After a seventy-five dollar taxi ride and several near-death experiences, I made it to Hotel Saint Germain des Pres in, you guessed it, Saint Germain des Pres. It lies ½ block from the church, the oldest in Paris, where we could revel in the not-at-all-obnoxious-in-fact-quite-lovely bells from time to time. The staff was charming and the hotel oozed slightly worn but not off- putting, well-loved charm. Upon entering our room, I drew a breath as a smile crept over my face. The ceiling’s exposed beams hung over a four post, blue- velvet adorned bed. Walls were upholstered in a flowered fabric from another era, with furniture to match. The bathroom nearly made me faint, as it was big enough to fit approximately five bathrooms of previous Parisien hotels in which I have stayed, and included a tub big enough for a 6 foot tall American (well, for most of my parts anyway).