Paris
DAY 1
I took a flight
to Minneapolis and met Junie at the airport, from which we took a short shuttle
to a Ramada Inn nearby. My flight had been delayed to the point where we all
boarded, then deplaned, and then hurried back on and finally got off 1.5 hours
late. We got up, shuttled over to the Lindbergh Terminal and discovered that my
$25 exit row seat was occupied by somebody else (Junie’s was OK), so we both
relocated for the shortish flight to JFK. From JFK, we took a pre-arranged taxi
(www.cheaptaxis.com)
to Newark, where our OpenSkies flight was to depart. The ride to New Jersey was
uneventful, if you discount a few near-death experiences. We traversed a
half-dozen boroughs where the main architectural theme was graffiti and I
remembered again why I seldom visit NYC: it’s a pit unless you’re sitting in
the Four Seasons having lunch.
At the Newark
Airport, we schlepped our considerable luggage around while waiting for the
OpenSkies checkin counter to open. OpenSkies, which used to be L’Avion, is now
owned by British Air, but they have their own check-in regimen. I say
“considerable luggage”, but the couple in front of us had enough baggage to
outfit a Cirque du Soleil troupe. Meanwhile, we looked for a place to grab a
light meal, which at the Newark Airport reduces to Food Hall offerings
(McDonalds, a deli, a “wine and cheese” joint), all of which were depressing.
As were the people walking around, the general décor, and the odd janitorial
zombie.
Finally, the
OpenSkies boarding began, which went smoothly, even though English was clearly
the second language of the mainly French-speaking attendants. Apparently,
everyone on OpenSkies is considered a valuable biz-class client, and we were
given a pass to enter the OpenSkies “salon”, which was one of the nicest airline
clubs I’ve ever been in. The room was filled with a mixture of comfortable
sofas and tall glass bar tables with stools. The food/drink offerings included
delicious little sandwiches of salmon, roast beef, or vegetable spreads. There
were chips and crackers with red pepper spread, baba ganoush, and other
lovelies. Drinks included an espresso machine, Champagne on ice, a variety of
wines, a half-dozen good hard liquors and about anything you might want to mix
yourself a drink (soda, bitters, Rose’s lime juice, . . .). All in all a pretty
fabulous way to wait for boarding except for the complete ass at the next table
talking at 120 decibels on one phone call after another, even after ignoring my
loud parody of his behavior to Junie, which he ignored. We left early after I
complained to the gal manning the front desk, who rolled her eyes like she’s
seen him before.
We boarded a
plane about the size of an A320 with 15 rows of business class seating, two on a
side. Everything seemed remarkably new and luxurious. There was a small
section of first-class near the front of the craft, but the only difference is
wider spacing so that their seats fold down a full 180 degrees – the food and
wine and such was identical. We sat on the tarmac for 2 hours waiting for bad
weather to pass, but the staff did everything imaginable to make us comfortable,
including passing out these small flat consoles on which you could watch one of
a dozen recent movies, play games, watch current TV shows, and what have you.
Mainly, Junie and I napped, and eventually we were off. A half hour later I was
ignoring the usual advice not to drink on planes and Junie was sipping a soda
water. Dinner was delightful (I had the seafood entrée, Junie the vegetarian)
and we finally got to sleep, which at that point amounted to 4 hours of rest
before they woke us for a nice little breakfast. We departed at the older Orly
airport, climbing down and boarding a bus as you often do in Europe. Five
minutes later, we were outside as, and this amazed me, there was no one
stationed at Customs and we just walked through this empty inspection station.
Damn. My one opportunity to mule some drugs in and I blew it.
The apartment
management had suggested taking a taxi and we did, snagging a nice SUV piloted
by an African-French lady with a nice smile and little English. Between Junie’s
formal schooling and my accumulated French, we really had no trouble combining
hand motions and French Lite. The drive in was uneventful and the only thing I
noticed was a lot more graffiti than the last time I drove to Paris, though most
of it was artful enough, and I’d have to say that the general aesthetics of
Greater Paris far surpasses that of most major cities. Half of our trip was the
20-odd miles to downtown Paris, and the other half was the last few kilometers
to our apartment in St. Germain de Pres. We were met outside by Fred (I know,
odd name for a Parisian), who took us up to our 3d floor apartment by way of the
small elevator. You know, about the half the size of the shower in that Psycho
scene, and every bit as scary. Fred went over EVERY WORD of the instructional
book as we sat around the small table until we knew everything about the
apartment, the shops and restaurants nearby, the various contact numbers for
him, the gendarmes and the poison hotline, . . . The apartment itself was
delightful. There was a small kitchenette with sink, stove, dishwasher; a
queen-sized bed with small bedside stages for alarm clocks and such; a laptop
and television; high-speed internet; nice tiled bathroom; washer-dryer; sitting
area with two chairs and an adequate closet with his-and-hers bathrobes. All of
this (except the bathroom) was one 350 square-foot room with the aforementioned
each in a corner. The bathroom included a small, but effective, combination
washer-dryer (how do they do that?). Doesn’t sound like much, but it’s actually
been rather nice and we’ve had no problems.
