It turns out, come Christmas Eve, Paris goes very, very quiet. Walking home from an old fashioned Christmas eve mass, there was almost no one about…you could walk down the middle of the Rue Beaumarchais in complete safety. Such a surprise, for a city of millions of people.
The mass itself was in the smallish, simple church of St. Denys on Rue st. Claude. I am not fluent in either Catholic or French, but with a written programme in my hands I could sing along, when singing was called for. The incense was heavy, hearts were light, children sleepy and handshakes accompanied by warm smiles.
Such a sweet, soft end to a dash-about season.
This morning, Christmas morning, Harold surprised us with a card and breakfast of pastries from the local patisserie, candles and gifts. Such a sentimental stufftie.
Merry Christmas, everyone, from all of us. And Harold.