Europe

In the morning we took the TGV back to Paris.  
This is Easter Sunday, and we happened upon an entire orchestra playing in one of the cave-like hallways of the subway once we got into the city.  An entire orchestra.  They were dressed in street clothes as if one of them said "What are you guys doing on Easter?  Want to grab a coffee together?  Want to come over and watch the game?  Want to bring your instruments to the subway and play classical favorites?"  We stayed for a while listening, and then we went to Montmartre.  I'd told him about Montmartre so many times when I used to fantasise about "One day we could go to Paris together..." but I wondered if it would be dissapointing to see after I'd talked it up so much.  But he really loved it too. We climbed the stairs to the top and we walked through the streets.  We watched the artists for a while and we wound our way to a little place where we got crepes to share.  I asked if he'd like to go inside the Sacred Heart cathedral, and he did.  We happened to enter during the Easter mass.  I had forgotten again that was Easter, but I felt lucky we had accidentally stumbled upon this.  Chuck and I both grew up Catholic, and so the church had that same strangeness and familiarity all mixed up at once, just like our churches did when we were younger.  For me, the added effect was the strangeness of hearing all of the familiar prayers and all of the familiar phrases of the priest but in a foreign language.  I was able to know the Lord's Prayer without having ever heard it in French before because the entire service, especially the prayers, were a direct translation from what I knew in English.  I was so glad I had gotten to experience that on the Easter holiday.  
After church, we went back outside and it was raining.  It was getting dark so we wanted to find a place to stay for the night.  We found a hostel but it was full.  She called several different hostels for us but they were all full or much more money than I would consider paying for a hostel (100 or more euros per night!).  We walked more and along our way we found a tiny hotel and decided to try it.  When I told the 150-year-old man at the counter that we'd like the cheapest room, the one without shower or toilets, for 30 euros please, he responded: "You were here yesterday".
We went through the reservation process and he told me my room would have a TV.  "Okay" I said, not planning to even watch it, but he continued to tell me a little bit more about the TV.  Finally I payed him, two 20 euro bills.  "Don't you have anything smaller?" he asked.  I hadn't thought it would be a problem to pay forty euros for a thirty-euro room.  But somehow he was able to make change for the twenty and give me a ten back.  
Our room was amazing...the wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the desk was balancing on three legs....it was working well to call itself a 'dive'.  
We listened to it pour outside and tried to decide if we were hungry enough to bear the cold rain.  We finally decided to bear the cold.  During dinner he told me lots about India that I never knew before.  He'd told me stories, but never a full narrative like this.  I loved listening to it as I fell asleep like a good bedtime story.  I couldn't keep my eyes awake any longer to let him know I was listening, and instead I drifted off into a heavy sleep.