Our first day was exhilarating, though we were rather tired most of the day and did sneak in a nap in the afternoon. After Fred departed around 2 PM, we scouted out the area and Junie started cataloging the local fresh fruit/vegetable locations, pharmacies, book stores, and the like. We hiked over to Jardin de Luxembourg, the Central Park for these arrondissements with its ponds and playing fields and carnival rides and trees and walks. Along the way, Junie spotted La Bastide Odeon, where she had planned for us to have a meal. We ended up there later (after the obligatory nap), and had a rather nice meal: I had the lamb tajine, Junie had some eggplant thing.
DAY 2
We were looking
at real estate listings in the windows of the various agencies in Saint Germain
de Pres, the area of Paris in which we’re staying: Nice two bedroom, 600 square
feet, 450,000 Euros; elegant studio, 400 square feet, 350,000 Euros; beautiful
5-room flat near the Notre Dame, 2 million Euros. I think that works out to
about $1,500 a square foot, give or take. I suppose it’s not much less than
living in Manhattan with a view of Central Park.
The Eiffel Tower was every bit as interesting as other times I’ve been. This is my first visit since 9/11, and I don’t remember quite so many police roaming around with automatic weapons slung over their tunics. You can take any of the elevators that arise from each of the four feet of the tower, though the elevator from the restaurant (run by Alain Ducasse) probably requires one to have lunch there – at a price of probably $200 per person -- so we took another entrance, after first going through a small version of a TSA X-ray and bag search. The first landing was surprisingly spacious, with enough views for about anyone, but we had tickets for the top landing, and crunched ourselves into a smallish elevator for the brief ride among the chords. The morning was still a bit misty, but we could see far beyond Montmartre and all of the tourist spots in the half-dozen arrondissements around the Seine.
Next up was the
Invalides, the gigantic rest home for veterans built by one of the kings in the
17th century. It has two
attractions: the resting place of Napolean and the military museum. The latter
was an interesting range of French-centric history from about 1870 (the
Franco-Prussian War) to D-Day and included uniforms, posters, a range of
weapons, photos and periodic movies continuously playing on the walls as you
walk through the exhibits. In contrast to the current right-wing view of the
French, they’ve been a contentious bunch and have a much longer military history
(including a significant degree of success) than does the US. The sense of
history is palpable everywhere – Louis the something commissioned this in the
1200’s, Louis the that had that built in 1350, . . . It makes the date of the
Mayflower’s landing seem like yesterday, and the recent claims to American
exceptionalism seem a little silly.
One of our favorite small stops was the Rodin museum. Most of his famous works are strewn among the park surrounding his former home. He’s buried (rather macabre-ly) under The Thinker. Lunch was somewhere in there, at the Café Constant, a nice bistro that Junie had found. After a stop back to the apartment, we had dinner at another local restaurant we had looked up in Fodor’s: Kiwi Corner, which must sound pretty exotic to the French. The proprietor was a New Zealander, as you would expect, and the meal was a lovely combination of French élan with a touch of Maori.
DAY 3
We
headed over early to Ile de la Cite and Notre Dame, which was every bit as
awe-inspiring as the last 3-4 times I’ve seen it. Junie and I lit a few candles
and wandered around in our version of the Stations of the Cross. We took
pictures of the back of the cathedral from the large garden that abuts the foot
bridge to Ile St. Louis, and then crossed, having lunch at the Brasserie that
Lin and Roy had recommended. As usual, we were the first ones there at opening
and the grouch of a waiter led us to an outdoor table after establishing that we
were having something real to eat (a woman who just wanted wine and pommes
frites was turned away). Our host warmed up a bit when we ordered in what
passes for French. Junie had a nice salad and I had this big honking plate of
sauerkraut and white, blood and German-style sausages (choucoutre).
