Louvre dinner
Wednesday, the conference only ran until 1pm and then we were free until the conference dinner at the Louvre at 8pm. Unfortunately, this was also one of the days during the conference where it was raining continuously (the weather throughout the conference was mild and dreary -- clouds and temperatures never exceeding the low 70s). I got lunch with Karl and Dakota and that ended up going until 2:30. The three of us then walked around Paris for a while until finally stopping at a cafe near Gare de Lyon, which was conveniently only 2 metro stops and a short walk from my hotel.
I was supposed to meet Mark and Dmitry at my hotel at 6 for an aperitif before the conference dinner, so I left the cafe at 5:30, only to find a flashing electric message at the head of the metro station warning that my particular line was having severe delays and to find alternate routes. The only alternate route, honestly, was to walk, so I climbed the stairs onto the Promenade plantée, the Parisian predecessor to New York's High Line, and walked for almost its entire length back to my hotel. I didn't get there until 6:15, but then still had to change into fancy clothes, so we didn't leave until 6:45. We decided to just take the metro to the Louvre and had our aperitif at a corner cafe facing the museum. As can be expected with such a place, the kirs were atrocious, the beers served in filmy glasses, and all of it was overpriced. At least, we thought, we could look forward to the pleasure of eating in the Louvre.
Or so we thought. We descended into the large space underneath the Pyramid in the Louvre courtyard and then took a different escalator up to a mezzanine level where the restaurant was. Walking in was a complete disappointment: the decor was a typically unimaginative mix of cubed furniture painted in whites and glowing green, and the walls were lined with those up-close images of tomatoes and hamburger patties that you'd find in a university cafeteria. In that space, you had NO idea that you were in the midst of one of the greatest art museums in the world. Couldn't they have made everything fake marble? Put reproductions on the walls? Made it at least feel a tad black tie instead of shorts and flip-flops? Mark even saw a mouse scurry across the floor and one moment. The food and wine, at least, were very good, but the experience as a whole was utterly unmemorable except in how disappointing it was.
Mark, Dmitry, and I sat at a table with Karl, Dakota and Tania, three grad students from CUNY that I've met before at CANT. Tania's family friend was also at our table. We constantly had to switch languages because the family friend didn't speak English while Tania and Dakota didn't speak German, but I'm surprised that everyone else was well-versed in both languages. We stayed and talked well past our welcome and didn't leave until past 11. Everyone was feeling like having another drink and continuing our conversations, so they all accepted Mark and Dmitry's invitation to their apartment for some wine. I should have gone home, but I accepted their offer as well because I was yearning to socialize.
I should have gone home. Why? On Monday, I had worn a new pair of shoes. I developed huge blisters on the backs of my heels. On Tuesday and Wednesday I gave my feet a break by wearing comfortable sneakers, but then for the Louvre I had switched into fancy shoes. Normally, I might have only gotten light blistering from these fancy shoes, but since my feet were already blistered, these shoes just made it worse. When we left the Louvre, I thought we were going to take the metro or a cab to Mark and Dmitry's, but they ended up suggesting that we walk to their place. We walked FOR AN HOUR. About twenty minutes in I was ready to bail, but by then the metro had stopped working. So I continued on. My feet hurt so much by the time we got there I couldn't enjoy myself. Nor could I head home. I crashed at their place and slept on a blanket on the floor. In the morning I slipped the shoes back on with a shriek and waddled like an invalid to the nearest metro. I missed the first three talks of that day as a result, including two I had really wanted to see. I wore my comfy sneakers for the rest of the conference but even they didn't help alleviate the pain that much. Once I got back to the US, Christian's been taking care of me with gauze and Neosporin so I can enjoy walking around Montreal, but this is probably the worst my feet have ever been.
I was supposed to meet Mark and Dmitry at my hotel at 6 for an aperitif before the conference dinner, so I left the cafe at 5:30, only to find a flashing electric message at the head of the metro station warning that my particular line was having severe delays and to find alternate routes. The only alternate route, honestly, was to walk, so I climbed the stairs onto the Promenade plantée, the Parisian predecessor to New York's High Line, and walked for almost its entire length back to my hotel. I didn't get there until 6:15, but then still had to change into fancy clothes, so we didn't leave until 6:45. We decided to just take the metro to the Louvre and had our aperitif at a corner cafe facing the museum. As can be expected with such a place, the kirs were atrocious, the beers served in filmy glasses, and all of it was overpriced. At least, we thought, we could look forward to the pleasure of eating in the Louvre.
Or so we thought. We descended into the large space underneath the Pyramid in the Louvre courtyard and then took a different escalator up to a mezzanine level where the restaurant was. Walking in was a complete disappointment: the decor was a typically unimaginative mix of cubed furniture painted in whites and glowing green, and the walls were lined with those up-close images of tomatoes and hamburger patties that you'd find in a university cafeteria. In that space, you had NO idea that you were in the midst of one of the greatest art museums in the world. Couldn't they have made everything fake marble? Put reproductions on the walls? Made it at least feel a tad black tie instead of shorts and flip-flops? Mark even saw a mouse scurry across the floor and one moment. The food and wine, at least, were very good, but the experience as a whole was utterly unmemorable except in how disappointing it was.
Mark, Dmitry, and I sat at a table with Karl, Dakota and Tania, three grad students from CUNY that I've met before at CANT. Tania's family friend was also at our table. We constantly had to switch languages because the family friend didn't speak English while Tania and Dakota didn't speak German, but I'm surprised that everyone else was well-versed in both languages. We stayed and talked well past our welcome and didn't leave until past 11. Everyone was feeling like having another drink and continuing our conversations, so they all accepted Mark and Dmitry's invitation to their apartment for some wine. I should have gone home, but I accepted their offer as well because I was yearning to socialize.
I should have gone home. Why? On Monday, I had worn a new pair of shoes. I developed huge blisters on the backs of my heels. On Tuesday and Wednesday I gave my feet a break by wearing comfortable sneakers, but then for the Louvre I had switched into fancy shoes. Normally, I might have only gotten light blistering from these fancy shoes, but since my feet were already blistered, these shoes just made it worse. When we left the Louvre, I thought we were going to take the metro or a cab to Mark and Dmitry's, but they ended up suggesting that we walk to their place. We walked FOR AN HOUR. About twenty minutes in I was ready to bail, but by then the metro had stopped working. So I continued on. My feet hurt so much by the time we got there I couldn't enjoy myself. Nor could I head home. I crashed at their place and slept on a blanket on the floor. In the morning I slipped the shoes back on with a shriek and waddled like an invalid to the nearest metro. I missed the first three talks of that day as a result, including two I had really wanted to see. I wore my comfy sneakers for the rest of the conference but even they didn't help alleviate the pain that much. Once I got back to the US, Christian's been taking care of me with gauze and Neosporin so I can enjoy walking around Montreal, but this is probably the worst my feet have ever been.