MONDAY, DAY 12 –
DESTINATION PARIS
When
we arrived at Schiphol Airport from Rita’s Amsterdam apartment, Starbucks drew
me like a moth to a flame. I
grabbed some morning brew and a quick bite. Even with an economy class ticket this time, I was still
feeling like a seasoned traveler on this fourth flight in two weeks. What put a damper on that were some
very strong winds, which if you like roller coasters would not have been a
problem, but my breakfast never had a chance. As we were landing at Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport, Doug
told me that I wasn’t the only one grabbing the little paper bag provided in
the seat backs. It was a first for
me and I vowed then and there that it would also be the last if I could find
the equivalent of Dramamine in France before the trip home. It was just not the dignified return to this elegant city I'd expected, or hoped. We retrieved our luggage, and Ron and Doug
waited patiently with me in an airport seating area until my face lost its greenish
tinge and my stomach settled down.
As we sat there, we watched a constant parade of camo-clad soldiers with machine guns patrolling in
groups. It certainly wasn’t a surprise after the recent attacks, but
it was indeed a sobering welcome.
I began to feel a bit conspicuous sitting there with our luggage and
talked myself into moving on to our next home away from home before we were
asked to explain ourselves. There’s
something about a machine gun that just makes one feel suspicious. It took awhile to purchase the correct
Metro tickets for the week, but we also soldiered on, knowing how wonderful it
would be to settle in again. And,
this time, we had eight nights!
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| That's us, behind 'HOTEL' |
When
we visited Paris for the first time in 2012, we were quite pleased with our
choice of Hotel de Nesle in the heart of Saint-Germain in the 6th
arrondissement. But Ron had noticed the Hotel Albe in the heart of the Latin
Quarter, in the fifth arrondissement, which has so much to see. He brought back their business card, which
stayed on his bulletin board for four years, and it turned out to be a great
choice. First, upon our arrival,
we were immediately upgraded to a room with a balcony overlooking the Saint-Michel
neighborhood and one of the bridges that crosses the River Seine. They also gave us three free mornings
of breakfast at their downstairs buffet, which was quite sumptuous.
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| Room with a view! |
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| Across the street |
The
travel had really taken it out of me and I luxuriated on the king size bed and
checked email. There was another
one from Ginny at home, which took priority. When we were in London, she wrote to say that the furnace
had stopped working and they were expecting a blizzard. I’d not only been concerned about
getting it fixed, I was highly indignant that I was missing a perfectly good
blizzard. The furnace did get
fixed quickly and I'd tried not to pout.
So now, I was receiving another picture from Ginny about a second big
snowstorm. Yes, that’s right, I
was in Paris wishing I were at home in a blizzard. Would anyone need any more proof than that how much I love
snow? But I fully expected that eight days in Paris would distract me.
 |
| The view from Ginny's room on Cape Cod |
 |
Doug
& Ron went out to find dinner while I rested.
They even found the same wonderful crepe place that we ate at on our
first night in 2012, and brought me one of their delicious egg, mushroom and
cheese crepes, made to order right in front of them. It was a perfect ending to a roller-coaster day.
|
TUESDAY,
DAY 13
Paris
wakes up early, at least the city workers do. Before businesses begin to open, there’s the rumbling and slamming sounds of
garbage trucks making the rounds.
After that, the street and sidewalk cleaners take their turns so that
the ancient cobblestoned streets are freshly spiffy for the new day. We dozed right through the street noise,
and were too late for the buffet that morning, but the concierge encouraged me
to grab something to take back to the room before it was all put away. Our first foray into the neighborhood was a short walk to
Notre Dame. Ron and I had visited on the
last trip, but we wanted Doug to see it, and we also wanted to bring back a
commemorative coin for our friend, Ray.
The grandeur of the architecture certainly supports at least two
visits.