We wandered
back home, stopping for fresh breads for breakfast (which we always have in the
apartment), to get some rest before dressing for Our Big Dinner. Junie was
absolutely gorgeous in her little black dress and ballet shoes, and I cut a mean
figure in sports coat and tie (pictures to follow). We took a cab to La Tour
d’Argent, the famous restaurant overlooking the Seine, and loitered nervously
outside its iron door until it opened at 7.30 (the time of our reservation). We
were escorted to the historical salon and offered a wine list (small glass of
champagne, $30), then up the elevator to an upper floor. Our table overlooked
the Seine with a view of the tail end of Notre Dame. The meal was extensive and
the service fairly incredible. The little between-course plates were a meal
themselves – small filo-dough packets of veal, tiny triangles of something in
aspic, small cylinders of prawn flavor in a yogurt-like pudding, . . . For the
main course, we shared one of their famous ducks, served in two mini-courses,
first the breast meat medium rare and succulent in a red sauce, then the leg,
equally delicious and moist. Many other courses preceded and followed,
including a half-bottle of Pichon Lalande. The total price could have sustained
a poor African family for a year, but we were only doing this once, so we
subdued our guilt.
DAY 4
Saturday
Morning, St Germain des Prés:
This morning, like every morning since Tuesday, Junie and I got up and compared
what hurt: calves, heels, or thighs. Even with the Metro, which is an extremely
well-run, comprehensive and punctual mode of transportation, we end up walking
many miles a day. While Junie takes her shower (or prepares her toilet, as
Hercule Poirot might say), I go out, hitting the ATM and picking up bread for
the next morning. I just got back from the patisserie with a baguette (the
breakfast staple, in my case, with marmalade and pressed coffee), a pain au
chocolate and a croissant. OK, I splurged, but I'm on vacation. Junie has been
eating a granola-like mixture that she brought with her, supplemented by fruit
(today was mirabelles, a yellow plum) and tea. We're getting fueled up for our
long ride/trek to the Montmartre district today. I had seen some beautiful
fruit yesterday in "He", a biologic (or organic) little store around the corner
on Rue de Rennes, but they wanted $9 for a handful of raspberries, so I passed.
We're quite
comfortable in our apartment now with its queen-sized bed, little kitchenette
and efficient little bathroom. I've even figured out how to work the
combination washer dryer, after managing to wash our towels and undies 4 times
in a row without figuring out how to get the dryer going. In the mornings, I
move the laptop over onto the floor and we eat breakfast on the only table in
the room. The laptop is connected via wired connection and the DSL is very
fast. There's also a wireless router in the room, so I can use my Android G1 or
iTouch to check surf on the bed while Junie is using the laptop. Before
leaving, I downloaded a few Paris-related apps to the iTouch. Most have been
marginally useful, but the Paris Metro app has been a God-send. Now, when we
want to go somewhere, I just plug in either Rennes or St. Sulpice as the
originating station (both a short distance from the apartment), and our
destination station, and the app gives us the route, including intermediate
stations at which we have to switch lines. The iTouch and G1 both have Google
Maps with a "you are here" function, but require an Internet connection, which
is usually available at restaurants and coffee shops, but by then we're usually
where we want to be (for the techies among you, I could enable the G1's G3
connection, but the roaming charges are really expensive).
Yesterday was a long one, with an initial journey to The Louvre. I had not been there since I. M. Pei's glass pyramid was installed, something I unthinkingly thought was purely decorative. It turns out to be a brilliant new entryway to the Louvre. You enter through a door in the side of the pyramid and take the spiral staircase down to the huge lobby downstairs that provides separate entryways to the 3 main exhibit halls. The lobby (which is surely an inadequate name for this gargantuan area) has ticket booths, concessions, audiobook narration stands, and a separate passageway to a large underground upscale shopping mall. Junie had mapped out a variety of areas in which she was interested: Egyptian, Dutch painters, the Big Three (Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, Venus de Milo), and a smattering of other art. The Egyptian displays were incredible: thousands of funery and everyday items, some of them 5,000 years old and still alive with vibrant blue paint. There was the odd, unexpected item or two: 3,500 year old fishing nets, a collection of hippopotamuses in all colors. The Ecole du Nord (or Dutch and German) paintings were pretty cool and a nice break from All Those Jesuses. More on all that when we get the pictures up on Flickr tomorrow. All in all, I was very happy with The Louvre, which the new entryway, modernization, and overall organization has made much more accessible and navigable.
