Yep, that’s a bible verse, from the New Testament–1 Corinthians 13:13. I’m only familiar with a very few, and that’s one of them. “Now three things abide: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I think it’s interesting to hear familiar texts translated into French–the Lord’s Prayer, Shakespeare (“Te puis-je comparer à un beau jour d’été?”), Disney songs (“Embrasse-la!”), anything, really. A little bit of home, with a twist.
Today I sang two pieces in a funeral service for a woman who was 101 years old. She was an active member of the French resistance during World War II, and once crossed the Pyrenées on foot. Those are the only two things that I understood well enough to actually remember them now.
I went to the farmer’s market on Port-Royal this morning and got lots of tomatoes, garlic, basil and ham. Possibly too much ham–or at least, my wallet thought so. But luckily, I got paid to sing at the church this afternoon, so not only did I make up for a surfeit of ham, but I also treated myself to a crèpe near the Eiffel Tower afterward. I hadn’t had breakfast, and I had lunch (ham sandwich!) at 10:45; the apple I ate at 12:45 on my way to rehearsal wasn’t going to cut it. So I went to one of the overpriced crèpe/waffle/ice cream stands and got a Nutella crèpe.
Let me just say, it may be the touristy thing to do, and ordinarily, I wouldn’t buy food at a tourist trap, but this was completely heavenly and completely worth 3 euro and more-than-I-care-to-think-about calories. I haven’t actually had Nutella since I arrived in France–I refuse to buy it at the supermarket because I can’t stop myself from eating it with a spoon. So this was really special for me. The best part was that it wasn’t especially busy when I walked up to the stand. There was a big stack of already-made crèpes at the back of the stand, which I imagine get used when there’s a huge rush. But I got a freshly-made, brand-new crèpe, slathered with chocolate-hazelnutty goodness and folded up for ease of consumption. It may have been a touristy move, but ohhhhhhhh. There’s nothing like that in the whole world, nor is there anywhere in the world other than Paris where it would occur to me to have a crèpe for a snack in the middle of the afternoon.
Unlike real tourists, I got to come home and take a crèpe-induced nap after my little indulgence. They probably all had big plans. Probably the Louvre, in which case they’ll be in a coma by dinnertime.