Rainy Paris

When I say it rained this past week in Paris, I do not mean it sprinkled. Or drizzled. Or misted soft Irish rain every once in awhile. I mean it rained. Big rain. Sideways rain. Bona fide gullywasher. Huge pools of water forming between sidewalk and street forcing us to either slosh through or leap over to cross. Inundation flowing through the streets, carrying freshly fallen golden plane tree leaves. Turning our newsstand umbrellas inside out and trying to dampen our spirits. Every single day began covered in clouds, heavy with water that began to fall seemingly as soon as we stepped foot outside the hotel.

We tried our best. We saw the things we were supposed to see, ducking into the Metro or hiding in cafes when we couldn't take anymore. After all, we were in Paris....this was our mantra as we got soaked through.

The worst day of rain was our Louvre day and we were nearly blown off the Pont des Arts as we stopped to wonder what the thousands of locks meant. We didn't have time to linger and look at them all, romantic tokens of so many couples, locked together in love, keys thrown into the Seine for all eternity.

It was on this day that we did the smartest thing ever to be done on a wet, grey day when sight-seeing is impossible. We went to a spa, stripped off our wet socks, boots and jeans changing them for raffia flip flops and kimono pyjamas and were lovingly pampered by the kindest women you can imagine. They rubbed and massaged our feet and legs for an hour and turned us back into real people.

The rain obscured the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower. And it took us two sardined elevator rides to figure that out.

I shielded my phone in my scarf like a mother with her tiny newborn baby just to find our way around, (maps useless because they kept tearing apart, soaked through) peeking out from under bent umbrellas to check street signs. And the hotel umbrella, stolen from under the nose of our hotel neighbor who already hated us, turned out to be broken when I needed it most. Its tip sliding through the top causing the entire thing to collapse onto my head. I held onto the point with my gloved left hand all the way from Versailles to the train station, laughing as my arm went numb and my gloves were soaked beyond recognition. Karma for the much abused neighbor.

And the thing is, I single-handedly vetoed London because I couldn't stand the thought of cold wind and rain. Of course London was beautiful last week. But thankfully the besties didn't throw that in my face once. I can't say I'd have been as forgiving. That's why they're the best.
Next time we're going for warmth. Maybe somewhere with nothing to see. Any suggestions?