The buildings in which the Louvre is housed includes this absolutely ginormous U-shaped building that must be a half-mile long on the "legs", and a quarter mile across at its base, where the I.M. Pei pyramid sits. We exited the Louvre and began the long walk toward the equally enormous Jardin des Tuileries, a large park filled with trees, flowering beds, huge expanses of grass, and the odd outdoor cafe. On one side there was a fashion exhibition of some kind in progress, and the park was an odd mix of joggers and high-heeled dolls in haute couture. On the way, we popped in to one wing of the "U" on the Rue de Rivoli and toured a special exhibit of Art Deco and Art Nouveau, which was every bit as satisfying as the older art we had seen (also of particular interest to Junie, who is planning an Art Deco theme for our wedding/reception next year). We made it across the Jardin, while searching for a restaurant on the map that had apparently disappeared since the guidebook was published. We spotted another recommendation nearby, however, and sat down to lunch at L'Ardoise for a prix fixe lunch (34 euros apiece, wine extra). Junie had two elaborate salads; I had the sardines in oil and lemon (delicious! like giant bocarones, for Cath and others who know what that is) followed by succulent lamb with potatoes au gratin. Dessert was a crème Brule with fresh raspberries and a dollop of raspberry gelato. Wine as a local red. Ahhhhhh.
We hiked over
to the Musee de l"Orangerie at the end of the Jardin, which ended up being the
most intense of our viewings. It's a small museum with impressionists. But the
star of the show is the two-room display of Monet's Nymphs, glorious panels of
water lilies and such arranged in a giant circle for viewing by us at the center
of the room. After that, we walked along the Seine to the Musee D'Orsay, which
everyone raves about. It's a converted train station which has been converted
with a long main aisle from which you enter salons of individual exhibitions,
and a couple of upper floors of various art periods. I think it’s less daunting
size may be why so many have reported liking it over the Louvre, but for me it's
no contest -- with the new Louvre organization and its mind-bending scale and
breadth, I'll take the Louvre any day. Pictures of all of this coming.
We were getting
a bit weary at this point, but decided to hit the "Fry's of Paris" while we were
on the right bank to pick up a 7-way SD/MMC/CF/what-have-your USB reader to
extract some pix from the camera. This is a bit more of a trial at around 5 PM
when the Metro gets really busy. Also noisy, from the various musicians trying
to make a living while the troops are going home. We arrived back home, rested
in a dazed pile on the bed for a short while, and had a small dinner at the
nearby Cafe du Metro.
DAY 5
This morning, we headed off to Montmartre, after consulting my handy-dandy
iTouch Metro app. Two long legs later, we arrived in the heart of town and
dragged ourselves up a 20% incline to the funicular at the base of Sacre Coeur,
the famous church and highest point in Paris other than the top of the Eiffel
Tower (which is sort of cheating, actually). The views were spectacular and the
church quite lovely. As has become our custom, Junie and I each lit a candle to
one of the ubiquitous saints and walked the Stations of the Cross while
listening to a Saturday mini-service that included a quite beautiful woman's
voice singing something vaguely inspiring. From the church, we climbed farther
uphill to the center of the tourist area where literally dozens of sketch
artists descended upon us to do our portrait "in 15 minutes". In one diverting
gift shop, I found a music box that played the theme from Amelie if I turned the
crank in the right direction (second try) and at the proper speed (third try).
The proprietress told me that the cafe where they filmed Amelie was just down
the Rue, so we wandered down following a sign that said something like "Amelie's
cafe" until we ended up lost on a boulevard jam-packed with wonderful shops:
seafood and shellfish so fresh it was still wriggling, a gelato store, a
half-dozen cafes with outdoor seating and overhead heaters, et cetera. We opted
to sit under the heaters as I was in a thin shirt and the rest of French
humanity was in sweaters and jackets. One pain perdue and cappuccino later, we
were off the Metro to find the Pompidou, having decided we weren't going to find
poor Amelie.