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| A tiny part of Notre Dame de Paris Cathedral |
After
getting lost in the arches and stained glass all morning, we crossed the street
and stopped in Café Panis, one of the recommended restaurants in the Walking
Paris book one of our B&B guests sent us. It was wonderful,
starting with the exceptionally cheerful and fun waiters, and of course, the delicious
food. Ron had a hamburger that he
proclaimed to be the best ever. The
food really is better in Europe because they don’t allow genetically engineered
crops or treating animals with steroids and growth hormones. It’s just good old-fashioned food,
which the U.S. is forgetting what that used to taste like. I savored a Mediterranean omelet, and
poor Doug, who still had a chest cold, ate “a plateful of stuff he couldn’t
taste”. After that, he decided it might be worth his while to visit a
pharmacy to purchase a neti pot to try to clear his sinuses, so that was our
next stop.
 |
| This is what hot chocolate looks like at Cafe Panis. The hot milk is in the pitcher. Mmmmm. |
Finding
someone who speaks English well seems to be more hit or miss in France than in other
countries we’ve visited, and one must often resort to a combination of pigeon
high school French, augmented with pantomime. Apparently, the term “neti pot” is not used there, so we
began a reenactment of what one does with a neti pot, which at first baffled
everyone, but then with a glimmer of light in her eyes, the pharmacist said, “Aaaah, RHINO HORN!” and pulled out a red
plastic monstrosity that was their version of what accomplishes a simple
rinsing of sinuses. It looked like something from the Amsterdam Sex Museum, but...“OUI, merci boucoup!” I figured while we were on a roll, I’d
try for Dramamine, and successfully came away with “Nausi-Calm” for the trip
home.
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| Live and learn...I bet you thought you were going to see another picture of Notre Dame. |
We
spent the rest of the day wandering the ancient streets and shops of the Latin
Quarter and finished the evening geo-caching, something Doug had previously
introduced us to. We were well
aware when we asked Doug to join us on our trip that there were only so many
shops, churches and museums that might hold his attention, so we decided that
it might be a fun way for him to show us a different side to Paris. I’ll let Wikipedia explain it to
you:
Geo-caching
is an outdoor recreational activity, in which participants use a GPS to hide
and seek containers called “geo-caches” anywhere in the world and then register it online for geo-cachers. A typical cache is a small waterproof
container containing a logbook with a pen. The one who finds it enters the date and signs with their
established code name, which they have registered online, then places it back exactly
where they found it. Some caches
contain inexpensive toys or trinkets [swag] for trading. Some instruct the finder to move it to
a new position in an attempt to have it go around the world. Geo-caching was originally
similar to an old game called Letterboxing, which used clues and references to
landmarks embedded in stories.
After the removal of selective availability from the global positioning
system in the year 2000, the improved accuracy of the GPS allowed for a small
container to be specifically placed and located. [So basically in my words, it’s a treasure hunt with more
emphasis on the hunt than the treasure.] We found what we were looking for, and
still full from our lunch at Café Panis, called it a night.
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| Success-our swag. |
WEDNESDAY
– DAY 14
This
time, we all made it downstairs to the scrumptious breakfast buffet. Another difference in Europe is that I
was finding that decaf coffee is not available in many places. I usually drink half-caf in the morning
and decaf otherwise, and the full strength coffee was starting to affect my chi with the
jitters. I made a note to use a
lot less coffee and a lot more milk.
We’d just returned to our rooms to get ready to go out when we heard an
insistent beeping go off in the building.
Walking downstairs to the lobby, we found our concierge on the phone
frantically trying to find out what the problem was. We sat there quietly waiting for an explanation and an
all-clear signal. Meanwhile, other
guests were coming downstairs, rubbing their eyes, in various states of undress
and sat with us. It was explained
about ten minutes later that due to some sort of chimney cleaning down the
street, the fire alarms had picked up some of the dust and it had fooled them
into thinking there was a fire.
Good to know they work, and the lobby is a very chic place to hang out.
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| The Albe Lobby |
We
decided that since we somehow had missed seeing the Arc de Triomphe on our last trip, we would give it priority on this trip. Taking the Metro to a stop on the Champs d’Elysees, we began
a long stroll through the neighborhood towards it. The nice thing about having eight days was that there was no
urgency to get anywhere and we could do what we love best, discovering fun
places we didn’t know about. On this
stroll, we discovered a Citroen museum/showroom. Ron has always had a thing for Citroens, and Doug for
anything mechanical, so we jumped at the chance to go in. This is where we were introduced to
another new change about Paris. In
many large stores, there are now large men at the door to check your bags and
make sure you open your coat for them.
