Another day full of adventure, but not the kind we were hoping for. Earlier this week, problems arose in Armenia — silly problems, problems of a bureaucratic nature that have nothing to do with the substance of anything. Simply, George’s name was spelled differently on some key documents that needed to be processed. So, with a sense of urgency, several days ago, on three continents, two sets of lawyers and some great minds began speculating as to how best to solve the problem.

Finally, the best course was decided upon and we were sent a document which we needed to sign, have notarized, have an Apostile affixed, and then sent by express mail to Armenia. (For those of you who don’t know, an Apostile is a seal placed by the local government verifying that the notary seal is legitimate. At least that’s how I understand it. )

Yesterday, George had found a notary and he had also located the Apostile office in the Palais de Justice, so we thought this would not be difficult. So, as soon as we had all the information and the document in hand, at about 1:30 pm, we headed to the notary on Garabaldi Blvd, just a few blocks from us. Oops — lunch time — wait a bit – and take a walk — come back at 2:00 pm. We arrived back a little before 2 –and the notary kindly let us in and placed his seal on the document. So far so good! Now to the Palais de Justice!

Over to Metro #10, we headed for Odeon, and there we changed to the bus #96 which would take us to the Palais de Justice, on L’île de La Cité.  We decided that I would go into the post office which was right there to inquire about sending an letter to Armenia, while George went to the Apostile office.

Tourists were in line to get into Sainte Chapelle –the chapel with magnificent stained glass windows. We attended a concert in the chapel a couple of years ago. It is a great way to soak in the beauty of the place while listening to classical music. (Just a side travel note — go to the early concert so that there is still sunlight coming in through the windows. )

Back to today……

My job was completed at the post office with ease as the young clerk spoke very good English. I crossed the street, walked around the Palais, and the part where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned, down a long street along the river to find George. At the back of the building, I saw the steps George had mentioned which mark the entrance I had to go through. I climbed them and somewhat out-of-breathe, once inside, I asked the guards where the Apostiles were done. They pointed to a door a few steps away. I passed through security and found George.

He was standing at the counter talking to a clerk through the bars that separated them. The look on his face told me something was very wrong. As I approached, he let out a sigh of relief, and the clerk asked me, “Parlez-vous francais? “ “Oui,” I responded, “un peu.” (a little).

With that she explained that the seal the notary had used was not the correct on for obtaining an Apostile. He had used a square seal; for an Apostile, a round seal which is for non-commercial documents, is needed. She further explained that if we went back to him he would stamp it correctly. Oh my! We looked at each other distraught.

The woman added that the office closed at…. “quinze heure” or 15 hours. In an earlier post I explained that the 24 hour system of time is used in France. Tired and upset, I forgot to subtract 2 from the last number and to George’s quizzical look I said, “they close here at 5 — we have plenty of time.” It was 2:10. We ran down those stairs, over to the bus #70 this time, which left us close to home and to the notary. George got the right stamp this time, and I found out where DHL offices were. We were off again, Metro #10 — to the bus – over the bridge — down the street — up the stairs — through the door – to the security guards. They looked at us and said, “C’est fermé.” (IT IS CLOSED!) No — it can’t be, we argued. We were just here — etc., etc., etc. I was near tears. The guards wanting to help said, “OK, come in and knock on the door, but we’re sure they won’t let you in.” (No – not in English, but in French and I did understand.) George knocked on the door several times but there was no response.

Sometimes, no matter what you do, it just isn’t going to happen.

Since Paris is Paris, and it was a sunny, warmish day, we walked all the way home, but not without stopping first at a little eating place on Rue de Seine, one block down from Blvd St. Germain. Everything is cooked on the premises including their delicious bread baked in a big oven visible from the order counter. It is a kind of health food place, where the food is organic (including the wine) and many items on the menu are marked with Veggie or V-Veggie (for vegan)

We ordered two big bowls of sweet potato soup (without cream) served with hot, freshly baked crusty bread topped with olive oil and sprinkled with chives and basil. We each had a glass of red wine which by this time was badly needed.

After lunch, we decided to walk home slowly. Walking slowly and tired as we were, we lingered at almost every shop window in a way we don’t usually. We gazed through the windows of the pastry shops, windows filled with fig and apple tarts and with cream cakes decorated with chocolate squares and strawberries, and yet others with breads and cookies. We almost went into a specialty chocolate shop called, Weiss, which on its sign said ‘since 1852’. The chocolates must be good here! Nonetheless, we moved on . Down Rue Cherche Midi, to Rue de Sevres, to Duroc, down Invalides, over to Breteuil, Avenue Saxe, and home. Home !! We collapsed and began thinking about packing and how we would get the Apostile affixed tomorrow morning before we leave for Boston.

C’est la vie!

Palais de Justice, stairs leading up to back entrance