Thirty minutes
later, we were at the famous Paris museum of modern art. The building is said
to have been built inside-out, with all of the supporting beams on the outside,
as well as the escalators, which are encased in green plastic tubes. It's easy
to get through the most interesting stuff in under an hour, which for us
included some wild-ass installations (one was a couple of bundles covered with
tarps, visibly breathing beneath the covers, in the middle of one of the
rooms). There was quite a collection of Matisse, which I quite liked, and two
rooms of mid-period Picasso. The entire 4th floor was dedicated to the art of
women, which was also very cool, in a protest-y sort of way. After a quick
lunch of Salad Nicoise at a cafe on the square, we watched a French clown
performing tricks and jokes to a crowd that was largely sympathetic if you
discount the four completely plastered guys who kept wanting to stumble into the
act. Coming home via the Metro, we looked up the fourth of the Fodor
recommended reservations and decided to walk over to see the menu. It was just
across the Jardin de Luxembourg, which borders our apartment and will be easy to
get to in a couple of hours when (like most Parisian restaurants) it opens at 7
to 7.30. Walking back we watched boys racing sailboats across a large pool
(just sails, no RC-controlled motors or rudders), and saw that yet another Large
Yellow Crane was installing a huge disco ball nearby.
The French seem
to always be installing something in their many, many public areas. Unlike New
York or Chicago, or even San Francisco, Paris is just chock-a-block with public
places. Perhaps the cost is fewer residences and higher rents, but the
Parisians *seem* to be able to make do. Yes, there's the VAT and other taxes,
and the high cost of household goods, mostly acquired at small local stores. On
the other hand, everybody gets free health care, long yearly vacations and
guaranteed pensions. It may not be the American choice, but it's difficult to
fault it for those countries that make the choice. The level of service in all
things governmentally-run is outstanding (at least so far in our trip), and the
sophistication of technology at least at a par with what's commonly available in
the US. The price you pay is that you only have 5 TV stations. Oh, darn.
Time for a nap and then off to dinner. Tomorrow is our unplanned day, so Junie will have to tell me what she wakes up favoring. More after we've accomplished that . . .
DAY 6
Today was
our free day, so we decided to visit Champs-Élysées, the Rodeo Drive of Paris
(but longer, wider, and I'm pretty sure there's no McDonalds in Beverly
Hills). We took the Metro to the appropriate stop and once again wondered why
we had forgotten a windbreaker for the cool fall Paris morning. After a trudge
up the boulevard, we arrived at the underground passage for the Arc de Triomphe,
Napoleon's self-congratulatory Romanesque monument for his conquering army. I
think his motto was "I am willing to let you die to the last man to achieve our
great victories". The Arc itself is nice enough, but the good views required
climbing 287 stairs to the top inner rooms and platform "on the roof", as it
were. We must be in a hell of lot better shape than we were on Day One, because
it wasn't all that tough. After taking snaps of the 7 boulevards that enter and
exit the traffic circle, we climbed down and strolled down the Champs-Élysées to
find Ladurée, a famous pastry shop and restaurant that Junie had seen Samantha
Brown visit on the Travel Channel. Found it we did and had a little coffee and
pastry for the price of an adopted child from Malawi. The coffee with crème was
very good (surprisingly, the French coffee isn't usually that great) and the
passion fruit tart with fresh raspberries was the quality you come to expect in
Paris. To our left coming in, there was this long line to select among the
hundred-odd fabulous pastries and when we were done with our petit dejeuner,
Junie queued up to buy a couple of Ladurée's famous macarons, which are fat
cookies with a variety of icings and fillings. There were other pastries that
were indescribably delicious-looking, but we had our meals lined up for a while,
and they don't travel well.
By this time, I had talked Junie into taking the train to Versailles, where she
had previously expressed little interest in visiting. As we were ahead of
schedule on every other venue, we boarded the RER (the train service to outer
Paris) and were in the village of Versailles in 30 minutes. We had checked in
Fodor's and found a recommended restaurant, Au Chapeau Gris, and were shown a
seat. 45 minutes later, I was convinced that this was the best meal I'd had in
Paris, though by far not the most expensive. For the first course, I had fish
soup, which was presented as a bowl filled with rich, thick fish stock and
saffron, and side dishes of fresh grated Romano-parmesan, lightly mustarded
mayo, and freshly toasted croutons. You could even ask for seconds. It was
heavenly. Junie had a very nice composed salad. For our main courses, I had
fried sole and scallops with new potatoes; Junie had roast lamb with haricots
verts. Also very, very yummy. For dessert, I had a big bowl of fresh mixed
berries (red currants, raspberries, strawberries, blackberries) topped with
vanilla gelato; Junie had crepe Suzette, which we had moments ago seen flaming
with lit Cointreau. Wine was the recommended half-bottle of Cote du Rhone,
which I drank all by my lonesome without a tinge of guilt.