It was another sobering reminder of the terrorist attacks. Once inside, we were treated to a
display of cars on a central column, which spiraled up several stories. A staircase spiraling around the
outside of the column allowed one to view each model displayed on that
floor. There were the usual older and current models, but also their version of a hovercraft and a model of the car featured
in a James Bond film, complete with bullet holes. On the top floor, we were rewarded with a beautiful view of
the city.
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| The grand scale of the building makes these look like models, but they are car-sized. |
Moving
along to the famous arch, through which German soldiers once marched as they occupied
the city during World War II, we found the corner packed with tourists taking
selfies with the Arch in the background.
One can only marvel at the many lanes of traffic as it goes around the
monument, and wonder how many accidents they have. There seemed to always be a siren going by. Just crossing the many spokes on foot
takes quite awhile, but we found that all the selfie-takers stayed stuck in a
knot on the other side and never bothered to cross.
 |
Champs d'Elysess approaching the Arc de Triomphe
|
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| No really, it's huge! |
To
give you a little history from Wikipedia, the monument was designed in 1806 to
honor those who fought and died for France in the French Revolutionary and the
Napoleonic Wars. The names of all
French victories and generals are inscribed on its inner and outer surfaces,
and beneath its vault is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War I. The designs on the arch pits French
youths in a type of classical sculpture called 'heroically nude' against bearded
Germanic warriors in chain mail armor.
It set the tone for future public monuments with triumphant patriotic
messages. To give you an idea of
the large scale, three weeks after the Paris victory parade, which marked the
end of hostilities in World War I, a pilot named Charles Godefroy flew a
biplane right through the arch and it was captured on newsreel.
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| Nobody told these people there's no tourism in February |
From
there, we strolled towards the Eiffel Tower. The elevator had been broken the last time we were there and
we’d hoped to catch the view from the top this time. I had already gotten what I thought was the perfect shot of
the Eiffel Tower on our first trip, so I was obsessed with getting an even more
creative shot this time. The wind
was picking up, and in the distance dark clouds were rolling in. As we crossed a bridge, we noticed the
sun coming through the dramatic dark clouds, illuminating a beautiful, white
building up on a hill. We
determined that it was the Sacre Coeur Basilica atop the Montmartre
neighborhood, and knew that we would put it on our list to visit. Whoever wrote that winter was a great
time to visit Europe because there were no lines must have done this before
global warming became an issue, turning anytime into tourism time. We found a two-hour wait facing us to
ascend the tower and decided it wasn’t worth it to us to wait. We people-watched for a bit, and then strolled through the neighborhood, stopping at a cafe on the way.
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| OMG, we are so cool. |
By
the time we returned to our neighborhood, it was time to pick from the many
delicious restaurant choices in the Latin Quarter. The prix fixe menu boards [a fixed price for your choice of
appetizer, entrée and dessert] are displayed outside of each bistro along the
narrow streets. They are pointed
at enthusiastically by an employee, whose job it is to convince you that theirs
is the best, and hopefully entice you to come in. We were all hungry from our long walk. Ron and I started with a shrimp and
avocado salad. I chose the leg of duck, just to compare it to our friend’s Long Island Duck on the menu at the Red Pheasant on Cape Cod. It didn’t come close to Bill’s, but I just had to see. Ron chowed down on the filet mignon, and for dessert,
he had sorbet and I had something chocolate that was a total religious
experience. The boy who couldn’t
taste had a chef salad, spaghetti and fruit salad for dessert. The nightly ritual became asking him, “Can you taste anything, yet?”
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| We didn't eat at this one, but the colors caught my eye every time we passed. |
While
Ron and Doug watched the last available episode of Rick and Morty on the laptop, something gave me another
brilliant idea. [If you recall, I
already credited myself with one in London]. In each city, we’d fought the excessive warmth of the
down-filled duvets, throwing them off when we’d wake up soaked, then crawling
back under when we got chilled, and so forth. It suddenly dawned on me to remove the comforter from the
duvet cover and just use the cover, stuffing the rest into the top of the
closet. And, it only took me two
weeks to figure that out…so much better!
And, don’t forget, brilliant.
