Dorothy, we're not in Iceland any more

Was walking across the Seine, footsore, when we realized that the long spring evenings were fooling us and it was dinner time. So instead of getting on a bus and heading home, we kept walking, looking for a place to eat.

Just as I was thinking I couldn't go any further, the next restaurant we saw seemed to exude an air of calm that drew us in - possibly because it was somewhat more expensive, so it had fewer patrons than the ones we had passed. First we sat outside to watch the street life and enjoy the evening breeze, but soon we realized that the evening breeze was 80% cigarette smoke and the street life consisted of motorcycle noise. So we moved inside and found an Art Nouveau fantasia of wood and mirrors and paintings and tile, with wrought iron coat hooks and a stained glass ceiling. The waiters dashed about so briskly I felt I was watching a floor show. Nels liked the food better than our fancy meal yesterday, but I would choose the other any time!

I walked with my cane yesterday, which helped somewhat and also got me a seat on a crowded bus (thank you!). Still walking more than I ought, but I hate being left behind. And my idea of visiting a city is to wander about. Maybe I can take more busses.

I think the jet lag has caught up with me. I got up this morning around 7, and went yawning back to bed at 9, which would be midnight back home, and slept for hours.