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.