh wow. They were all delectable, but the rose petal ones were pure heaven for me. I haven't been able to find any at any other patisserie, so I am determined to make them when I get home so that friends can share in the bliss that is rose petal macarons.



After the lovely tea time, we vacated and walked the Champs-Elysees again, as it was sunny and we wanted to try to climb l'Arc de Triomphe. Th ticket office was closed, so I just took some sunny pics and we headed back to the apartment and made dinner.



On the metro ride home, I inhaled something vile. I don't know what it was, it didn't seem to affect anyone else, but I began coughing like someone who had just been pepper-sprayed. I actually have inhaled pepper spray, and watery eyes aside, that's exatly what this felt like. I drank water and kept coughing, Fiancé getting a little worried, couldn't do anything but watch and the other Parisian riders just looked at me in disgust. My throat felt like it was closing and my chest began to burn. It felt like an allergic reaction to something. During the rest of the trip, I had major sinus issues and drainage into my chest. It was really weird. I honestly feel like an alien sometimes.

The next day was strictly for Versailles.

The story of how I almost became a serial killer and the first day of Honeymooon

Holy poodles. After going for a much needed run, I feel fabulous! When I say fabulous, you should know that translates to a mental image of me clutching at my chest, heaving and swallowing oxygen with lungs on the verge of implosion, because I've been lazy, my feet are ridden with scar tissue and metal surgical implements, and it's been way too rudely cold to go for a proper run. Today though, today would have been the day when I'd have had a mental breakdown and probably would've become a serial killer due to extreme stress. My mind would have gone all nuke-tastic and I probably would have shanked the guy next to me on the tram with my over-grown fingernails, when he just would have wanted to know today's date.

First, I must say that when I counted all of the individual tests I have been taking this week, and will take next week, the total is monumental. Let's just say that if tests were measured in eggs, I would need a normal, American sized carton of eggs and then I would borrow two from our deranged, 19- year-old-cat-lady-in-the-making neighbor. Yes, that is 14. Exams. The ones that are all official and taken in an auditorium and where it's obligatory to put your bag on the stage down in front and you have to sign a paper/show your poodling passport and student card to prove that you are you.

If I could convey emotions through this screen, you would wonder why I haven't jumped off a bridge yet, scouted Craigslist for cyanide pills, or admitted myself to a lovely hospital with padded walls. All in all, I have gone just a little batty this week. I have never felt so unprepared for anything in my life. Test anxiety is the accumulation of all my childhood fears and nightmares rolled into a wheel that has been chasing me down a hill. Not only does it chase after me, but when it catches me and flattens my face into a cement of subjunctive conjugations and relative pronouns, and I finally stand back up and believe that I might still be able to graduate on time and not have to repeat the semester, it sends its bigger cousin after me.

Furthermore, to illustrate my deteriorating mental state, the little muscle outside/under my left eye keeps twitching on its own. Like I said, crazy person here. I'm waiting for my shoulder to join in the twitching and then maybe my whole side will convulse in sync and in addition to padded walls, I'll get the perk of a Thorazine drip. Not even the ripely blooming honeysuckle bush on my host parents' fence was enough for me to calm down and be happy that I am halfway through the carton+2 eggs.

I decided on the tram ride home that the yoga capris and tennis shoes were coming out of the closet and assisting me in not becoming a serial killer. Anger, frustration, homesickness, stress, lack of Almost Husband and rec center crashed over me, and after grabbing my keys and ipod, I took off at a dead sprint out of our gate. Oh boy. It was awesome until I got halfway around the block (you can't say "block" in France, because there are so many weirdly shaped streets that most "blocks" are actually triangles and pentagons and curly-cuing shapes, but I say "block" for simplicity's sake) and the cold/allergies/I don't know why my sinuses have been angry at me for the last few weeks, caused an over production of mucus in my system and whatever has been in my chest since the honeymoon (I'll get to that later) has still not vacated, all of this freaked out my system and plunged me into waves of discomfort.

I began coughing incessantly, but kept on at my sprinting pace. I was that pissed off. I rounded back to the house weezing and coughing like an asthma patient with what seemed to be an inability to sweat. Apparently, Normandie and her cold weather has morphed my body into a heat-trapping machine and refuses to perspire. Thinking that I might die, I considered going back in my room to stretch, but then shook myself out of my wimpy-ness. What the hell is wrong with me? Since when does Ashley say "no" to physical strain on account of pain? NEVER!!!!

With that sudden surge of over-reaching pride I took off at a sprint again, which I confess, was soon humbled to a snail-worthy jog. Still weezing. Still lung-imploding pain. Still snot threatening to cover my face. "It's all good," I coached myself, "if you can survive years of gymnastics training, broken bones, stitches, three surgeries and a blown lumbar disc, this is gravy." That was definitely NOT my body's sentiment, but then again I can't blame it, considering it was in fairly decent shape until I got here and completely halted my exercise regimen. Oops.

On to more romantic news.

