After a day lost to jetlag, unpacking, and getting some basic stuff done, and after a good 11 hours sleep, we were raring to go today. That means — we got out of our apartment by 1:30 p.m. That’s good for us! it was a good clear day, though cold. Several things had to be done after a rather frustrating morning — I was unable to recharge my cellphone online, and in our mail, was a return of our ‘habitation’ tax payment made in Dec. Both issues had to be taken care of today. Fortunately, within walking distance, we made it to an Orange store. The salesclerk was very helpful and quickly recharged my phone. I explained that I tried online. He said with a heavy French accent, “Impossible! Impossible!” It seems Orange has instituted extremely difficult protocols for recharging online unless you have a Visa Bleue card. Well — we do have a Visa Bleue, but unfortunately it is still back home and I don’t mean in the apartment here in Paris. Next, we headed for St. Sulpice — the church which houses the oldest organ in Europe. We’ve been to a concert or two here. The famous French organist, Marcel Dupre was the organist here for many years.

For those of you who may not have had the pleasure of being here, the church sits on a large square with a beautiful waterfountain in the center. For years, the facade of the church has been under reconstruction and cleaning. And now, for the first time in years, the scaffolding down, one can see the church as it is meant to be seen. Even if you have been here though, you might not know the building to the right of the main entrance of the church. It is equally imposing, but since our interest has always been the church it would be easy to miss; it is the financial administrative building for the 6th and 7th arrondissments (districts) of Paris. My heart sank when I saw the size of this building. I thought we will never be able to navigate through it and find where to pay the tax bill. I’d made copies of the letter waiting for us upon our arrival, explaining why our payment was returned. I hoped with that letter and my feable French, I’d be able to communicate what we needed to do.

Up the stairs, into the main lobby — we read the list of departments both for the 6th and the 7th arrondissements. Then, we noticed a women who seemed to be giving information from behind a large marble counter. Our turn…. she smiled broadly…. I posed my question, “Je veux payer notre tax de habitation…” “Yes” she said in French, continuing to smile and being very pleasant. “Do you see that door behind that man over there? Well go through that door and that’s where you pay the tax.” We said our ‘Merci, madame”, grateful for the help, but not believing for a minute that this would be easy.

We entered throught the door to see two clerks behind their desks, with no one else in the room — no other taxpayers or folks with problems were there. We approached the desk, but they both looked up and said in French, “You must take a number — take a number.” OK — there was no line, but we backed up to the small machine they pointed to, punched it, and out came # 40. We walked up to the desk, and gave them the number. I realize now that it must also be a way for their bosses to know how many people they see in a day.

The man behind the desk said he didn’t really speak any English when I asked and neither did his co-worker. in French I said that it didn’t matter,”Je parle francais un peu”, hoping was true, It was — I do speak a little French and for the third time in two days (the first time was with the chimney sweeper) I got us through.

I explained the problem, showed the clerk my papers, wrote a check, and paid the tax. He called up our account on the computer and I was even able to get our mailing address changed! What a relief — all done! Now we were free to roam the streets and shop.

First, we headed for the Village Voice bookstore which was close by. The proprietor. an Englishman was there and we chatted about some new books out and about a professor who has been coming in for books about Armenians. Interesting! He didn’t know any more about him than that. We made a few purchases and left after a bit though we could have stayed there browsing the shelves for hours.

January is sale month in France. Everything goes on sale up 20 -30-40 and even 50% off. Many stores have big signs saying, “Second marked down..” Not lost on Parisiens who I’ve heard wait for these sales all year, were now out en masse. The upscale department store Bon Marche looked like a bargain basement! Rows and rows of bins and racks filled with expensive garments and housewares were being gleaned by the shoppers. George and I looked around a bit, but I started to get dizzy from it all and after a quick look covering the three floors in about 15 minutes, we left.

We did some food shopping at the Grand Epicerie (Bon Marche grocery store), and then settled down in their outdoor express food area on Rue de Sevre. We order spinach soup, the special of the day, a lemon merangue tarte and an apple pastry, sat in the heated booth with vines growing on the outside, and ate while people watching. How pleasant it was.

One more stop on the way back to our apartent was made to buy herring at a specialty store. We had a little time to rest before heading to the American Library to hear author Susan Tiberghien read from and talk about her new book, One Year to a Writing Life. George and I both enjoyed it. I signed up for her workshop on Saturday afternoon at Shakespeare & Co.
We got to chatting with the woman sitting next to us during the talk — she’ll be at the workshop, too.

We stopped for a quick dinner at an Indian restaurant directly on our way home. It was OK, but nothing I’d write home about (is that what I’m doing?)

We’re happy to have left the mountains of snow behind. it was a clear, sunny day today, though quite cold — but not anything like we’ve had back home.  We’ll see how long it lasts.