Exhausted from my busy day yesterday, I decided I would be Parisian this morning, by which I meant sleeping late and eating fresh baguette with butter and jelly for breakfast while working on my novel.  This meant, of course, tromping to the boulangerie first thing in the morning chill (possibly people here would complain about the heat less if they would take advantage of the hours before noon).  But it was well worth the six flights of stairs, because the baguette I bought was much fresher than the baguettes I've been buying in the afternoon and evening at the same boulangerie have been (I have been able to preserve the freshness so far, more or less, by wrapping the bread in paper and plastic... I wonder if they are left out all day at the boulangerie?).

I headed out shortly after ten, by which time it was starting to heat up.  Also, after two cups of coffee yesterday, my body had decided to ignore the stories I had been telling it about caffeine being a rare commodity in Europe, and I felt groggy and out of sorts.  So I went into one of the less-intimidating cafes I was passing and ordered a "noisette".  I'm not sure entirely what this translates to, but it resulted in a small cup of espresso with a modest amount of milk or cream; between the cup's to-go lid and the giant tube of sugar they gave me (which I saved for some future exigency since I don't take sugar in my coffee) it was really quite cute.

The museum I was planning to go to was not scheduled to open for a few minutes (which meant it would not actually open for half an hour), so I went to an American bookstore.  I got lucky and found the exact book I had been wishing I'd brought along on my trip, Almost French.  Books are quite expensive here; basically they are the dollar cover price in Euros, which means they are about 30% more than the cover price (I, like most Americans, am used to paying around 30% less than the cover price by buying through Amazon or getting other discounts).  I've been craving memoirs about American women in Paris, which I suppose is sensible considering that's what I am.

Let me sidetrack here for a minute and say that, for possibly the first time ever, I decidedly underpacked.  I think part of this was due to the diversion of packing for Iceland and concern about my bag being above the European weight limit (which it turns, out, it is 16 pounds shy of, although I am guessing it will have somehow gotten heavier on the way home).  The only things I've brought and not used so far - still in the first half of my trip - are the dress, the skirt, and the nice sandals - all of which I think I am likely to use at some point, and which weren't really optional - and the bathing suit, which I brought in case I went to a hot spring in Iceland and will probably not use.  I did not bring an umbrella (on the grounds that all my umbrellas suck and I could buy an equally bad one in any city I was in) or my extremely versatile black windbreaker (basically out of stupidity) or sufficient reading material (again on the grounds that I could find English-language books in Paris) or all the shampoo and etc. that I knew I would need (yet again, on the grounds of such things being available in Paris).  What I was not counting on was that these things might not be available, or might not be to my taste, or might be extremely expensive.  My memory of picking up inexpensive, used English-language books in several countries as I traveled Europe a decade ago is either outdated or doesn't translate to Paris; here, English-language bookstores are few, expensive, and generally seem to have the attitude that foreigners are beneath them (even the ones staffed by foreigners); the selection is poor (mostly British books that have been out in the States for at least a decade); and the atmosphere is frequently unbookish.  Umbrellas are available for the usual gougey prices at tourist shops, but these places tend to (bizarrely) close when it rains, so I have not bought one yet due to a lack of desire to carry one around (and the same sort of irrational belief in persistence of the current state that leads me to always head out for the day, here or in New York, with every belief that at no point before evening will I become hungry).  As for toiletries, I have bought outrageously expensive French products; I was hoping they would be very good, in keeping with their prices and the general French penchant for quality, but in fact they are awful.  I have just found some not-too-expensive hair goop that seems not entirely inappropriate for my hair, so hopefully that will work out better.

In one area (besides food ), shopping has gone well for me.  I came on this trip with roughly five times as many bags as a normal person might need... i.e. backpack, large shoulder daybag, string backpack, large purse, and small purse, and found all of them lacking in some way and the combination not quite sufficient for all my needs.  However, for 10 Euros I have purchased a shoulder bag that is somewhat larger than a purse in size (although smaller than the purses many New Yorkers carry) and holds everything I need for a day without making me look like a tourist.  Although I haven't used it for this, it will even it my netbook (without the case).  The downside is that I tend to pack it full - a guidebook, a novel, a bottle of water, camera, wallet, various other things - and then my back and shoulders get sore.  Sadly, I do not think they sell stronger muscles in Paris.

The museum I went to today was the Musee des Arts Decoratifs.  This is housed in a wing of the Louvre but is separate, and it is quite huge (the Louvre, somehow, is much bigger, although I haven't been yet this trip.  It houses a truly monumental collection of artifacts - a few paintings, but mostly furniture, vases, and the like - arranged chronologically starting with the Middle Ages.  The amazing audioguide (included with admission, which was especially nice since the placards were in French only) really illuminated the significance of the various works, both sociologically and artistically.  And some of the pieces were really incredible - 20-foot masonry freizes from the 15th century, dozens of examples of marquetry and parquetry.  This continues over two very large floors through the Art Deco movement, and then there are smaller areas covering the following 80 years.  I thought these last bits were nowhere near as good: they were less thorough and, in the most modern sections, kind of silly.  In the "80's and 90's" exhibit, I had assumed I would see styles that looked familiar, but instead it was all avant-garde stuff that I'm pretty sure nobody (or almost nobody) ever owned.  This made me question the earlier exhibits... I had assumed that the 18th-century furniture, for example, was representative of what 18th-century people (at least, rich people in Europe) kept in their houses, and the rooms recreated from individuals' homes suggested this as well.  But that didn't seem consistent with the modern visits being portrayed... so, while the museum on the whole was great, it ended on a down note, and I wish I hadn't seen the more modern exhibits.

Because of its enormous size and later opening, the Musee took basically all day, and afterward I returned home to take refuge from the heat and have tea (that is what I am calling the meal one has at 5 p.m.).  Tonight, I am supposed to be meeting someone to go running in the Jardin du Luxembourg, with which there are two problems: (1) this Jardin appears to be 1.5 miles away from my home, which means I could get lost on the way, and also I will have a substantial pre-run (or walk, because at 7:30 p.m. the streets are likely to be much too crowded to run on) and (2) it doesn't even start getting cool here until 10 p.m., so it will be a cumbersomely hot run.  But!  I am brave and I will survive.  And probably I will carry water.