Shad's plane left the States on a Friday and I arrived in Paris on said Friday. I learned the ins and outs of the owner's place and had a really hard time sleeping on account of seeing my man the next morning. I crawled out of bed at 7ish to go hunt him down at the airport. I had to jump two metro lines, and then take an RER train to Charles de Gaulle. Longest. Ride. Ever. I finally arrived at terminal 3 and took the little inter-terminal shuttle to terminal 1, after seeing that his flight had landed on time-an hour ago. Oops again.  

I jumped out of the shuttle and immediately called his phone, as the airport was packed and I was really, REALLY hoping he didn't try to Jason Bourne this shit and figure out Parisian transit alone. (For this reason, I purposefully told him nothing about how to do any of it before his arrival) Reading the signs, the "arrivals" seemed to be pointing everywhere, but I made my way to the second floor and figured that the terminal was a circle, so if I walk around long enough and quickly enough, I was bound to catch a glimpse of that gorgeous head of hair, that would be sticking up a foot taller than everyone else's.

Rounding about half-way around, scanning the crowds like a ninja, a pair of broad shoulders and a giant camo bag, in which I can fit, looked to be making their way onto an elevator. I began to run up behind him and grab him, but my sudden scary movements (in hindsight, running for an exit in an airport was potentially a panic inducing action, but I was overtaken by a wash of love-y hormones that would have gotten me to him whether I was conscious or not) must have gotten other people's attention and in following their gazes, he turned around and his eyes met mine. (I could have yelled his name, I'm not sure, overwhelming joy sometimes triggers lapses in memory for me :)

Flying into the air, I was enveloped by his muscular arms and intoxicating scent. We left the airport, Almost Husband wide-eyed the whole time. "How did you do this all by yourself?" Hehe. Thank God, I'm marrying someone as intrigued by architecture, food, and new experiences as I am. After dropping his stuff at the apartment, we made our way to Notre Dame, as we needed to keep moving so that his jet-lag wouldn't be too horrid. We were sidetracked by a pizza place on the way there.

Fiancé: "Oh, I have to eat this with a knife and fork, don't I?"

Me: "Yep."

Fiancé: "Mm, calzone"

Me: "Tell him that you want it without eggs."

Fiancé: "Why?"

Me: "Trust me."

We then exited the restaurant and began walking in no particular direction. Seeing a sign later, though, that directed us to Notre Dame we figured where we were, but yet again, we became sidetracked.

Me: "Hey, let's go that way."

Fiancé: "Why?"

Me: "There's a big gate and a fence, it's probably something important."

Fiancé: "Okay."

This is how we stumbled onto le jardin du Luxembourg.

Fiancé's favorite part.



Me hunting



Fiancé being noble?



I wanted to get the pretty, gigantic building in the background, but taking self-portraits doomed most of our background to consist of walkway.

So after running around like deranged playground children, snapping pictures and saying "OH MY GOODNESS COME LOOK AT THIS" every 2 minutes, we finally left and made our way to Notre Dame.



Upon arriving, there was a mile long line, half-mile thick line leading into the church.



Me: "Ugh, wanna look at the outside and come back tomorrow?"



Fiancé: "Yeah."

We walked around taking pictures, it was at the high point of the day and had become rather warm in the middle of the city, so I suggested that we go get ice cream, as the smaller island of St. Louis is known for amazing ice cream stands. We made our way across a bridge, but oh boy...more lines. Eff.



Fiancé: "Can we just go back to the apartment? I'm tired."

Me: "I'm good with that."

As I too, had begun to succumb to my lack of sleep on account of being so freakin' excited that he had come to see me. After he took a much needed nap and we had some late lunch, we decided to walk to the Eiffel Tower. It was the closest monument to the apartment and we wanted to save some metro tickets.

We set out on a forty-five minute trek to the Eiffel Tower and saw some some pretty buildings and perfect examples of French mentality.

Exhibit A:



Exhibit B:



When we arrived at the tower, there were random vendors everywhere, peddling miniature Eiffel Towers and random touristy things, until that is, cops showed up and they all scattered like rats. Funny stuff.

We had a thought to climb it, but after seeing the immense quantities of people and horrendously long lines, we decided to just plop down in the garden close to it, and wait for the light show.

There was a group of people by us who came all prepared with blankets, wine, and a picnic basket. They were obviously intoxicated, and after a while, there were two people rolling around wrestling and they almost rolled right over us!



Waiting for the light show.

While lying there, I ran my hand over my stomach and realized that it was way too smooth. The top of my belly-button ring had come unscrewed, and after a few futile minutes of searching, I just came to terms with having to remove it until I return to the States.

Seemingly as consolation, the tower suddenly lit up in happy twinkles and I suddenly felt all warm and gooey inside. It looked like it was out of a Disney movie and at any moment the tower would disappear and leave behind nothing but a a shimmering shower of glitter.



The picture obviously doesn't do the event justice.

If you want to see a better example, watch The Devil Wears Prada. There is a bird's eye shot of Paris and it's sparkling in the shot :)

After that, we retreated to the apartment and passed out, ready to traverse the city early the next day.