30 Dec - Coffee and a Croissant

Posted on December 30, 2008

I awoke late this morning and lounged around a bit. I think people come on a vacation and have a mad rush to get out and do everything possible in a two week period, and while I was definitely like that the first days I was here, I have settled into a general happiness of just being here and seeing what I want to see. I have a feeling if I can ever come back, I will. So I’m just trying to enjoy myself and not burn out. So far, so good.

I also know I write a lot about my little cafe dining experiences, but that’s because they’re kind of a big deal to me. I know most people when they travel just go, stumble through the menu, order, get what they want, pay and go. And that’s ok. They get food, the establishment gets paid, everyone’s happy. But I want something more than that…I guess I kind of want to experience that almost normal daily life interaction. I’m not sure I can explain better than that. It’s like I just want to be a part of it, normal life here.

I picked a larger, nice corner cafe I saw when I was out yesterday and just headed in. It was raining off and on and had snowed during the night, leaving an icy wetness everywhere, but no pretty snow. I walked in and waited for the waiter to greet me. I could’ve greeted him first I suppose, but it went ok. It went something like this:

Waiter: Bonjour, monsieur!
Moi: Bonjour!
I proceed to the bar and sit down. Most bars in cafes, and brasseries are coffee in the morning, alcohol and coffee the rest of the day.
Waiter: Oui?
Moi: Cafe, s’il vous plait.
Waiter: Ah, cafe. Oui.
He makes me a tiny espresso, not coffee in a cup, a sign that he did not assume me to be American, and I sounded something like I knew what I was doing. lol Otherwise, they give you a coffee cup and ask if you want milk, etc. Cafe typically gets you espresso. If you’re ordering properly, you must specify Cafe Americain, Cafe au lait, Cafe Noire, Cafe Blanc, etc. The espresso comes with sugar cubes and a chocolate covered almond.
Waiter: Cafe, voila!
Moi: Merci.
I sip the delicious espresso and start to eye the croissants in a bread dish on the bar. Typically at the bar they are complimentary with your coffee, but I don’t want to be forward and I would like a plate. So I ask if it’s ok to have one. Better safe than sorry.
Moi: Je peu? (as I point gently toward them. This is pretty informal, and literally means I can? or May I?
Waiter: Mais oui, c’est bien! (But yes, that’s fine!) And he retrieves me a plate and napkin.

Getting the check is always a challenge as I mentioned before. But I’ve noticed if it’s just you and you’re at the bar, the trick is to start to get up to leave…not as if you’re rushing out the door, but place the napkin on the plate, move it slightly away from you and prepare your things. In this case, the waiter saw and approached me when he got a sec. I took my time, and did not rush him.

Waiter: Finis, monsieur?
Moi: Oui, c’etait bien, merci. (Yes, everything was good, thank you.)
Waiter: Merci! Voila! He places the check on a small plate.

It’s 3.20, so I leave him 10.20. I’ve also found dealing with small change is a pain for most so it’s easier to give it to them if you have it. He brings me the 7 he owes me and I leave him 1, a fair tip for 3.20.

Waiter: Merci, Au revoir!
Moi: Au revoir!

…and I walk out into the chilly morning. I know I wrote a lot for that simple interaction but if you’ve never been and you’re planning to go, I hope it helps you. You can always stumble through it (and making any small effort will likely lead to people being helpful to you) but wouldn’t it be nicer to just ease right through your morning coffee and croissant?

After breakfast I headed for the Musee d’Orsay, which I was told was absolutely worth seeing. I’ll go ahead and respond to that and say YES. SEE IT. I think I had this notion of what I would see at the Louvre, and while the Louvre itself is almost living art, with every cornice, corner, surface and window a work of art itself, a lot of what I expected to see there wasn’t there at all, it was at Orsay.

It was cold and rainy and with it being a holiday week between Christmas and New Years the line to get in was something short of enormous. It stretched in a serpentine queue back and forth over the entry steps, then wrapped around a few times in front of the lower steps before heading out to the street and wrapping around the back of the next building over. This was almost daunting considering the lower 30s temperature and the on again off again rain but I just couldn’t be unhappy. Freezing and a little damp, yes, but not unhappy. I was after all standing on the streets of Paris. Keep in mind though, that many museums close around 5 or 6 on some days, so if it’s noon and you have a two hour wait, you may want to get a reserved ticket for another day. I did spend about two hours waiting in rain and some occasional sleet, as well as being banged around by various umbrellas but it was absolutely worth it.

The building inside is far less ornate than the Louvre, almost utilitarian, despite the artwork, sculptures and library. But oh the art! Walls of Monet, Manet, Degas, Picasso, Gauguin, Pissaro, Latrec. Sculptures by Rodin. Whole rooms of paintings I had never known existed but by artists whose names I knew quite well. I was quite taken by one special exhibit of Picasso and Manet where Picasso had been to an exhibit by Manet and seen a painting of people having a picnic. It was titled “Le Dejuener sur l’herbe” (Luncheon on the Grass). He became something like obsessed with the painting and over ten years or so painted a plethora of interpretations of it. He wrote on the back on an envelope about having seen it and they actually had the envelope posted there in the exhibit, along with the variations he painted and sketched, as well as some pastels he had done. The original painting by Manet was there as well and the entire exhibit was extraordinary. There were paper cutouts he’s done of the people in the painting and a photo of him with them. I think the most interesting piece for me though was a sketchbook where he had sketched a copy of the original painting apparently to work from. I think we all have some idea of what a “Picasso” looks like so it never occurred to me that the man would create anything else in any other style. I had only seen his cubist and surrealist works, aside from one more realistic painting so I was so taken aback when I saw that the sketch in the book, in pencil or charcoal was almost identical to the original painting except in monotone. It had fine detail and perfect perspective and was an excellent representation of the original he must’ve seen the very day he redrew it.

