Here's the story on hanging with the sisters.
On tuesday I was supposed to fly back from London through Paris to SF but three hours into the flight they turned us back to Paris. Stranded there for an indeterminent period of time I was frantically searching for a hotel room but alas, they were completely booked up. Even if i had found one, it would have been between $150 ~$250 a night and for an indeterminant period of time. As it was I was very cash low and again, I thank you folks who paypaled some ducats to my checking account so I could ATM out some cash.
I have a friend, a priest...the one who nearly got me locked up in jail for grand theft auto, and the same guy who asked Ernie if he'd ever considered being a priest, who is currently in Paris but he was on holiday and I wasn't able to reach him to have his aid in finding a place to stay. I was totally stuck and going to drag my sorry butt to the embassy when I received word.
The receptionist at my friend's seminary residence gave me the address and names of a couple of Dominican nuns who, without question, took me in, housed me, and fed me more fromage than you can shake a rosary at. I literally showed up at their doorstep and said "Je ma'pelle Min Jung...je sui un Americain"...The first night there, I slept hard, exhausted, and woke up after the nuns had already departed for the day. There was a brief note saying that i should meet them for lunch at such and such address, map & metro ticket included.
Hopping in to the bath, there was no hot water. I took the coldest, shortest, most bitterly painful shower of my life but shrugged it off, presuming that this must be how the nuns live, possibly as ascetics. Afterall, they wear the habit, live in very humble~poor conditions, and wear sandles in the rain & muck. Their entire rooms could fit into my suitcase. Their clothes included very simple white tunics, men's leather belt, black habit over the head. Ya get the picture. They sang and harmonized before meals. More beautiful singing I've never heard in my life.
So who was I to complain and be a spoiled American about the lack of hot water? Besides, I already felt weird staying with them considering that there was very little privacy in their place and the only clean underwear I had left after my month long trip was some frilly poontang threads that my galpal had bought for me when we were still traveling togheter in Nice. She had gone ahead home to LA a week ahead of me while I had gone on to visit friends in Cambridge so I was stuck all by my lonesome in Paris.
After making it over to lunch, I was greeted by English speaking canadian religious people where they fed me even more fromage along with a simple meal from the kindness of their hearts. Three quarters through the lunch, the sisters, who only speak french, had the Canadians translate the question "Did you take a bath". I responded "Oui". They asked again, "Was the water cold?" I responded "Oui." They asked again, "Did you see the note saying that the hot water heater blew out?" The look on my face answered their question and they started laughing so hard that the whole table shook. Translated from the French "Oh Goodness no, we're not ascetic! The water was too cold, we didn't even wash up!"
The next day, I found a note in broken English saying "Goot Morning. Take a goot bathe. Haht Water!"
The rest of my stay while stranded in Paris, they helped me figure out the metro, call home to learn that my brother in NY was safe and well, and filled my social calendar with lunches and dinners with all the English speaking friends they had in Paris. I bought them two huge wheels of fromage, a crusty baguette, various other treats and a bouquet of flowers as thanks. All in all, it cost me less than a third of what a single hotel night stay would have cost. Twas the least I could do considering how kind they were to me.
Not much of a kicker of a story, but not bad for hanging at a convent.
Good to be home though.
