Paris, Day 15: Shoah Memorial

We'd decided that today would be our Louvre day. At first, I was pretty lukewarm on the Louvre. I enjoy contemporary art, and I really enjoyed the Pompidou; I love surrealism, and the Dali Museum was a favorite of mine in Paris. And when I was here with Pam nearly 30 years ago, I enjoyed the Musee D'Orsay and the impressionists - Monet, Renoir, Degas and mostly Van Gogh. But the classical art found in the Louvre (and I realize that there is so much art in the Louvre that this is a ridiculous statement) is really just not my jam.

Which is why it's bizarre that last night I decided that what I needed to do was spend eight hours in the Louvre. Actually the original idea was 12 hours. Spend 12 hours in the Louvre making observations of art, people, myself and other various digressions, and write a book called "12 Hours in the Louvre," and sell it as an e-book on Amazon. I pared it down to eight because that seemed more doable. By a third.

I wasn't entirely sold on it when I went to bed, but upon awakening before seven with the ability to make it to the Louvre before it opened at nine, I was down. It was raining outside, and I could easily be three hours into the project by the time the kids even had their coffee. So I was off.

I wasn't going to go for the I.M. Pei pyramids entrance; per Rick Steves' instructions, I would enter via the Carousel du Louvre entrance straight out of the Palais Royale - Musee du Louvre metro stop. The line was long enough there anyway, and when I got in it, I had placed myself in the Catch-22 of being in a line, but needing to go to the front of that line to ensure that the line I was in was the right one. Good thing I spoke to the couple behind me who, fairly convinced the line was for people who had already purchased tickets online, were happy to hold my space while I checked it out. They were correct. In fact, what I found when I walked to the front was a sign stating that the Louvre was sold out for the day.

Louvre would have to be a different day. New plan:  the Shoah Memorial to European Jews who died in the holocaust.  The layout of the museum felt awkward to me, but I did appreciate the signage being in both French and English so that I could follow the story of French Jewish history in Europe through the holocaust.

The exhibit was in the memorial's under ground level, and I was getting near the end when Bennett approached me to say that Griffin, who had not with us, had been texting. Evidently, he'd left l'appartemente without his key and had been texting for the past half hour or so to find where we were as he wandered in the downpour with a dying cellphone. He looked like a drowned rat when he reached us. After wringing out his shirt, he took a key and ran home.

We ate quiche, and Rowan ordered a golden milk at the cafe around the corner. Both were excellent, as was the ambience and the music.