I learned later in the day that he had done mask sculptures as well as a whole body of work that I had never been exposed to.

Overall, the Musee d’Orsay was worth its weight in gold. If you’re going to Paris and like impressionist art, it is an absolute must. You’ll even get to see Whistler’s Mother.

Speaking of Whistler…one of the most beautiful experiences I had in Paris happened in d’Orsay while I was looking at that very painting. Standing there admiring all the incredible art, moving from master to master, period to period I came to Whistler and his famous Mother. As I stood reading the small card placed on the wall next to the frame I noticed that a pretty good number of people were looking out the window. Surrounded by masterful works considered to be the best in the world in all of time and they were staring out the window. As I worked my way forward to see what was so impressive I realized just how right they were. So there I stood with the crowd, my back to the greatest art works of our time and watched as a gentle snow fell over the gardens in front of the Louvre. I hope that is something I remember for all the days of my life.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and I plan to be at the Eiffel Tower if possible, with a bottle of champagne and 20 or 30,000 people. I can’t wait. This year some friends are having a small party back home as well, and I’m actually going to miss it. I think they’ll cut me some slack for my absence, though, just this once.

29 Dec - Back to Paris

Posted on December 29, 2008

After a short 40 minute delay in the Chunnel, I arrived back in Paris mid day and decided to take the metro to my hotel. I missed Paris already and was glad to be back. I’d Googled the address and found it on the metro map and set off. It was quite a ways, basically about 3/4 of the length of the route…or so I thought. Apparently I put in the wrong zip code for the address (by one number) and this took me several (10 or 12 blocks) further than I needed to be. I had no idea how far it was up the street (most streets in Paris central change names a bit between points) but Blvd Raspail is long and continuous, so not being sure I just walked, dragging my suitcase behind me. It turned out to be quite far and by the time I got to the hotel, I was a little tired. The hotel itself is modern inside, almost efficient. It’s the K&K Hotel Cayres. The price is around about what I’ve paid for my other hotels on this journey but I wouldn’t rank it the same. It’s clean, friendly and everything is fine, but there’s definitely something Ikea about it. The bed is a double (the site advertises queen), there is no tub, only a nice shower and the room/bathroom are very small. If you want to be pampered and treated like a $500 a night hotel should…this one’s not for you. That said, it’s still very nice and everyone was efficient and prompt to take care of my needs. I think if you’re spending very little time in your hotel room, and it’s just you, it’s fine.

But the shower is hot, the bathroom floor is heated and the bed was clean…and really at this point in my trip that’s all I wanted. I splurged on more comfortable places early because I wanted one solid thing I could rely on each day, so that no matter what else happened (got lost, mugged, drenched in rain, assaulted by wild pugs, whatever) I knew I would be able to return to my centrally located, perfectly comfortable hotel room and be taken care of. Trust me when I say it makes a lot of difference having that piece of mind.

I showered off and warmed up and headed out for food. I’ve been becoming increasingly at ease going into strange places, ordering and eating. I think it sounds like such a simple thing, and it should be. But I want to be able to order properly and not make a fool of myself and waste people’s time. I’ve learned that in most small cafes, you can simply walk in, greet the waiter or host and sit down. Sometimes they’ll give you a general direction, sometimes you can just sit where you like. I witnessed someone sitting at a large table when they’re were just two people and the waiter actually asked them politely to sit at a table for two. I’m glad I had picked up on that, and was treated very well at the cafe I went to when I sat at a small out of the way table. I ordered a a grilled chicken sandwich with fries and salad and a French beer (Croque Monsieur au Poulet avec frites et salade, et un biere Francais, or Kronenberg. It was a small bar and cafe, and the owners (a husband and wife) basically ran the place. He was head waiter and bartender, she was the chef. I caught her watching me after my food was delivered and she sort of gestured and asked how it was. I told her everything was good, c’etait bien! and I cleaned my plate except for all the fries. She was very warm and friendly to me when I left, smiling and telling me to have a good evening. I sincerely believe that politeness and a general compliment when things are good go a long way here. So far they have for me and I hope it continues.

I headed out across the Seine after that for some photos at sunset of the river and Louvre, and a couple of the Paris skyline. There was a bit of haze as a storm’s moving in but it made for a few interesting shots I think. As the cold and dark set in, I started back, stopping only for another power adapter (the ones I brought died, and were unnecessary anyway since everything I brought was European voltage compliant), grabbed a drink at the bar and called it a night.

I’m so happy to be back in Paris.

London Calling

Posted on December 26, 2008

I’m taking a short detour over to see the Queen for the weekend but we should be back to our regularly scheduled programming on Monday. Until then, you can follow my adventures being hunted by MI6 here.

Until then, adieu!

