I woke up feeling the best I had in a long time. Symptoms were still there, but I was cool, at least somewhat rested, and I knew I would just keep getting better as the meds kicked in.

We enjoyed our courtyard croissant breakfast, then ventured out for a day in Paris.

Our first stop would be the Luxembourg Gardens, just a ten-minute walk from the hotel. It was a lovely, clear, crisp morning with the Parisienne rooftops etching a graceful line against a deep blue sky. Tall iron gates at the corner of two streets gave us entrée into the gardens. They just seemed to go on and on. Wide sand-colored gravels pathways, shady wooded areas scattered with green metal chairs and benches, palaces, ponds, flower beds of every description, a wading pool and sandbox for the kiddies, and a round lake where two French boys about eight years old were sailing their homemade sailboats, prodding them long with sticks to set them in motion. We looked, we stopped, we sat, we meandered. One shady area was used by several different individuals and groups doing Tai Chi. Their exquisitely slow, graceful movements seemed to perfectly match the tranquility of the place.

We made our way across the park and exited on the other side onto the Boulevard St. Michel. Luckily, Santo has an insane sense of direction and an excellent memory from when we were in Paris five years ago. He led us across the Seine to Île de la Cité, past the front of Notre Dame, then along its northern side. From the front, the two towers were intact, but massive enclosed scaffolding encased much of the building. From the side, the damage from the 2019 fire was evident. Much of the roof beyond the towers had burned or collapsed. Reconstruction of the buttresses and vaulted ceiling was underway, but the enormity of the task was evident.

At the far corner of the cathedral was an inviting sidewalk café. The day had begun to warm up, so we decided to take a pause for some seats in the shade and welcome refreshment. I had a large cappuccino, Santo a lemonade, cold and refreshing in a tall glass. It’s what you do in Paris, right?

We continued from there in search of the café where Santo had enjoyed a most memorable meal of Moules Frites (mussels and French fries) the last time we were in Paris. It was on a day when I was sick and he had gone out on his own (what is it about me and Paris?). He had always wanted to bring me back there, so we planned to go for lunch. His nose led us directly there, just as he remembered, at a corner on the Ile Ste. Louis. We ordered the Moules Frites special and a side salad to share, as well as drinks. It’s amazing what they fit onto those tiny café tables! The Moules came in a large blue enamel pot, full to the brim, along with bread. My salad was large and delicious. It was more than enough for us both.

At the next table was a lovely family from England on a five week holiday through Europe. The oldest daughter had just graduated and was headed for uni in Manchester in the fall. The younger daughter was still in school. They had all planned the trip together and were crisscrossing Europe by rail to get to their desired destinations, including Verona, Berlin, Amsterdam, and more. The last time Santo had been here, he had met a couple from Australia. Travelling need never be lonely!

After lunch, we hoped to catch a cab back to the hotel so I wouldn’t overdo it on my first day out. We were not having any luck, so I said I thought I could walk it. But along the way, to my relief, we were able to hail a cab. The heat of the day and the exertions of walking several miles were taking a toll on my still recovering body.

Back at the hotel, since our room had not been made up yet, I set myself up in one of the lobby living rooms, on a luxurious red sofa facing a black marble fireplace. A waiter brought me a glass of ice water, and I was able to get some writing done there. From my vantage point I could see, just beyond the archway to the next room, a wall-sized painting of a woman lying in bed, floating in sea of pale, soft bedclothes. Her hand lay atop her brow, her head on the pillow turned to the left where an older gentleman stood over her with a look of concern. It was not hard to project myself into that scene!

Once our room was ready, I went back for a nap so I would be refreshed for our evening: dinner at a restaurant not too far from the Eiffel Tower, than the much-awaited night cruise on the Seine. We took a cab to the restaurant, which I had found online, and it was excellent. It seemed like a place where locals went. The owner apologized that he did not have a table outside (there were only a few tables inside and out), but seated us at a lovely round table just inside the door where we were able to catch the evening breeze. I ordered the stuffed cabbage, listed on the menu as being from the chef’s grandmother’s recipe. Santo had the classic French duck confit.

After dinner, we walked along the Champ du Mars, a greenway extending about one kilometer from the Ecole Militaire to the Eiffel Tower. The quay where we would get our cruise boat was another kilometer or more away on the other side of the river. The air was still warm, but there was a lovely breeze. We made it to the ship for a 9:30 departure, a perfect time with sunset coming at 9:54. We sat on the top deck, taking in all that we loved about this city as we made our way back down towards Notre Dame, around the island, and back up the Seine towards the Eiffel Tower just as the lights were coming on. It never ceases to be magical.

After some initial frustration, we were able to get a cab back to the hotel. We had gotten, together, at least one day in Paris. It was lovely. And it was enough. I went to bed grateful, but still wishing I felt a bit better. Maybe tomorrow.