I have a momentary break—Stephanie is dozing beside me and we’re resting our feet after a day of climbing many stairs—to write a little about yesterday. Miraculously the wireless internet reaches our room.

After getting to the hotel Sunday afternoon, we took some time to “shower” in the tub with the handheld showerhead and change clothes. The only breakfast we’d had were some raisins and cookies on the plane at 9am, so we went out in search of our first Parisian bite to eat. I was thinking panini. I was also thinking that any little pre-made baguette sandwich you find in the boulangerie-patisseries could be panini-ed.

Amusingly, Stephanie was experiencing a bit of culture shock herself, being in a place that was at once very familiar (looking) and yet very unfamiliar (she’s never been to Paris, and hasn’t been back to France in three years). So for the first little bit, I handled navigation (we were trying to find a recommended pub) and tried not to ask too many questions about why you can’t just panini any old baguette sandwich. At least not until she got some food in her stomach.

Given this imperative, we settled on a cafe called Le Mondrian that appeared to be both open and serving food at 4 on a Sunday—something which was supposed to be a rarity, but didn’t appear to be a hard rule. We both got their version of the croque-monsieur (made with a single, giant slice of bread, instead of two), which came with fries and salad served on a cutting board. I had a demi of 1664 (seize soixante-quatre), and Stephanie had a kir.