And MI6, if you’re reading this…I promise I’m not really doing anything with the Queen. God save her.

Noel a Notre Dame de Paris

Posted on December 25, 2008

I awoke this morning with a kind of childlike glee at the idea of Christmas in Paris. I had no agenda, no planned excursion and no schedule to keep. I didn’t have to hurry and rush to this house or that, or follow any custom whatsoever. I love Christmas and all those things that go with it but for once, I was free to enjoy it any way I chose.

The day started off quite nicely, the way Christmas should. I’ve been constantly pleased by the effort and friendliness of everyone here so far and today was no exception. I was getting a late start when the maid came to clean my room. I told her it was fine to come in and take care of things as I was getting ready to leave. I hate to make them wait since they do have a schedule to keep and after all, it’s Christmas and they likely have things to do as well. It’s business practice at all Westins for the staff to say hello to you whenever you cross paths. It goes for every housekeeper, manager and maintenance person, regardless, and it’s really nice. I always say hello back to them as nicely as possible, since they’re making the effort. As I left I wished her a Merry Christmas, a Joyeux Noel in French and was surprised to see she was a little taken aback. She smiled and actually laughed a tiny bit, almost bashfully and wished me one as well, and thanked me. My pronunciation sucked a little but the point was there and it just made me feel good. At breakfast I wished my waiter the same (with better pronunciation) and he smiled genuinely and did the same. He’d waited on me before and remembered that I liked a little bit of milk in the coffee and offered it as I sat, then later when I declined another cup but was there for a little while, he laughed and made me take another one. He was right…it was perfect since the last quarter had grown cold. It seems like a simple interaction but I don’t take it for granted at all, especially since all our conversation was in French. Lots of people can talk, communication is something else I think.

With a belly full of scrambled eggs, coffee, a croissant and grapefruit juice along with a little fresh fruit to go with it, I decided to head out to Notre Dame. I had never been but saw it from the Tower and from the Seine River cruise. everyone says it’s magnificent and really, no one lied about that. I mistook Champs de Notre Dame for the Cathedral on the Metro map and went the wrong way, but it was easily rectified…and I got to use my metro pass to let an older woman into the station after the machine ate her money. She thanked me really kindly and my good day continued, despite being on the wrong side of town from where I wanted to be. Once more with my Golden Ticket and I was at the right station.

This is the bluest day I can recall since being a child in Maryland, when the cold night winds would blow snow drifts up to the 2nd story sills and leave everything crisp and perfect for the first morning light. There’s really no word for that color of blue but I understand what they mean by Sous la Ciel de Paris…Under the Paris Sky. It’s Christmas and the whole world seems like it’s waiting for me.

The Metro again. It’s all but empty save for a few people on their way to work or church and a man playing the accordion. I board again and head back in teh right direction. I’m in Paris on Christmas, heading to Notre Dame to attend Mass and hear the nativity. For a moment I stop and have that revelation that I’ve been doing it so wrong for so many years and I feel conflicted - sad for all those years I rushed around, insanely trying to get to this place or that, to please everyone on Christmas morn - happy just to be here now and know the difference…ecstatic to be alive. Walking into the cathedral, I vow that if I ever have children they will see this place if it still exists. They will have a chance to feel this and know what it’s like to stand inside history.For the first time I realize how fortunate I am, that despite some really trying times and hard things I’ve endured, I’m as blessed as a heathen can be.

If the laws of the universe hold true and all things in nature struggle toward balance, Notre Dame is the model for the equation. From the iced island air of the Idle de Paris with that perfect blue light of the cerulean sky above I walk into shadow and warmth, a stillness that almost stifles. Cold, odorless and erratic winds are replaced by thick, still incense transported on the murmurs of the faithful like some heavy blanket held above them and all around the intense light of the winter day is filtered through giant stained glass images of history. A plaque on the wall dedicates the building in 1163 AD. I do the math and realize this place stood 329 years before Columbus set foot on the new continent and for a moment I’m caught up in it all, time, war, peace, the chanting of the people in pews and the echoing voice of the priest in the Gothic arches above, history and the future, perception and perspective. Minutes pass before I realize I’ve been silently standing there smiling and crying.

I finish watching the Mass and decide to move around the back and see the rest. Silently scattered about the path patrons sit reverently in prayer among the almost too noisy chatter of tourists eagerly snapping photos and pointing and I actually curb the urge to shush them, even if gently. It’s strong but I’m just happy and at peace and can’t be bothered by them. Stained glass windows make patterns in kaleidoscope light on everything as the sun moves across the sky and I make my way ’round the perimeter, and all around I’m surrounded by the sounds of the Nativity, spoken reverently in French and carried across 845 year old walls by physics and Dolby Theatre Sound. That’s Paris as much as anyplace here: a harmony of the old and the new, LCD TV’s and stage lighting on 800 year old stone. Ritual illuminated in Technicolor.

I walk through that time portal once more, stepping into the present and the clarity of winter and can’t help but wonder if others felt the same. I hope so; while it’s certainly not wasted if it was on me alone, it’s not something I would want all to myself. Sitting on a bench, watching people come and go I wonder about this and a lot of things I thought I understood and I can’t help but think maybe far too many of us are in a mad rush toward the next thing we’ll use as a starting point for another mad rush, or worse, toward nothing at all. I smile and decide to just enjoy the rest of the day. You never really know about tomorrow.

