Running away from the Louvre, a tangle of emotions and late night talk

It is very apparent that we are coming to the end of our trip. Gone is the invincibility against crowds of tourists, museum security checks and hoop-jumping that we, as new wide-eyed travelers, cast aside as necessary steps in our sightseeing-filled day. We're more selective now. And so today, after spending only 1/2 hour in the Louvre, we ran for the (weirdly hard to find) exit. It was an unusually warm day for October in Paris, and inside the Louvre it was steamy. Crowds milled about in every direction. And our plan to wander until we found something uninteresting to most of the museum-goers failed completely when we, unbelievably, found ourselves in the room where Mona Lisa lives, packed to the walls with people. We took a sidelong look at Mona as we ran in the opposite direction. Before our day started, I'd told Alex I wanted to spend the entire day Louvreing. But it was me who suggested we get the heck out and do something else. Too hot. Too crowded. Over it.

Soon, we found ourselves in the gardens that run between the Louvre and the Museum l'Orangerie. We took up residence in a couple of reclining chairs and enjoyed the fine weather and people watching. Alex was starting to get the anxiety bug, which often happens in the early afternoon. So, we decided to go check out the l'Orangerie as a distraction. It's a lovely little museum that holds some of Monet's water lillies and other impressionist era (plus or minus) art. Anxiety continued inside the museum, causing Alex to become abrupt and irritated with just about anything. I was feeling the same, for different reasons, and we wound up leaving l'Orangerie worse off than when we arrived.

In this unfortunate condition, we found ourselves back on the Batobus, taking the long way (over an hour) back to our stop. Over the voice of the well-intentioned tourist guide, we bickered about the day, felt better, became upset again and then dove recklessly into deeply buried fears alive in both of us. It felt awful, the too warm boat, the intercom interruptions, the feelings of anger and sadness, the fatigue of it all. Finally, we ditched the Batobus on the opposite bank from where we were staying and walked back towards home base. Since sushi was such a success last night, we were on the prowl for more, but the place we found was closed until 7 PM, far too long to wait. So, we settled for the crepe place near our apartment, eating and making the best of things, but we both still had residue from the unpleasantness of the day. We just sat with it as if it was a third dinner companion.

Back at home, I did laundry and Alex zoned out on his phone. We didn't talk much until lights were out. Then Alex started the conversation by talking about repressed anger and his fear of how it might externalize, about ways my words are sometimes used as arrows of guilt and about this whole knot of circumstances - brain wiring, upbringing, illnesses, extended family, intellectual abilities - led to who he is, we are, today. It was a rough one, this conversation. But after an hour or so, we moved from the scary, depressed, anxious place we were in to talk about other things. The slimy residue of the day wafted away and the heaviness in the room went with it. Long into the night, our conversation turned to familiar topics, such as films and books, as well as others, like the qualities we liked about people in our family. It was easy, organic and refreshing talk with which we fell asleep. 

Oh - almost forgot. Note from the morning. We took the Batobus (a touristy boat that transports folks to all of the major Seine-accessible attractions) to the Louvre. We had just missed the last boat and had a half hour wait for the next one. Finding no where to sit, we wound up on the steps, with Alex struggling to get comfortable due to leg of doom. I was just wishing there was a place, other than the ground, for him to recline until his ibuprofen kicked in when, what do I see but a hammock not 30 feet from us. What the heck? It was part of a tiny playground that I hadn't noticed. So, that's how Alex wound up in a hammock on the banks of the Seine river, for a 20 minute respite. Oh Paris.