A Series of Small Adventures

• Last night I met my new British friend in the Latin Quarter for a coffee.  Her French is better than mine, and of course her Europeaness is far superior, so she had no trouble finding us seats at a cafe and, even though it was an hour when most people were drinking wine, ordering a cafe creme.  Then we walked around the Louvre's gardens, which are even more beautiful at sunset than ordinarily.
• When I woke up this morning it was raining.  Not gentle rain, but serious, thunder-and-lightening, an-umbrella-will-do-you-no-good rain.  I decided that this fact, combined with it being Monday (when nearly all museums and many other things are closed), meant I should not wake up quite so early.  However, when it stopped raining, I ventured out to buy an umbrella.  After a couple detours into clothing stores too cool for umbrellas (but selling many scarves and fake-leather purses), I found one at H&M.  I realize this is inauthentic, but authentic French umbrellas tend to be quite large (uncollapsible) and wouldn't fit nicely into my bag.
• Because I am being eaten alive on a nightly basis (I am told that I am imagining these bites into existence because there are no mosquitos in Paris... but examining things more closely, I'm pretty sure it's spiders, which most people seem not to be bothered by) I wanted to get some Benadryl.  I went to a pharmacy and determined that the woman there had no idea what Benadryl was (my British friend doesn't either, so I guess it is US-specific).  I said something in French about mosquitos, and she showed me "mosquito kits" (suggesting they are not totally nonexistent here).  Then I clarified that I wanted something for after the mosquitos, and she went behind the counter for anti-itch cream.  Later I discovered that it is apparently quite strong stuff; there are many pages of warnings (in both French and English) about my skin falling off and unwanted hair growing out of my blood vessels if I use it more than twice a day.  But hopefully it will keep me from waking up in the middle of the night wanting to die of itching, so that will be worth it.
• Those adventures under my belt, I convinced someone at Starbucks to sell me a large amount of coffee, which I increasingly feel is not nearly as caffeinated as the American stuff (at home, I can't get through a grande without getting jitters; here it barely affects me) and stationed myself in a corner to observe and write.  There were times that I felt I could have been at a Starbucks in New York, and times when it was very obvious I was somewhere else.  In Paris, people eat more at coffee shops - in New York, it's more about beverages - and the standard person alone with a muffin or sandwich eats it, often with a knife and fork, without doing anything else, while in New York they will pick at it while reading or working on a laptop.  I have seen very few laptops here.
• After lunch, I went for a walk.  I passed Notre Dame and crossed the bridge to Ile St. Louis, where I walked past all the little stores and saw many people eating ice cream, some while biking or roller-blading.  I crossed to Rive Gauche east of the Latin Quarter and walked past the University of Paris.  I saw many bookstores, some with signs in both French and Arabic.  One bookstore sold only scientific books for university courses; the physics books were all in English (I recognized quite a few; in the US they'd be considered graduate level or higher... while normal books are expensive in France, these struck me as reasonable or even underpriced) and the biology books were in French.  I did a brief circuit of the Jardin des Plantes, where there is a formal gardin and a museum of zoology.  
• On the way back, I saw a church with a sign outside in multiple languages instructing visitors to dress modestly.  It wasn't Sunday and I saw a couple people exit the church who were clearly tourists, so I figured it was okay to peek in... inside, the chuch was simple a long arch-topped tube.  Hundreds of chairs were lined up in rows.  At the back, near the entry, was the sort of welcome desk that all churches here seem to have, and near the front a dozen people were scattered in chairs.  They were making uneven, semi-musical sounds and it took me a few minutes to realize I'd walked into a service.  
• I went for a run with my British friend.  I've gone for a few runs here; except on weekend mornings, it's quite tricky.  Running seems to be just not done here; even in the Tuileries, where we saw several other runners, several people gave us blank scowls, as if we were somehow violating the purpose of the park (which, I suppose, is idleness and decadence, so we were).
• I had cheese as part of both lunch (chevre left over from Rue Cler) and dinner (packaged Comte, a raw milk cheese).  I cannot get over how delicious and inexpensive it is here.