I walk around the cathedral, taking photos and watching people. Not one argument, not one person yelling at another. No mothers scolding impudent little boys, no fathers with threatening looks for the mischievous. Just people standing, talking quietly and smiling in the cold morning light. On a bridge over the Seine a young woman asks me to take her photo with her camera, to get some of the city in it. I zoom wide and capture the Eiffel Tower behind her, the river below and she squeals when she sees it. It’s the best compliment a stranger can give me without knowing it. I found a bench on the bridge and just sat there and just enjoyed it all and thought some more about everything. I think my whole perception changed on that bench that morning. I would later realize that if Christmas was to be the day my perceptions would be challenged, New Years would be here soon enough to challenge my strength and the courage of my convictions. This would all become a positive turning point in my life.

The rest of the say was simple and beautiful. In front of a government building people ice skated in a makeshift rink, swooshing by, laughing and falling and just enjoying themselves. I took pictures of empty streets and paths, walked and watched. I just let the day be and didn’t force it. When I finally got back to the hotel I needed to pack and get ready for London the next day. I had dinner in the room and processed photos, wrote and talked with friends back home.

I spent Christmas very much the way I had wanted.

24 Christmas Eve on the Champs-Elysee

Posted on December 24, 2008

I slept through breakfast but awoke to random music in the streets from a 3 piece band who’d decided to roam and play. I can’t recall the song now, and they really weren’t very good but there’s something to be said for waking to a brass band. lol It beats the alarm clock for sure. A first glance out the sheers to the buildings and sky beyond revealed an absolutely perfect winter day, with a crisp blue in the sky over the rooftops and a promise of crisp air.  I opened the doors to the balcony to confirm the suspicion (and to watch the band for a moment or two) and was greeted by the expected breeze. Unexpected was the scent of fresh baked bread and other morning aromas that reminded me of my lapse in judgement with dinner the night before. Though there are a nearly countless number of restaurants here, I really prefer the small cafes. I was just tired and unsure of what I wanted other than a bed.

I had no agenda for the day other than food. Breakfast has become such an important part of my day. The meal fuels me for the miles and miles I walk and the coffee keeps me warm and happy. I found a small cafe on the corner and walked in. I greeted the waiter in return to his bonjour and asked if it was ok to sit at a table. He let me choose (I chose a small table, and always do when dining alone if one is available. This is polite and allows the waiter to serve larger parties easily. It seems obvious but the gesture goes a long way here.) I think this was the first time I actually felt comfortable communicating. He asked if I wanted coffee or tea and I asked for cappuccino, which they make so well. Somehow it’s strong but without being burnt or overly acidic. He brought me a croissant and a mixed fruit jelly that I thought would be enough, but it made me hungry so when he started to take the menu away I asked if I could keep it and order. I got a standard ham and cheese omelet (usually referred to as “mixte“) and it really hit the spot.

Things got a little complicated after this but it turned out all right. One thing I think visitors often feel slighted about here is the lack of attention from the waiter once the meal is done. This goes back to my theory that Parisians are exceptionally polite when in the right situation. The waiter does not want to bother you, make small talk (unless you’re acquainted, and can easily make clear small talk in French) or harass you. And seriously, since English is most often the second language, I don’t think he wants to feel stupid trying to understand chit chat anymore than you do. Plus, he can chitchat at 4,000 mph. That’s 6,437 kph. He wins. So you have to politely ask for your check…which at a restaurant is l’addition, and most other places, like the hotel is la note. So I asked, he gave, and I used my credit card because it was 20 Euros, and I had 20 exactly. Tipping is kind of up in the air here, as 15% is automatically added. But depending on the place, the waiter may not get it at all. The law requires it be added, but does not require it to be given to anyone but the owner. So if they’re nice, and he was…I ignore the 15% and tip additionally. Most places however need you to add the tip BEFORE they run the card. Not always true, but often in cafes and bars where they have handheld machines for reading the cards. So you have to tell them beforehand or leave something on the table if you want to leave a gratuity. I had told him that everything was very good already so I added it after and he politely let me know that it wouldn’t work that way. So then we had a polite, yet emphatic little discussion about it. I wanted to leave him something, so I asked for change. We bantered back and forth about it a little and he insisted it was ok, not to worry about it. I thanked him kindly and left. I felt kind of awkward about it all but then saw him Christmas morning as I walked by on my way to the Metro. He actually smiled and waved and said good morning to me. I replied and wished him Merry Christmas. That was definitely one of the things that made Christmas Day (the next day) wonderful.

After that adventure, I started walking up Place Vendome towards the expensive shops. I hit a few places (window shopped, not hit as in robbed - though the thought occurred to me when I came across the 10-15 carat teardrop emeralds), then I stopped at one point and looked at a map (Metro and bus maps are everywhere) and decided to walk to the Moulin Rouge. It’s a little hike but a nice one, with the older buildings of the red light district and a general “Old Paris” feel everywhere. From there I caught the metro to the top of the Champs-Elysee to see the Arc de Triomphe. I had seen it from the Eiffel Tower and on maps, and even in a few movies but nothing could prepare me for the reality and grandeur of it.

