Apparently, rather good.

"What are the chances?", I thought, that I'd see the Cat Man again. For those of you who don't know (or do know and forgot), last year when I was in Paris I went to the Montmartre Cemetery. In a rather surreal moment, I met a man who feeds the 100 cats that live in the cemetery. We started talking about cats, he asked where I was from, and then he said, "follow me, I want to show you something". Now, some people would think that was a bad idea but the guy is about 75 years old, and probably 5' 1" on a good day, so I figured I could take him. He lead me to a crypt and opened it. Inside were bags and bags of cat food. I asked him if it was his family's crypt. "No." What a surprise the real owners will have if they ever pay a visit, I thought. Anyway, a moment later he asked me for a donation to pay for the cat food, I gave him a few Euros and he was gone... like a ghost. "He'll probably become a character in my next play," I thought, shaking my head. Well, he did. He became "Marcel", the Cat Man in "The Ghosts of Montmartre". And that scene was written into the script.

I often thought when I had the opportunity to return to Paris that I would love to find him again and tell him what he inspired. Seriously, though, what are the chances I'd find him again?

Apparently, rather good. Creepy good, because just as I turned toward the cemetery to search him out, who should I see walking toward me! I couldn't believe it!!! I stopped him and asked if he was the man who fed the cemetery cats -- he was, and had about 20 pounds of cat food in bags to prove it. I reintroduced myself and asked what his name was -- he replied, "Marcel"! HOLY MERDE!!!! I was just about beside myself. He asked if I would have a coffee with him. Heck yeah! What a great "part two" this will be, I thought. There was a cafe just ahead... oh, but he meant at his apartment. Well... a little strange but as I said before, I figured I could take him.

His apartment was neat and had so many things to look at that I can't even begin to describe them. There was beautiful wood paneling and a tiny kitchen where he made the coffee. We chatted for a bit, distractedly. He has an enormous cat of his own, Felix, who makes Stacey's cat Jimmers look like a petite little thing. He asked if I would take our photo, and one of Felix. I did and he gave me his address so I could send him a copy. Really, how could this story get any more amazing? Well... hmmm... let's just say grand pere made a pass at me. He is French, after all... and, as I said before, the senior citizens of Paris seem quite taken with me. That was my cue to exit, which I did quickly -- making sure to avoid "un bise" (kiss on both cheeks) while giving him a donation for the cat food and saying goodbye.

Paris is an interesting place -- with interesting people to be sure. And, if nothing else, they give me lots of good stories to tell. :)

Apparently, I'm big with seniors.

My first meal in Paris (aside from a quiche de champignons for a snack) was a fresh baguette, some marvelous stinky Cammembert, mirabelles (plums), a fantastic dessert called Sully, and a beer. Yes, I know I probably should have been drinking wine to be truly French, but the beer was cold and the wine was not. Besides, after a very hot and humid trek through the Metro stations with luggage, a beer sounded really good. My hotel is just two blocks from Rue Cler -- one of the best places to get picnic supplies -- and a block from the park near the Eiffel Tower -- so while I could have gone to a restaurant, a park bench with the view of the tower wasn't too shabby.

On a bench across from me, an older bearded gentleman talked with a cyclist. The bearded man thumbed his guitar. After the cyclist left, he came over to me. He spoke as he played, low and incomprehesible. The only words I understood were "what is it" and "timide". When I said I didn't understand, he went back to his bench, thumbed his guitar again, without playing a single song, and nearly without making any noise.

On another bench sat a stout man who was eating all his popsicles in one go. I counted them... one... two... three... four... five? Yes, five, I believe. The whole box, chocolate and yellow -- whatever flavor yellow is... vanilla? Citron? Banana? I think banana. I have never seen anyone do that, and it amused me.

Later, I took a walk up to the Tower and the Trocadero. I practiced my French when another gentleman came to sit beside me on the bench. He was pleasant enough, older. He thought I was Portugese. Russian? Funny how I think I must stick out as an American yet I've been asked if I'm Spanish, Brittish, and several other nationalities. When monsieur asked if I wanted to get a drink I said I didn't understand, then politely made my excuses. Hmmm... where are the handsome 39-year olds? :)

Got a bit of a late start today. My body seemed to think it was time to be awake at 2 am. No. Finally up and out for a coffee at about 10:30. Met one of the locals who asked if I liked dining all alone. I think that is what he asked me. Anyway, I said, "yes". Well, when you're traveling by yourself, you better like eating alone. :) After several mix-ups and closures on the Metro/RER I finally made it to the Musee D'Orsay. I enjoyed the shadow theater exhibition from Le Chat Noir, and the collection of Guimard's Art Nouveau work. Spent the rest of the afternoon wandering.

Tomorrow I'm off to the cemeteries. Hope to see the cat man again. Having a great time in Paris.

A bientot!
Amy