Sunday we woke up refreshed and ready to hit the pavement. We decided that we'd cut across the city in a northwesterly semicircle with our end destination being the train station. The first order of business was, of course, breakfast. We ended up at a famous old place down the street called La Cupole (the cupola), which had a large dome in the center of the building which presumably let in light until they built an office building over top of it. It was still nice in its old-school way, with a bunch of art on the walls and photos of it back in the 50s when all the cool cats would come there to while away the evenings and dance. We sat in the glassed-in patio and surveyed the street scene (most notably a trio consisting of an older gentleman, his somewhat younger employee and a old woman whose function I couldn't discern on the first floor roof of the restaurant across the street: the younger guy seemed to be cleaning the roof while the older man supervised and occasionally pitched in while the woman watched and would occasionally pick up things I couldn't see and then put them down). The breakfast was marvelous: 2 croissants, one roll, a little pitcher that held 3 cups of good coffee, and a glass of freshly squeezed juice. We were equally impressed by the bathrooms downstairs, which had a mechanism set into the floor to activate the tap with your foot.

Restoration complete, we started walking. We took some interesting-looking back streets in the general direction we were going and were surprised that every few minutes or so we'd encounter a nun going the opposite way. There must've been a convent nearby, and there was a church letting out its congregation as we went past. One nun was heading in the same direction as us so we kept an eye on her for a while. I was particularly interested in discovering which shop windows she peered into, but she was either singularly focused on getting where she was going or she was praying or both, because her eyes never strayed from her path.

We were going to take a quick look at the Hotel des Invalides, which was used for recuperating soldiers back in the day but was now a military museum, but we were so taken with the gold dome that we had to investigate more closely. It appeared to be partially surrounded by a moat, had cannons of every shape and size, the gardens featured some ruby-stemmed swiss chard to good effect, and there were a variety of sculptural pieces on the edifice. Of particular note were one of two horses cuddling (which I think symbolizes that they were both killed in a war) and the window frames of the exterior forming stone representations of various types of armor.

Next stop was the sewer museum, which ended up being one of the highlights of the trip. It was a mere four euros, and we spent probably an hour or so down there, wandering through the mains. Interestingly, there was actual sewage flowing underneath our feet, although it was suspiciously free of debris. Perhaps the good people of Paris heed the recommendations about what you shouldn't flush, unlike some American populations I could mention (I'm talking to you, DC). Also I gather that the technology for the garbage disposal hasn't yet crossed the pond, so there's a giant waste stream they're not adding.

It was an interesting system for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that the water mains traversed the same tunnels. Perhaps they don't get water main breaks there, but that type of combined use is a no-no at home. Sanitation in general doesn't seem to be a big a deal in Europe as at home anyway (witness the many times your sandwich is prepared by the same person who takes your money--no plastic gloves here), so perhaps they decided that the odds were against contamination and it wasn't worth spending the money digging up and re-laying all the pipes. Also interesting was the fact that the workers devised a number of creative ways of cleaning the accumulated silt out of the bottoms of the largest pipes. Additionally, they've been having tours of the system since the late 1800s. I wouldn't have thought there'd be much of a draw for this sort of thing back then due to general Victorian squeamishness, but they had photos of people sitting in the types of cars on tracks found in mines and amusement parks, so I guess it was viewed as a technological marvel rather than something gross. The signs said that the Seine has now been returned to its original "pristine" condition, but I wouldn't have guessed it from the murkiness of the water in the river. Plus, if you have to pump air into the water so that there's enough oxygen in there to support aquatic life, I'd say you still have a ways to go. They weren't doing that back in the Pliocene age, I assure you.

But enough about me...after ascending to the street level again, we crossed the river to the Right Bank and started to climb towards the Arc de Triomphe. We again ran into the problem of the city being bigger than we thought, and by the time we got there it was getting on towards midafternoon. The arch wasn't much to look at next to Brussels' own arch, and it was surrounded by a traffic circle, so we decided to press ahead. We unintentionally chose a street that was nearly abandoned because it was almost all office buildings, and we were beginning to despair ever seeing another eating establishment when it began to threaten rain, so we cut over to the metro just as the skies let loose. As we braved the downpour to get to the station to avoid being totally soaked, the storm subsided. Naturally.

We took the metro to the train station. The two weren't right next to each other, but there was some kind of back way to get from one to the other. We opted to go by the streets to scout out a place to eat. We walked a gauntlet of delicious smelling Indian foods, but we didn't see anyplace that had takeout aside from a few bakery-type places, and I wanted something more filling than a couple of samosas. There were a number of markets selling mangoes, and I regret not wanting to spend the time out how to buy a few (there were no bags, but also no people to assist) because Indian mangoes are the best. Someday I'll find Little India in Brussels...

We eventually arrived at a pita and pizza joint across the street from the station. There were well-stuffed calzones in the window, so we decided to get those. As we waited to order it occurred to me that they might not be calzones at all but rather misshapen, puffed-up pitas (much like the delicious ones at Perfect Pita in Old Town), and that's what they were. So we got gyros instead, and the puffy pitas were just large enough so they could fit some fries in them, which they are unable to do in Brussels. We went over to the station to eat and wait.

After eating we checked out the architecture and the views from various spots. One woman was dressed in a traditional African print dress with a pattern of spark plugs radiating outwards on the back of the skirt. It was sensational. Then it was time to bid Paris adieu and head back across the border. The train was periodically bombarded with short but fierce storms, so we picked a good time to leave. We watched a guy who was clearly scamming the system because he'd switch seats everytime the rightful occupant came along, and the woman who had most likely been to a wedding over the weekend if her hennaed feet were any indication.

All in all, Paris didn't do that much for me. But I've already been told that I HAVE to go back, so I guess I will at some point, maybe when another cheap train fare crosses my path.