Standing across the street (one of Paris’ famous roundabouts) I felt so small in the shadow of this monument to the fallen. I’ve fought no great war, never bled for my country and here was a towering, intricately carved monolith dedicated to centuries of people who had done just that. I took the underground passage to the free access and came out beneath it. Names of fallen generals were carved in every smooth surface, and on the ground beneath were metal plates commemorating events. World War II, Korea, the Napoleonic Wars, revolution and others were cast in plates and set in stone hopefully forever. In the center beneath the flags lies the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier with an eternal burning flame. Things like this move me extremely. No matter what people think of the French and their positions historically, their nationalism is undeniable and evident everywhere.

I walked around reading and photographing the site (and tripped on a curb once when trying to avoid two police* officers walking their beat). They looked at me as if I might be drunk, then smiled and shook their heads. I apologized for my clumsiness and moved on. It’s amazing how far a simple “Pardon” will carry you.

Since the Arc sits atop the west end of the Champs-Elysee I decided to head down and see all the high end stores. This is another heart of the shopping district (Place Vendome being another) and people were out in force. Fashionable women carried empty suitcases to fill with the spoils of their own private war on the economy and everywhere people with money to burn slithered expertly in and out of packed stores. Christmas Eve is Christmas Eve no matter what high end shopping district you’re in, I suppose.

I stopped into Louis Vuitton (to give my friend Tran a serious case of jealousy for Christmas ) after a security checkpoint** and could instantly appreciate the care that had been taken to make the store worthy of the name and reputation. The sales staff were almost invisible, elegant wraiths in black with simple silver LV pins on their lapels. They spoke like warm butter and smiled so effortlessly it was almost impossible not to buy something. I suspect most of the stores were this way. So, I did the best thing I could think of and ran like hell. The only thing I ended up buying on the Champs that day was hot chocolate and a crepe sprinkled with sugar. Totally worth the 2.5 I paid for it.

I headed out, took more photos and waited for the lights to come on along the street. It’s an amazing sight and I was glad I waited for it. I saw them the first day I was here but hadn’t had a chance to really get out and look. I also hunted down the street I had seen from the Tower with all the red Christmas Trees and took some pictures there. Walking up the Champs-Elysee on Christmas Eve might be one of my most memorable…strolling with the tourists and locals alike, eating a fresh, warm crepe from a piece of paper and laughing with everyone at a silly version of Father Christmas sitting in a sleigh and charging people for portraits. Everything about the eve was simply charming.

*A note regarding the police. I think I often refer to the police here with a sort of reckless abandon. There are actually many uniformed security forces, the police, Gendarmerie, and other military personnel. All essentially perform the same function of maintaining order and responding to emergencies. And I can assure you, all look like they can kick the holy crap out of you. I have yet to see an overweight, our of shape cop on the streets of Paris. Most have been almost model handsome or beautiful. It’s a little disconcerting to see a remarkably attractive person carrying a compact assault rifle with ease and grace. They have also been extremely helpful and friendly so long as you aren’t starting trouble. I don’t recommend it.

**Checkpoints. About a week before I arrived here there was an incident at a Printemps department store (a couple of blocks from here) where an explosive device was found in a bathroom. No one was harmed, though a rebel Afhgan force took credit and promised more if French troops weren’t withdrawn from that country. It’s become quite common to have bags searched befre entering monuments and high end stores now and no one (including me) seems to have and issue with it. I’m ok with not being blown up. I’ve also been stopped by the security on the Metro at a random checkpoint as asked to show my ticket and papers. I carry them with me and was only held up for a moment. If you hapen to come here and experience this, don’t whine or make a fuss about it. They are really trying to keep you safe.

23 Dec - Versailles and the Tower Again

Posted on December 23, 2008

I woke early on the 23rd and managed to grab breakfast again.  I grabbed the metro out to Versailles, helping two lost Chinese students on the way. I never mentioned I was going to Versailles, too and ended up running into them often at the Chateau. It was no big deal but any sense of familiarity gives you a sense of peace that helps you settle.

Versailles…it, like so many things here is grand on a scale unimaginable. Not only physically but historically as well. It has a presence that is palpable and when I think about it deeply it’s almost too much to consider. This is a place where incredible things took place, with history beyond my imaginable time. I sat in vast gardens and thought of books I’d read about the period, and wondered about lives, loves and losses, ghosts that had moved over those marble floors, up those time-worn steps. Who’s run through the gardens, lost in the spring, who fell in love and was proposed to in the shade of the maze? I suppose that’s the case with all places in history, but something about Versailles simply lends to the idea. The vast, seemingly endless gardens and grounds hold potential in every sunlit corner and night-darkened shadow. I could imagine secret duels here, conversations in the night about insurrection and the balance of power. Versailles as a place has a history dating back to 1038, with the first royal structures built in the early 1600s for hunting in the vast forests. It’s hard to contemplate all that’s occurred in a place with nearly a thousand years of history. But that could be said for Paris as well, with twice that.

After Versailles I got back to Paris late and headed for the Eiffel Tower again. The day had cleared into a beautiful blue and I couldn’t wait to see the city from the top. It was cold and a little windy but the view…worth every degree of chill. I saw streets lined with Christmas lights, cars flowing across bridges galore and a reflected life in the Rive Seine. I grabbed hot chocolate at the top this time and it was perfect. I’ve started to feel more confident with speaking French but it’s hit or miss. People speak quickly but most are helpful and just want to get the communication across. I try, they try…eventually hot chocolate is purchased.