Oh. Right. We also went to The Palace. Louis the Fourteenth, after suffering
a lousy childhood in Paris, decided to re-establish the seat of government in
the marshes and swamps of Versailles. He and the next two Bourbon kings spend a
half a decade spiffing up the place, but it was Louis XIV that spent the first
350 million francs and 10 years kick-starting this enormous palace -- mainly
because he hated Paris. The place eventually housed a staff and guest list of
20,000 which accounts for the many bedrooms and long lines at the loo. The
brochure said that the demand of the Sun King that all his governors live at
Versailles sowed the seeds of the French Revolution 80 years later, as the
governors got farther and farther out of touch with the provinces they ruled.
Naturally, when Napoleon came along, he was tight with the idea of further
gussying up Versailles with gargantuan pictures of his triumphs. There is one
hall with such paintings, 20 feet tall and just as wide, showing all these
generals in glorious battle, when in truth, they were probably on the
overlooking hill yelling "I am willing to let you die to the last man to achieve
our great victories". Curiously, among all the French scenes of conquest is a
painting of Washington at Yorktown, accepting surrender from the (hated)
British, ably assisted by the Comte de Rochambeau. The short story is that
there are lots and lots and lots and lots of rooms with lots and lots and lots
and lots of precious furniture, some of it much smaller so that the Dauphin
could do his homework without standing on the gilt upholstery. Junie and I took
20 minutes trying to find the Hall of Mirrors and then 20 minutes trying to find
a sign that said "Sortie", grumbling all the time that of all the things that
the French do well, getting their museums well-signed isn't one of them. We
skipped the absolutely enormous gardens -- like 250 acres enormous -- as 8 Euros
seemed a bit much and we were tired anyway.
The train ride home was packed, but we snuggled and settled for salad and wine and bread in the apartment, plus catching up on our postcards. For tomorrow we have scheduled "La Terre de la Souris", AKA Disneyland Paris.
DAY 7
We had
breakfast in the apartment, as usual: coffee with half-and-half, baguette with
mirabelle confiture, fresh berries. It’s not really half-and-half, maybe
one-quarter-and-three-quarters. I don’t think the French get the idea of
putting cream in coffee. Yesterday, I asked for some coffee cream at Disneyland
and got a blank stare, then a hurried paper cup of milk.
Disneyland, of course, was our all-day adventure. We walked through the Paris drizzle to the Metro and hopped over to the RER, the somewhat larger train system that takes you out to the Ile de France – the small towns and suburbs that ring Paris. Versailles is in Ile de France, as is Chartres. Disneyland Paris was built near the small town of Marne-la-Vallée and is a 30 minute train ride east, a pleasant ride with somewhat less crowding, better seats and some nice views, as at this point the train system is above ground. From the outside the Royaume Magique looked pretty much like you would expect, and once in, there were many of same familiar scenes of Disneyland: Main Street, Sleeping Beauty’s Castle (Le Chateau de la Belle au Bois Dormant), the gates of Frontierland. There were also a lot of subtle differences, however. Most of the signage was in French and English, and some of the attractions had been renamed: Blanche-Neige et les Sept Nains; La Cabane des Robinsons, Indiana Jones et le Temple du Péril. It was kind of fun getting mini-startled by familiar installations with strange new names.
The other huge
difference between this experience and my many other Disney excursions was the
lack of lines. Throughout the entire day, we waited at most 5 minutes for an
attraction. The combination of our off-season visit, the constant rain, and it
being a Monday almost certainly contributed. We began by having lunch at The
Blue Lagoon, the restaurant adjacent to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. The
cuisine was decidedly non-conventional for Disney: I had octopus carpaccio for
a starter and ostrich breast for my main course.
We avoided the
really wild rides and took the Buzz Lightyear ride twice, improving our scores
killing pop-up monsters. Pirates of the Caribbean, of course, though we missed
shaking hands with Captain Jack Sparrow who was mincing outside. A fair bit of
shopping ensued, including only items with Paris on them (including the
ultra-cool Nightmare Before Christmas black wrap). Home we went on the RER and
collapsed in the apartment after an-house meal of bread, salad, wine and cheese.
