Our Lady on Monday

Paris on a Sunny February afternoon? Corina off and papa on duty? Walk up to the rue de Vaugirard and take the number 70 bus. Find a couple of seats. Gongo can fall asleep on papa's lap; I can slumber the fur coat the lady next to me is wearing. Wake up on the Quai de la Megiserrie and cross the Pont au Change.

At night, once we've complained about going to bed, brushed our teeth, complained about going to bed, taken deep breaths, said our prayers, complained about going to bed, and pulled to covers, mama and papa read us stories. One of my favorites is Paris Parade, about the best city in the world. I know just about all the places there. And one of my favorites is not a minutes walk from the Pont au Change.

It appears on the first page of the book. It houses the Crown of Thorns since 1239, Quasimodo had a gig here as a bell-ringer a while back, and it's home to Gabriel's much beloved gargouilles.

Notre Dame de Paris!

Yeap Notre Dame, the very one.

It's big, it's beautiful, and it's in my town baby, my town. It's also on an island called Île de la Cité which is next to another island called Île Saint Louis. To me and the Gongo this smaller island means ice cream. Not just any ice cream but Berthillon, the best ice cream this side of the Orion Belt.

Strawberry and mango please.

Papa had honey nougat.

We hassled the swans and the ducks, checked out the bouquinistes and the painting of the naked lady, watched papa get yelled at because he let two kids handle a delicate painting of a naked lady, wandered along the Quai des Grands Augustins and onto the Quai Voltaire, wandered up the rue des Saints Pères, the grabbed a cab as fast as we could because I had to go to the bathroom fast!

Yeap, in Paris it's always a holiday.


Would you like to see way too many pictures of the Gongo and me eating Berthillon ice cream? Check'em out here: not your average Cité