Gypsies and learning the secrets of the locals… One of the things I absolutely wanted to do was blend. I realized when I got here that I already dress like pretty much everyone else. Black or dark clothes, no tennis shoes, and the standard cashmere black coat. I carry my camera bag over my shoulder like a backpack so that’s kind of a gieve away…but now I know a few things. Day one gypsies were on me like everyone else. They play as Bosnian refugees, or stranded Albanian travelers…or whatever the story is. But they all carry photocopies of the same hand-written note explaining the circumstance. They always ask if you speak English then turn on the sad charm and give you the old, worn note. If you refuse to give them money, they’ll follow you for a short while begging and eventually get annoyed and yell things like “Well, Merry Christmas to you then!” I was almost annoyed at first but there’s something about it all that just amuses me. In a sense, they’re like performers, working the crowd and doing their job. They can be irritating but I’ve learned to deal. And blend. I noticed locals almost always have earphones in. I thought it was to ignore everyone (and it is, somewhat) but it also keeps them warm by blocking the cold wind out of their ears. It also has the fortunate side effect of not hearing people emphatically say “Speaky English???” Trick two is the muttered, “I’m very busy and really don’t have time because I live in Paris and have to work 27 hours a day to afford to live here, ‘Non’” as you keep moving and make less than 100th of a second of eye contact. This works REALLY well. They’re busy, you’re busy…everybody’s happy. When I’m on my way someplace, I walk quickly and purposefully, (though I’ll stop and take a picture here and there), hands in my coat pockets, ear phones in, purposeful, “I wish I was at home drinking wine” look on my face. This works so well that I get totally busted because French people talk to me when we stop moving and occasionally, I have no idea what they said. About 80% of the time I’ve gotten away with nodding, and paying attention to body language. I’m honestly trying, though.

I do want to say that there are genuine people here in need, like everywhere who aren’t swindling. If you come, you’ll be able to tell them from the players. They honestly look like they’re in need. The difference is huge.

I was a Popsicle after the Tower and headed back for a good night’s rest. I’m trying not to wear myself out and just enjoy being here. So far, so good. I can’t even express how much I love Paris.

22 Dec - Eiffel, Errands and Exhaustion

Posted on December 22, 2008

I actually woke up in time to grab breakfast this time, in le First, the Boudoir Restaurant in the Westin. Again everyone was so very helpful and nice to me, and I think I’ve figured out what it is: politeness, and a sense of place. Essentially, manners go so very far here. Breakfast was available as an assortment of juices, croissants, various thin sliced meats, fruit, yogurts, scrambled eggs, chicken sausage, bacon, potatoes and button mushrooms sauteed in wine. You could also order something specific if desired. A couple of things I definitely love about Paris - Omelets, beer and fresh bread are pretty much available from ANY place any time, including bars. And how perfect is that? But today was a day for errands and getting things done! I think a lot of people manage everything from their hotel - they buy on the street or from local vendors or from the gift shop of a hotel, ave the concierge mail things for them, etc., but I wanted a different experience. I looked up the location of the nearest post office and off I went, first to pick up things to send home and then to La Poste, a totally new - though really not very foreign - experience. Today turned out to be full of new experiences.

I walked up and down Rue de Rivoli and through a few side alleys looking for the perfect things to send home to friends and finally found them in a small shop on the main street and from a small street artist outside. The style she was painting was common but she has something about her that was just…it’s hard to say. She was pleasant, always smiling and happy to work with you. We haggled a bit, mostly because I liked several of the paintings and couldn’t decide. She offered me all three for less than I expected and I couldn’t refuse. Really, I wanted all three anyway. I bought a scarf as well since I’d left mine at home, some post cards and a Coke. I found the Post Office after only a couple of tries and was surprised at how well it went. They had all the mailing things I needed and I was happy to learn the envelopes I bought were prepaid up to 100 grams. Score! Everyone has been so nice to me.

From there it was a quick walk across to Place Vendome again and around the corner where I grabbed the Metro for the first time. It took me forever to figure out the chart but once I did, it all made sense and I really didn’t have trouble with it again. In no time I was helping others who asked. I’ve also been asked to photograph people, a LOT. It’s kind of nice, especially when they get the camera back and check the screen (always a point and shoot digital, which is cool) and they express some exclamation of happiness. One little family even gasped in delight since I got both them and the monument behind them lit. It’s a great feeling to feel like you’ve captured something that makes people happy.

The Tower…the Tower was extraordinary, though by the time I got to the very top it was cloudy to the point of not being able to see much most of the time, and the clouds were very damp. A friend called me from the states while I was at the top and and we talked for a little while. It was so strange to think about…standing atop the Eiffel Tower having a conversation with someone in Atlanta. It’s easy to become disconnected from home when you travel to someplace you love.

I decided to catch the metro back before dark since I was new to it and then check out the tower on a clearer day. I grabbed some food on the Tower and, well, it was pretty bad. Except for the fries…they make awesome fries here.