DAY 8
Tuesday: We had accomplished virtually everything on our schedule, so had
another free day to skirt the periphery of our desired attractions. After a
couple of pain au chocolats and coffee, we went back to Montmartre on a search
for All Things Amelie. It turns out that the hit movie was filmed almost
exclusively there, and a website gave us directions to
· The restaurant that Amelie worked as a waitress, Café de Deux Moulins, where Amelie first meets her amour (writing menu items backwards on the glass), the crazy man records conversations of his failed loves, falls for the Tabac girl, and the proprietress who has a bad hip from circus horseback riding.
· The green grocer run by M. Collingnon, who the disabled boy is encouraged by the Glass Man who paints Monets to rhyme with all kinds of insults like “big pig”.
· The Metro stop where Amelie takes the blind man by the hand and guides him around the sights and smells, describing everything and then leaving him at the Metro entrance.
The first two
establishments were obviously overjoyed to have been associated with the movie
and had placards and movie posters up in a few places. The Café de Deux
Moulins had an entire Amelie menu – in fact Junie
and I had the Amelie special for a little snack (pastry and beverage). Thinking
about how much I love the movie, I was all smiles all the time.
We hopped on
the Green Line on a straight shot to the Musee d’Orsay stop and boarded the
Batobus, a glass-topped boat that runs like a continuous aquatic subway up and
down the Seine, turning around at the Ile Cite (Notre Dame) and also at the
Eiffel Tower. We took the full tour of about an hour and got off at Trocadero,
which is a big-ass building (aren’t they all?) and monument and place (traffic
circle). Our next quest was to acquire some change and use the post office at
the Eiffel Tower to mail our postcards to y’all. Like most of the bloody
machines in Paris, they required a credit card with an embedded chip, or change,
and I had none of the first, and little of the latter. Basically, I needed $25
in change to by all the post card stamps. I tried the gal at the Eiffel Tower
ticket office, but she said “we are not a bank”. Hmph. Then, after lingering
at the Trocadero (from which the most killerbee shots of the Tower are taken), I
hit a real bank, in fact my old bank when I lived in Belgium, Societe Generale.
She *almost* said, “we are not a bank” too, then asked me if I had an account,
and when I told her, “yes, 25 years ago”, she was not amused and said the
‘official change locations” are on the Champs Elysees. Bitch. We decided to
have lunch and think about it, so had a quite nice lunch with a funny waiter who
managed to completely ignore my prix fixe 30 Euro lunch, even after I reminded
him. I left him an unheard of 5 Euro tip and headed with Junie to get change by
buying stuff that would require the cashier to give us the maximum possible
change. I thought about doing a deal with one of the 8 zillion French-African
gents hawking Eiffel Tower statues on giant keyrings, but decided it would take
too much explaining, and I would probably get talked up to truly enormous Tower
that I could only use as a hood ornament in my next life. A post card, dish
towel and cookie box later, we had the desired heft in my change pocket and
posted the cards.
Next up was a
wandering path home, so we hopped on the bus, forgot about us, put the blame on
me .. sorry, got that song stuck in my head. We re-boarded the boat and hopped
down the St. Germain de Pres s stop, and went looking for the Medieval Museum.
We found it, but the guide book had said “closed on Monday” and here it was
closed on Tuesday (note to future Paris travelers, check current schedules/hours
on the Internet). We ran down to Laduree and snagged a dozen macrarons (see
previous day’s description) for our “landlord” Fred, then hit the Huit a 8 to
pick up more mache lettuce, another bottle of Sancerre, and some fresh
vegetables to round out our last dinner. We’ll be somewhat early to bed as we
need to get up, pack, check out with Fred in attendance, and get our butts over
to Orly for the OpenSkies flight home.
~~~
Was the trip incredible? Well, yes, it was. We did everything we had planned
and more. We managed to time the spending of money at just about the proper
rate so that it ran out sometime about mid-day (which is what credit cards are
for). Would I recommend Paris as a vacation? Beyond a doubt. Of all the many
places I visited in the world, I can’t imagine a place where you can spend 8
days going full-bore, be excited most of the time, not see 75% of what’s
available, eat and drink the best stuff in the world, and go home wishing you
had more time (and, of course, money). Au revior, Paris. It’s been a blast.