Practice makes perfect...ish

Let me address the broken foot issue. Yes. It HURTS. But I don't want to talk about it much because it makes me sound whiny. Stress fractures suck, especially in a city where no matter if you're taking a cab or the metro...EVENTUALLY, you have to walk. But last night I soaked my foot in epsom salts and rose water, slept with the windows open and feel almost like myself again. Probably shouldn't have gone to the catacombs yesterday, but whatever. Someone suggested going to Lourdes and washing it in the holy water and getting it blessed. I looked at Train tickets to Lourdes and they were running upwards of 100 Euros. Visiting Mother Mary and Jesus is expensive.

The day started with more Metro mishaps. Every time I try to get my Passe Navigo, something happens. Either their card maker isn't working, or the metro stop isn't working, or I get stuck in a turnstile. And what's screwing my life up the most is the RER. It's the train that connects most the suburbs, aiport and Versailles to Paris. it requires other tickets that are separate from the metro train. And you have to save your ticket to get OUT of the metro, or if you scan it once, it's rejected if you need to reenter.

I asked a few of ..whatever France's equivalent of TSA/NTSB agents are called...how to get the navigo. We spoke in French and told me I need to get back where I came from to buy the Navigo. The office was out of cards, gave me another location. Then, as I tried to get BACK to the train station, my RER ticket would not work. I refused to buy another ticket, but thankfully a guy with a P.N. saw what was going on, scanned his and let me out. Unfortunately when I got back up to the station, the exit was back where I came from. My stupid American confusion had the "NTSB" agents cracking up. But they were wonderfully nice about it, and finally let me out on the street. I hate the RER.

I have had this magical bit of luck here in Paris. Eventually I always end up exactly where I'm going, even with NO sense of direction. Paris is the city where I was meant to be lost, I guess.

The catacombs are not for the faint of heart, or those with a broken foot. They are the subterranean tunnels under the Paris city...with a two hour line. So after standing and meeting a wonderful Australian family (who enticed me to make AUS my next visit on my World Tour and after he told me there was a GIANT statue of shrimp in one city, I was sold), I eventually made it to the "Empire of the Dead". Not being dramatic. That is EXACTLY what the ancient carving on the walls says. They weren't kidding. There are at least 6 million different skeletons stacked on each other like Lincoln Logs. 6 million. There are 2 million people in Paris at any given time. There are more bodies below than above.

We found a skeletal head, with it's mouth open, as though speaking. "I wonder if he's got something to tell us." I whispered

"Oh that's definitely a 'she'." Said the Australian man behind me in line.

Thinking he had some sort of archeological/anatomical insight that I missed he flippantly responded "Oh it's a woman all right. Her mouth is open."

Not missing my chance, I threw out a "That's what she said" joke. They didn't respond. Instead the son said "What who said?"

Oh. God. Do they not have TWSS jokes in Australia. I asked if they had not seen The Office. They discussed back and forth between themselves before concluding that they had not. I lost a little desire to go to Australia.

I didn't feel disrespectful laughing and cracking jokes, but we got a few weird looks from some others down there. I know if I was a dead roman, cholera victim, or revolutionary victim whose remains were in a stack of others, I would be dying for a joke. Oh...already dead. Rude. Sorry.

But, in serious reflection the place was peaceful and lovely, a reminder that in the end we all end up as bone and should be nice to each other and try to make each other happier. SO STOP EATING CHIK-FIL-A!!!

I came home to the roommate's boyfriend (a really cute French Film student named François) cooking. He made me put away my kebab, because Americans need MORE vegetables. And he made me green beans with garlic and poured me pomegranate juice. Amel has been very sisterly to me and she also makes me speak French, which is exactly what I need to get better-ish. It might frustrate some folks, but that stumbling through sentences, searching for words or verbs that you don't know is EXACTLY what makes you learn a language. And if you can't find a native who is patient AND can cook for you while you talk, then you can consider yourself lucky.

I certainly do.

François mentioned that he knows how to illegally break into the Catacombs so that we can tour the rest of them. Urban Exploring is tempting, but thinking of shimming down into century old quarries may not be suitable for someone with a limp and there is the little matter of it being illegal.
But then again, I've always loved that show "locked up abroad".