Getting lost and found in Paris

Happy Mother's Day to all of you beautiful mothers, especially to you Mom!
My big story of the week involves getting lost. More specifically, becoming separated from my traveling companion. After class on Thursday morning, as everyone was making plans for the day, my friend and I decided to explore the 16th arrondissement, the ritziest neighborhood in Paris. A big part of our homework involves going on walks all over Paris written by BYU French professors, and this walk happened to be in this arrondissement.
We knew at which stops we were to board and get off the metro. As we walked onto the platform, the next train had already arrived, so, thinking that we would just barely make it, I hopped on the train. My friend tried to hop on just as the doors slammed before her face. Whoosh! Off the train went without her.
The Study Abroad program had furnished us with cellphones to use in these kinds of circumstances. Unfortunately, I had lent mine out to a bunch of students who were planning a weekend trip to the Netherlands just the day before and there were no more minutes on the cellphone. I got off at our appointed stop and waited for the next train. My friend wasn't on it. I tried adding minutes to phone using the toll-free service, but it wouldn't accept my card. Feeling quite alone and rather resentful at the crystalline women's voice on the other end of the line informing me that due to a problème technique, my card was not accepted (how could she do this to me?!), I pondered what to do. I returned to the Institute, but no one was there. Realizing that my friend had probably just gone home, which was probably the safest thing considering that my friend couldn't contact me anyway, I decided to take another walk by myself. Paris is actually a pretty safe place. And it would be really nice to tour the city at my own pace (my friend had just returned home to do homework).
This walk started at the Church of the Madeleine and was themed around the various smells of Paris. These range from the sublime to the horrifying. Luckily, the bulk of the walk was spent training my palette to appreciate the sublime. I stopped into a famous pâtisserie called Ladurée, where the line to try their macarons, a cookie which they invented which you now see all over Paris, filled the entire room. I bought a box of 8, each a different flavor. My favorites were the rose and the caramel. But, as this was an exercise in smell and taste, I sat down on the steps of a church to try sample them carefully. First, the light green pistachio. My mouth first bit into the crispy cookie, made from flour, powdered sugar, eggs and almonds, then came the chewier inner part of the cookie, and then finally, the creamier-than-creamy ganache.

To sum up, I've decided to become an epicurean. It might take awhile, but try one of those divine little cookies and you will know that it is worth. The walk finished up in a small but quite interesting perfume museum, where you could sample many scents as well as learn about the history and process of perfume making.

On Friday night, the girls who weren't gone for the weekend decided to go to La Comédie Française, a theater and theater troupe which was officially founded in 1680, and still represents the best of theater in France. The play was an adaptation of Don Quixote by a Portugese playwright, but in French, of course. I was pleasantly surprised at how much of the play I was able to understand. The theater is a very neo-classical building filled with busts and statues of great French playwrights and authors. The inside was glowing and gorgeous, but tastefully so. It was nice to go to something not so touristy, seeing as how everyone there had to at least speak French.
Speaking of things so touristy, this week we're going to the Louvre and Versailles. In church this morning, a sister spoke about the Word of Wisdom and how a healthy diet and exercise are part of obeying that commandment. She said that since she doesn't live very far from them, she had started running every morning in the Versailles gardens. "Wow", it hit me again. "I am really in Paris, France". Taking a jog in the gardens of a 17th century castle just isn't an option in Provo. But that is the beauty of being here.
I love you all tons and will be back soon with more photos and stories. Au revoir.