THURSDAY
– DAY 15
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| Sacre Coeur Basilica from afar |
Doug
and I breakfasted downstairs while Ron got some extra rest from our long walk
the day before, and we brought a plate of cheese, fruit and croissants and
espresso up to the room for him.
We decided to go to Montmartre to see the old artist’s neighborhood and
the beautiful, gleaming white Sacre Coeur Basilica. From Wikipedia again:
Montmartre is a neighborhood on a very large hill, which during the late
1800’s and early 1900’s became a place where many notable artists lived and
worked. It’s been featured in many
films. The Sacre Coeur [Sacred Heart] Basilica is a Roman Catholic church in Montmartre and the highest point
in Paris.
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| Up we go, and go, and go. |
The
Metro stop let us off near the bottom of the hill and as we approached the neighborhood,
we faced numerous flights of stairs.
No messing around, we were about to climb this mini-mountain, taking
breaks to turn around to see the city get smaller and smaller behind us. Finally at the top, we were rewarded
with the sight of the immense and ornate church that we’d seen atop this
hill from so far away. The sunny, central
cobblestoned square was full of artists painting and displaying their works,
looking just as it did centuries before.
Some of them roamed the crowd hoping to paint caricatures. The views of the city below were
magnificent, making landmarks like the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame look like
Legos. And, once again, dark
clouds began to roll in and people scattered to find shelter in bistros and shops from the downpour. It
was a good time for a bite to eat, and the closest place to us turned out to
be, of all things, an Irish Tavern.
It served decent French onion soup, and kept us dry until the clouds
passed.
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| A painter in the square. |
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| Time out to rest and observe. |
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| View from the Basilica steps |
We
opted not to walk up the 300-foot tower of the Basilica, and instead started to
make our way back to the Metro, stopping from time to time in little
shops. It was here that I
discovered Tcha Tcha’s, a Nepalese clothing shop. The colors were so radiant, they drew me right in, the way
an art exhibit might, and the all-cotton, unique designs hooked me. Not usually one to shop for, or spend
money on clothing, I had just planned to look, perhaps to find a gift to bring
back for Ginny, our cat and house caretaker extraordinaire. There was incense burning and it was such a pleasant place
to be, Ron seized the opportunity to talk me into trying and buying a pair of
pants while we were there. As if our
hedonist tendencies needed more seduction, we passed a biscuit shop afterwards,
which means cookies, cookies and more cookies, with a lot of butter. We were on a roll, but that bubble was about to get popped as
we descended the steps back to the Metro and encountered the “Paris string
men”. I didn’t know exactly what
they were up to, but I knew it was a scam and didn’t want to have anything to
do with it. I read later that
these super friendly men approach tourists requesting to show them a magic
trick, which involves tying string around your fingers and wrist. Ultimately, they make a very simple
bracelet and then try to charge you a ridiculous price for it. They are known to be so persistent that
tourists will give them money just to get them to leave them alone, which is
how Ron decided to deal with them, with a few coins from his pocket.
 |
A last look back as we descended caught the approach of more rain clouds,
this lone umbrella and some young lovers. |
On
our way, to the Metro, we passed a section of town that was full of shops with
tables piled high with clothing and merchandise. People were pulling up handfuls of things at a time,
searching for bargains. It was their version of thrift shops,
but blocks full of them. It was
also the antithesis of what one thinks of as Paris shopping. It looked like fun, but having just
purchased something, I wasn’t up to the hunt.
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| And, further down, this quiet carousel under Sacre Coeur's tranquil eye. |
When
we reached our Metro stop near the hotel, Doug went back to his room, and we
made a stop at a wonderful men’s clothing store called Celio’s, where Ron had
bought a couple of shirts on our first trip when he hadn’t packed the right
clothing. We thought he must have
left the bag of his socks in Amsterdam, so Celio’s came to the rescue again. Then, we picked up Doug and
decided to return to Café Panis to try their dinner menu since we’d had such a
nice experience the first time. My
leg of lamb with couscous and dried fruit was incredibly good and plentiful,
Ron’s breast of duck [although also not as good as Bill’s] pleased him, and
Doug’s Ginger-Lemon Chicken, well, at least filled him up even though he still couldn’t
taste it. Notre Dame was
right across the street, so we decided to walk over to view the outside at
night. There were musicians
playing informally in the big square in front, and the lights reflected beautifully on the Seine as we
crossed the bridge and discussed taking the train to Versailles the next day. It would have been a beautiful end to a beautiful day, but as
I checked email before turning in for the night, I was alarmed to see messages
from Facebook that many people were praying for a good friend of ours on the
Cape, but didn’t say why. I sent
emails to his family to try to find out what was wrong and hoped for an answer
in the morning.
