I woke up on our first full day in Paris with no wifi, and worse, could not figure out how the shower works. It’s embarrassing to have to explain this to the hotel clerk, who was working off the same wifi as I interrupted her, and then having to explain to this American how to turn on a shower. Turned out it was so simple that I understood why no visual aids were needed on the shower controls. 
   The plan for the morning was to return to the train station, try on our own to get seat reservations to Barcelona, and failing that, see a ticket agent again about the matter.

But it was undergoing extensive exterior renovations, which provided a typical modern touch to the Belle Epoque, seemingly wherever you go in Europe these days. Plus it was only after ordering nine dollar cups of coffee (another throwback to the Epoque period?) that we learned there was no wifi available (just as in the Belle Epoque!), so we paid our $18 coffee bill without getting any closer to resolving the Barcelona issue. 

   There is an elegant Belle Epoque restaurant in the station that harkens back to a grand era of rail travel. But it was undergoing extensive exterior renovations, which provided a typical modern touch to the Belle Epoque, seemingly wherever you go in Europe these days. Plus it was only after ordering nine dollar cups of coffee (another throwback to the Epoque period?) that we learned there was no wifi available (just as in the Belle Epoque!), so we paid our $18 coffee bill without getting any closer to resolving the Barcelona issue. 

   Later, with the two seat reservations safely in hand for Nice (see Part One), it was Carol’s turn to take over the logistics for the day, and our first stop was Notre Dame cathedral to check up on the repair work now four years into a planned five year completion in 2024. From the looks of it, they’re going to need all the praying ever done inside that grand old dame to meet that deadline. Currently she remains in a complete body cast of scaffolding, yet hope seems to abound from the daily gathering of onlookers. You get a feel for what the work in progress appeared like to 13th century peasants watching it go up so slowly and thinking: I’d starve if it took me this long to plant potatoes.
   We got our steps trophy by the time we reached Place St. Michel. The Hop On Hop Off brochure was uninspiring, so we chose to ride the #38 bus to Porte de Orleans. There wasn’t much to see, but we got to rest our feet, and savor the lifestyles of the local denizens of the Parisian public conveyances. It’s a motley crew, and a bold statement for those who hold fast to the belief in the “miracle of life.” At one point in the day’s journeys, where we would end up taking a bus, a metro, a tram and an aging suburban train, a woman sat across from me I swore was the spitting image of baby Yoda’s grandmother.

   At the Eiffel Tower, and eagerly  approaching Happy Hour, I casually threw out to Carol how close we were to Rue Cler, and the Cafe Centrale’s onion soup that she remembered so well. The look on her face told me the sightseeing part of the day was abruptly over, and the Reid part of the evening  had begun. A bowl of gratinee l’ oignon each, a bottle of rose between us, a roasted veal  dish (me) and crepes covered with flaming Gran Marnier (Carol), and we waddled out into the cold Parisian night in a state of complete satiation. We Ubered home.

   Virtually next door to our hotel, was a lively restaurant with a buzz of energy we couldn’t resist. We decided on a nightcap. The place was jammed, plates were continuously being carried out of the kitchen. We marveled at how busy the place was for being so out of the way, and down such a nondescript street.  The co-owner, Thierry, who was quite familiar with Laguna Beach and the now defunct Boom Boom club, told us he and his partner Thomas had run the restaurant for 20 years, and the popularity was strictly by word of mouth. We were destined to find out just how popular it was, when we arrived for dinner without reservations on our last night in Paris. Stay tuned.