Paris: Day 9

Today, we ran to the Opera for a tour (which was dicounted as we had kept our tickets from D'Orsay). We went unguided because that is far more fun (and also because they have English tours on weekends only). Here we have la Grande Escalier
Upon first entering, we found a mirrored ceiling.

Because we're dorky, I took this photo.

Here is an image of a costume for an opera. I, however, would wear this headress on a daily basis:
Sculpture of a dancer:
We found the opera library, riddled with many manuscripts and scores. If Jim believed in heaven, this would be his.
We liked it so much, we took an extra photo. There were actually two rooms of this.
There were bats on the ceiling.
The whole building was somehow very smelly - urinal cake smelly. I had to step outside onto the balcony for a bit of respite.
After some fresh air, we stepped into one of the open boxes to see the main stage and theatre area. The ceiling is my favourite part.
This is me, enjoying the box and the ceiling.
The main stage.
The other boxes.
The infamous Box #5. It's locked, an no one is allowed in it. One cannot buy tickets for it, either.
The ominous staircase just outside of Box #5. It's roped off, disallowing use.
The angriest doorknob on the planet:
Afterward, we FINALLY had hot chocolate at L'Entract across the street, and it was as good as expected.
We subwayed across town back to the Bastille in search of a market which, after a LOT of wandering, we finally found, sort of by chance. It looked a lot like the St. Lawrence Market back in Toronto; very warehouse and a little scary on the outside, but once inside: paradise. We discovered some of the freshest produce, butchers, fisheries, cheese, and to Jim's delight artisanal beer! Not just any beer, but those that are difficult to impossible to procure in Canada (despite Smokeless Joe's). I selected a cherry beer entitled "Echt Kriekenbier" which later on proved to be sour and fabulous. When Jim tasted, he pronounced it awful, and decided the name was derived from what unsuspecting samplers shouted upon finally being able to swallow. Jim has severe disdain for sour.

I discovered a latent talent for creating and executing elaborate hair styles on myself while strolling through darkened avenues in 5" heels.

Jim and I were rejected from an empty, very chichi french club for no obvious reason other than Jim's abominable accent when speaking french. Thusly, we redirected ourselves back to Cafe Temple (the Marilyn Monroe monument and sanctuary). Here we had champagne and pretzles, and a server who had visited Montreal and love love loved Canadians. We found that they were also showing a monologue of the works of Simone de Beauvoir the following evening at 20h. Since jazz across the way begins at 21h, we could take in both and have a well packed Vendredi soir.

We stumbled the short trip home and fell asleep quickly (as I felt as though I may be coming down with a cold....)