I got back just after dark and was exhausted because I didn’t sleep well at all the night before. Probably a combination of jet lag and time shift and all the excitement. And caffeine. God do these people know how to make coffee. I will never have Starbucks again. So room service it was…a perfect spaghetti, bread, and French beer, which I may love enough to give jewelry to and CSI on tv in French. I slept like the dead after that.

21 Dec Louvre

Posted on December 21, 2008

It’s cold and overcast today, the first official day of winter though the icy season has already set in here. The plan for the day is the Louvre, that site of sites - home to art and antiquity, a work of art itself. It’s close, only a short walk down the block and over the Seine. I’ve thought about it forever.

Despite that passion I slept in this morning, not intentionally but just because the cold saps so much of you and the travel catches up whether you want it to or not. I also missed breakfast, le petit dejuener…the little lunch so a short walk up to one of the local cafes is in order. Eating is such a different experience…the timing, the etiquette. My French is rough at best right now and that probably has everything to do with it. I’m trying and picking it up quickly. I like it but it takes some getting used to.

A quick Croquet Monsieur, a not so quick check (you really, really have to ask for it) and I’m out the door again and on my way. We drove by it in the taxi on the way in…it was funny. I was trying so hard to be the dopey American gawking at everything but in reality you’d have to live in another dimension not to stare at some of it.It’s as if they didn’t have words to describe something either so they just built it into a giant testament of what they meant. I walk briskly, head slightly down to watch where I’m stepping, learning to slip into the flow of people. Everything seems to be moving with a purpose, an organized chaos, a clockwork. It’s the Christmas season absolutely everywhere, on the walls, the streets, hanging from wires across the sky and everyone seems to be going somewhere to do something important. As I pass through the gardens I’m surrounded by art and I haven’t even set foot in the Louvre yet. Marble statues stand guard over small coffee stands, peddlers and the gardens themselves. I stop to take a cool breath and make a visual circle, turning 360 degrees to find a photograph I want to take. As I stand there it hits me (not for the first time and not for the last): I’m in Paris. In front of me the pyramids of the Louvre stand shining in the cloudy white light, behind me and to the right the Musee d’Orsay holds all the Impressionist wonders a man could want to see, on my left an Egyptian obelisk stands tall over Place Vendome, a gift from Egypt and as I turn and look directly behind me the Eiffel Tower stands taller still. It’s hard to photograph art when everything here is art so I photograph everything I can and head toward the glass pyramid entrance. The Louvre.

From the moment I walked in I finally understood the true meaning of the phrase God is in the details. Imagine a place where the only reason not to put something beautiful on a wall was if the wall itself was already a work of art - which almost every wall there is. I think I looked suspicious just standing there staring and smiling at the wonder of it all but I suspect the guards are used to it. Some of them eyed me for a moment then smiled. I think my awe was evident. Once collected and recharged with a Coke, I spent the day walking on marble floor after marble floor, absorbing all I saw, taking pictures of anything I could. They’re surprisingly lenient about that, guarding only some light-sensitive areas when necessary. It was troublesome to put away my camera so I made an obvious show of putting on the lens cap and pointing the camera down. It was noticed and no one made a fuss. I watched a few other tourists make a fuss about it but mostly everyone was respectful. It’s hard not to be when you’re standing on the floor Napoleon walked on, looking at his vanity and dining room. In a great hall, I was backing to take a photo of the hall itself when I felt the rope behind me. I turned and was standing in front of 3 DaVinci paintings. Right there on the wall, not 3 feet in front of me. I almost laughed though I don’t know why. I suppose I just didn’t know how else to react. Of course they were there, the Venus de Milo is over in that side room and the Mona Lisa is across the hall.

And so it went. Room after room, hall after hall, all breathtaking in their own right with fresco ceilings, guilded everything, lush carpets and paintings to spare…all housed in an extraordinary building in the most beautiful of cities. I managed to stay past closing time and had to be guided out because frankly, I was lost and couldn’t find my way to the exit. When I finally made my way out it was dark and clearer than it had been earlier. The lights that play over the facade, light up the grounds and illuminate the reflecting pools were as striking as the inside had been. I walked around taking photos of people and the scenery, taking it all in. Small blocks were set up where you could take a good still shot at night and everywhere people could be seen embracing, in love. I found that a little depressing at first, to be in Paris and alone. But it passed with the help of a little stranger. Standing outside near the gardens taking photos from the edge of the street I saw a little girl standing with her mother staring at the pyramids and all the people. She turned around and saw the Eiffel Tower glowing the surreal blue they’d lit it up in and she squealed with delight, proclaiming it the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. This child, undamaged by the world, without cynacism or bitterness saw the scene for everything it was. Simply beautiful. I smiled and forgot all about everything else. I was after all in the city of lights for Christmas.

I got back late, starving. I went to McDonald’s (McDo). It was packed and trendy, filled with lots of young people with loud French pop playing. I of course had the Royal Cheese. How could I not. It was as much a French experience as anything else had been. I lay awake for a long time that night, musing about all I’d seen and done in a single day. A lifetime’s dreams in between a missed breakfast and a Royal Cheese. It’s hard to beat.

First Impressions

Posted on December 20, 2008

As we flew over the Atlantic, relatively warm compared to the -61F outside the plane I thought about the impressions I’ve had of Paris and the sorts of stereotypes and generalizations I suppose I, like so many people must have of this place. I was momentarily distracted when I saw on the display that we were approacing Ireland. I peeked out for a glimpse of that Emerald world but saw only clouds. It’s alright, though…Ireland is definitely for another day.

