Brian arrived Saturday morning. It was hard to believe it had already been a month (but how was it only a month?) since I arrived at my apartment feeling like him—exhausted and not excited about the prospect of exploring Paris, only the prospect of a bed. As excited as I was to see him, I was also excited to see the gifts he brought—a pair of Toms shoes and blister bandaids. My feet are covered with blisters and scars and I didn’t care if I wouldn’t fit in with the Parisians, I was ready for comfort.

After Brian got some zzz’s in, we hit up a few of the items left on my list (Brian’s been to Paris before so he's already seen the major attractions). We headed over to Angelina’s on Rivoli near the Louvre. Angelina’s is a tea room known for their rich hot chocolate—so rich that Brian and I shared a cup and I still couldn’t finish it.

Next we went to the Grand Palais and saw the Helmut Newton exhibit. I had grand plans for us to have picnics and do the lounging with wine and cheese thing that I saw others doing and envied, but alas, the end of my stay in Paris started like the beginning (and by beginning I mean the first 3 weeks)…with a LOT of rain.

Sunday we got over to the Catacombs. Kim and I had attempted to see the Catacombs, but after seeing the line had opted out. We had to wait about an hour and a half, but made friends with the Canadians behind us. They had just arrived and I circled on their map all the fun places I had found. The Catacombs were definitely interesting (if you don’t know the story, starting in the 1700s, Paris started emptying their cemeteries and bringing the bones to the quarries underneath the city). The piles of bones were arranged in patterns of skulls and femurs. I couldn’t help but thinking—where are all of the rib cages, finger bones, etc.?

Sunday the skies finally cleared and Brian got to see the beautiful Paris that I saw (from time to time). We dined at a restaurant on Rue de Buci. There was hot dogs on the menu, and Brian couldn’t resist. Not surprisingly, the hot dog was a sausage in a baguette.

After dinner we walked around the Seine to the park in front of the Eiffel tower to watch the lights twinkle at 11:00. We brought champagne and strawberries (have I mentioned that the fruit in Paris is amazing? so much better than in the States). We were joined with hundreds of other people with the same idea; groups of people were spread across the lawn enjoying champagne.

The most memorable event of the evening, though, wasn’t the twinkling tower but a woman chasing a dog across the lawn. She was screaming over and over in a German accent “Oliver, come back, they’re alcoholics, they will kill you.” Let’s dissect this. She was in Paris, spoke German as a first language, but was yelling at the dog in English. Did the dog speak only English? Also, from her reaction you would think that the dog was racing into the middle of a mob scene, and not people sitting on the ground, gazing at the Eiffel tower and sipping on champagne. Did the dog succumb to peer pressure easily? Or was she afraid that these alcoholics would force feed the dog champagne? Regardless, I have a feeling this is a quote that Brian and I will repeat for a while.

I had to get up bright and early Monday morning to finish packing and cleaning the apartment. At 8:30 sharp, Mr. Gutagny, the owner, rang the bell. He was a cute French man, probably in his 80s. He spoke very little English, and I of course know less French, so we had an awkward exchange and Brian and I headed to Gare du Nord to catch our train to Amsterdam. While waiting at the train station Brian asked if I was sad and I had to admit that I had been so busy that morning that I hadn’t had time to think about it yet. Of course once he asked I started thinking about it, and I spent the 3 hour train ride to Amsterdam reflecting on the past month and missing Paris already.