FRIDAY,
DAY 16
With
still no response from the family, we decided to call one of his children, who
lived in Europe. We found that he’d
suffered a serious stroke and the family was gathering at the hospital from
both sides of the globe, and would try to keep us posted. We quietly considered cutting our trip short, and with heavy hearts, we started the day
at Starbucks for breakfast. [The
French cafes have tiny cups of espresso, and we craved our usual jumbo-sized
mug]. The day was gray with
occasional showers, and we decided to skip the day trip to Versailles and to just
walk the neighborhood to look for a gift for Ginny and consider whether we should leave Paris early. Doug opted to get some work done in the hotel room and rest
his cold from the damp, chill outside, so we didn’t feel too guilty about more shopping. At our first stop, I was doing my best
to communicate with the sales clerk in French when Ron just asked her if she spoke
English. It turned out she was
from Indiana and had married a Frenchman, and we all enjoyed just having a friendly
conversation in our native tongue.
The next shop yielded the perfect gift we’d hoped to find, the one where
you know it when you see it. We
carefully tucked away the sterling silver mandala earrings from Tibet with the green, Indian turquoise stones that we hoped she’d love.
 |
|
Crossing
the street, I was stunned to see another Tcha Tcha’s store. The colors glowed like a brilliant sunset under
the gloomy skies. Ron delightedly
pulled me inside, “just to look”, but his campaign to buy me a coat he’d seen
at the Montmartre store began again in earnest. “Just try it on,
please, and let me just see you in it.” We attracted the attention of a sales clerk who liked the
look of a husband encouraging his wife to try on clothes. Although she spoke almost no English,
as I selected a few things to try on she made note to herself what I liked and
began picking out more similar things for me to consider. This shop was bigger than the one in
Montmartre, and there was a big leather chair in the dressing room for Ron to
sit back in and enjoy a fashion show.
The two of them kept me trying on clothes for about two hours, making a
‘no’ pile and a ‘maybe’ pile. When
the maybe’s were getting out of hand, I said I still didn’t want to buy a coat
and it was time to pick a couple of things and move on. I tried to explain that for the cost of
the coat, I could pick two or three of the other items that I’d wear more. The two or three turned into six or
seven, after Ron began to bargain with the sales clerk, and with his creative
logic and generous heart, somehow talked me into a new wardrobe. I was wondering how I would pack it all
to go home.
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| French General & Field Marshall Phillipe Petain - but why, you might ask? |
We
were drawn to a restaurant that night with the most dignified greeter, who Ron
noted looked like a spitting image of the French General Phillippe Petain, a national hero of World War I and national disgrace of World War II. He was so warm
and charming, I was glad that we stopped, or I wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy
the delicious salad with goat cheese, beef bourguignon and chocolate
mousse. Each night, thereafter, he
greeted us warmly as old friends when he would see us walk by. While we were savoring our
dinner, looking out at the parade of people passing by, an Asian tour group
swarmed the front window and began taking pictures. It felt very peculiar to be the subject of someone else’s
vacation, especially while we were on vacation, but having taken close to 3000 pictures so far on this trip, myself,
I thought, why not? I'd probably done it, too.
When we returned to check
email, we found that our friend's condition had been upgraded and was improving
steadily, so we relaxed and looked forward to another day in Paris.
