Fetching a Staff in Paris

     ...continued

The Louvre was wonderful. I had intended to spend only morning there and spend the afternoon at another museum. Since it was Sunday, the entrance fee was half-price at many of the museums. The Richelieu wing was open, unlike the last time, when it had been under renovation, and much more artwork was on exhibit. I wandered through all the paintings and sculptures that had been in storage the last time I visited. By the time I had seen everything I could stand to see, it was already closing time. So much for visiting another museum! I don't think I was in any shape to appreciate more art at that point anyway.

Since another museum was out of the question, but I still had several hours left in Paris, I strolled along the Rive Droit to l'Ile de la Cité and to Nôtre Dame, where I arrived just in time for evening Mass. After Mass, it was still early enough that I decided I had enough time to retrieve my staff from Gare Austerlitz and I spent another half hour walking along the Rive Gauche to reach the station. I went into the WC and tried to explain what had happened to the attendant who had a hard time understanding my rusty French. The staff wasn't leaning against the water pipes any longer, nor was it in any closet she checked. I was about to leave, when she spotted one closet near the exit that we hadn't opened yet. She pulled the door open and there was my staff among the brooms and mops! Even though I had resigned myself to giving it up for lost, I was happy to see my faithful companion again.

I set out across Paris again, this time planning to go by foot the whole way. I calculated that I should arrive at the coach station with nearly an hour to spare, even though I was clear across the city. I wandered west, then cut north through some quarters that I had haunted the last time I was in Paris, stumbling onto crêpe stands and past interesting restaurants offering cuisines from all around the world. I did succumb to a strawberry crêpe, though I was still carrying around food from Santiago and didn't have much money to spare, so I stayed out of the restaurants. Gare du Nord finally loomed in front of me. It was getting late and I was getting tired. I pulled my bag out of the locker, studied my map and started walking toward the coach station. It looked as if I wouldn't have to go very far, so I decided against trying to catch a coach. The neighborhoods grew seedier as left central Paris. I moved quickly and no one bothered me, though I saw few other tourists. I walked and walked before I reached the general area of the coach terminal. Although I didn't have the exact address, I thought I should be able find it easily since I had arrived at the same terminal early one morning only a month before. I thought I was drawing near and suddenly I had no idea where I was. Nothing looked quite as I remembered it! I didn't know where the coach terminal might be and the area looked less familiar the longer I looked around. By that time, I had only half an hour before the coach was scheduled to leave. I still have time, I thought to myself. I asked the driver of a German tour coach waiting on a square if he had any idea where my own coach was located. He didn't have any information and neither did the other driver I asked.