The ride was bumpy at times but mostly easy going. I sat next to a man from Florida who’d traveled extensively in a sort of serenditpitous way. Once to Australia for a wedding, once to London for work, a slew of other places for this and that and now finally a vacation to Austria and the surrounding areas for a month. His mother had married and Austrian so it made the time easier. All in all, I can’t say enough nice things about Air France. They were courteous to a fault, were prepared (pillows and blankets on every seat when we boarded) and everything entertainment-related was included. This included a host of new release and popular movies, video games, music, full meal at dinner with wine, and breakfast as we woke. And I flew coach.

I was uncertain about dinner so I grabbed something in Atlanta before I headed out. It worked out since dinner was a bit later on the flight but it was worth the wait so far as airline food goes. The mal consisted of a seared chicken breast with paprika, potatoes with a light onion cream sauce, cripsy green beans, bread, cheese, a chocolate coffee brownie, pudding and drink (wine, soft drinks, water, beer) followed by coffee or tea. As the sun rose over the eastern shores, I woke to fresh diced fruit, yogurt, a chocolate chip muffin, orange juice and coffee or hot chocolate. Seriously? I don’t eat this well at home, muc less on a flight. So bravo, Air France.

We arrived right on time and remarkably I went through customs without so much as a twtich. The agent was friendly (tip: greet people in France. They expect it and think you rude if you don’t…which may account for how often people think of them as the rude ones.) I’ve learned this quickly…the tone of the greeting (while almost always bonjour) seems to set the direction and tone of the conversation. I suspect this is true in most cultures but it seems very much the way of things here. The people I greet with a friendly and easy hello have been exceptionally pleasent to me. The rest of the airport was easy…my luggage came out quickly and I used a pay phone to call for my shuttle, since I couldn’t figure out how to dial toll free on my cell. He arrived as planned and off we went.

Before I leave the airport, though…I have to say there really are som striking differences that caught me as I walked and waited. The first was that while there was the usual confusion you find at any airport in any city in the world, there was an obvious purpose to everyone and everything. I soon learned this is also very much the way of transit in Paris. It’s chaotic and wild, but directed. More on that in a moment…the second, and the one that really struck me was the presense of the Gendarme at the airport. Soldiers in urban fatigues, lean and obviously serious and confident about their ability to maintain control, and very armed with lightweight urban assault rifles at the ready. Not strapped to their backs or at eas, but in hand in a position ready to fire if need be. The even odder thing was how little attention they drew from everyone. Just a part of the motion that is Charles de Gaule.

And then the stearotypes got seriously correct. My shuttle driver, thorough and effient not only looked like an Andretti but drove like one as well. We only nearly crashed once but watching him weave in and out of non-existent lanes, cut right only to go around the back way and squeeze in was like watching a master painter. The man was a god behind the wheel, and moved through alleys at a rate near suicidal, only to find perfect timing to stop for any pretty young woman trying to cross the street. LOL My shuttlemates (one couple from South Africa, one from Germany) were morbidly silent but I couldn’t help but be amused. I got here safe and sound and with my first adventure of the day. I also learned that almost no one honks at you…unless you’re doing the one sin in Paris driving: not moving. Cut in, weave, ignore your lane, cross three to go left at the last minute then swerve right back to get ahead? TOTALLY OK. Not go on green, DEATH SENTENCE. I *heart* this place already. lol

So now I’m at the Westin, a block from Rue de Rivoli and the Seine, Louvre and a million other things I must see so I need to head out and see them! The room is nice, with an incredible shower and a neat view (pics below) through a balcony over the street. I have the doors open to hear the Paris street sounds and so far they’re everything I expected.

T-14…HOURS. :D

Posted on December 19, 2008

It’s 6am the morning of my trip and though I’ve forsaken sleep I’ve slipped into a happy, calm excitement, for once less the child on Christmas morn than the adult, pleased with Santa’s preparations. I have no doubt that child-like glee (which was present in spades only 24 hours ago when I woke up and all I wanted to do was clean and pack - which I procrastinated on until last night, go me!) will return very shortly.

There’s something exciting about making as many preparations as one can so that the event itself can be enjoyed. I still have a few things to order, like ground transportation while I’m there, but I think I’ve covered as much of the others as I can for now. I feel good about that, and will really try to get to a stride where I can hopefully just roll with whatever happens. I think that’s the ideal as a traveler - do what you can, go with the flow for the rest. We’ll see if I can get there.

Packing was a challenge. I wanted to pack as light as possible, but while it’ll be 70 here today it should be a high of 47 and rainy when I land, with highs in the 40s and 50s all week. Next week it could easily drop down into the 30s unexpectedly, so I’ve had to bring layers. And packing light for 15 days isn’t exactly easy. lol My suitcase is pushing the 50 pound limit - but at least I only have one. I’ll weigh it once it’s complete and see if anything needs to go. I’m sure 20 pounds of that is socks. I’m a firm believer that if you can keep your feet warm and dry, you can pretty much take care of anything else. I think the Army and Marines agree with me on that one. Learn from the best, right?

14 and a half hours!

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