We are safely in Paris, though my bag is not. I suspect it was lost on the final flight, as about 12 of us didn't get our bags. (Well, one person's bag arrived but was smashed up, which makes me nervous.) The airline has no idea where the bag is, so I don't have any idea when it might arrive (if ever).
If it doesn't appear overnight, I will have to try to buy some stuff in Paris. Not looking forward to that experience, though I've spent hours researching where I might possibly find clothing that fits and looks presentable and doesn't make me itch. Including underwear.
Mom still has a head cold, so we tried our luck at a pharmacy. She is well-stocked, now. And we found a dry cleaner for her (Istanbul was h-o-t) and persisted with the woman who refused to serve us because we didn't speak French. A charming young woman finally emerged from the back and took our order happily. The bad French reputation is still deserved.
But it wasn't all dull chores. While Mom napped, I walked around Notre Dame with the hordes of tourists. The queue to enter was unbelievably long.
We have a front-corner hotel room which means noise—but a fun view.