Wikipedia
to the rescue again: The Jardins
[gardens] du Luxembourg was created in 1612 by Marie de’Medici, the widow of
King Henry IV of France. They were
for the new Luxembourg Palace she had constructed that is now used by the
French Senate. The 30 hectares
[about 75 acres] including lawns, tree-lined promenades, over 100 statues and
monuments, flowerbeds, a gazebo, seating areas and fountains, are spectacular
in February, so I can only imagine how wonderful they are during the summer. As I said before, much was starting to
bloom early this year. But, we
were getting soaked and decided to retreat indoors after a good look
around. We’d found a cinema near
our Starbucks and settled in to watch the Oscar nominated movie, Spotlight. It was a bit ironic enjoying a movie
made in our town of Boston with French sub-titles, and it merited every good
review and Oscar it received.
Dried off and rested, we
set out to find our restaurant of the evening. Ron had something specific in mind, so we let him lead the
way and ended up at a place called Frogburgers. Let’s just
start by saying that the burgers were beef, not frogs. So, why the name?
There are many unsubstantiated reasons attributed to how the French came
to be disparagingly called “frogs”.
One explanation refers to the insults traded back and forth between the
English and the French, the French calling the English a nation of shopkeepers,
or “rosbif” for their love of roast beef, and the English calling the French a
nation of frog-eaters, which they were.
Another story dates back to the Middle Ages when the French flag had a
blue background with a gold fleur-de-lis, which some of the English thought was
a frog. Still another referred to the
swampy surroundings of Versailles where French nobility visited, inhabited by many frogs. And, yet another
refers to how well the French soldiers could hide from the British, like frogs. In an article I found by Dan Smith
called, Is It Okay To Call The French Frogs?, he says, “As with many 'insults', it really depends on the spirit
in which they are said. The
British and French have one of the longest-running love/hate relationships in
international history and calling each other rosbif and frog is just a running
joke, which I doubt anyone would take offense to unless they were
extraordinarily riled already.” That settles the
issue for me, and here’s what we found Frogburgers to be: the most delicious hamburgers we’d ever
had, with salads that could be substituted for fries. And, not only that, the owner and all the employees came
from the country of Columbia.
Sunday,
DAY 18- Valentines Day
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| Two valentines on the Seine |
With
good reports continuing to come in about our friend’s progress, we headed over
to take a long walk along the Seine.
The weather was the usual cloudy/iffy sky, but there was plenty to see
along this fast-moving river that made for great photo ops. On the way back, we encountered a 10k
race with big costumed characters stationed near the finish to cheer the
runners on. There was also a very
charming, young mime working the crowd for whatever Euros he could
earn for his efforts. A stop at our Starbucks on the way back
provided a particularly good brunch [brie, dried fruit and rocket wrap-the
rocket is what they call greens] and then Doug headed back for more rest for
his chest cold and a little work on his laptop.
 |
| Such a sweet face, but still watching my pockets. |
In June of 2015, 45 tons of padlocks were removed from the Pont des Arts bridge. the authorites stating that the weight was damaging the structure. The deputy mayor in charge of culture asserted that they had tried to be sensitive to the feelings of the lovers who had placed them, but he urged people to find another way to express their fervency. He declared that Paris was still "the capital of love and romance." This bridge was quite full, so will probably get the same treatment soon.
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| Two more valentines placing their 'Love Locks' on the bridge. |
 |
On our walk, we played
"which head on the bridge looks most like our friend in the hospital". |
 |
| We decided on the one on the right. |
On
our stroll towards the hotel, we passed a gallery with some striking paintings
in the window, so we stopped in to “discover” a new French artist by the name
of Esther Marlot. We were quite
taken with her Matisse-like style and colors, two in particular. The sales woman, who we found out was
from Siberia, did an admirable job of impressing upon us that this artist was
headed for more exhibitions and these were probably as low as her prices would
ever be again. It was tempting,
but we weren’t willing to part with that much money on a whim, and continued on
our walk. In
the next block, I spied an attractive display of earrings on a shop wall and we
went in to look. They were much
more in my price range and size than the paintings, and I indulged in two
pairs. We continued down the
block, and to my shock came face to face with Tcha Tcha’s again. Ron’s eyes lit up and he literally
dragged me inside by the arm, vowing to see that coat on me again. At first, the sales woman looked
concerned by the commotion, but when she recognized us came over with delighted
hugs. This time, Ron used the
Valentine’s Day ploy to get me to try on and purchase more things. He didn’t get to buy the coat he'd been so set on, but he
found one that I liked much more and began bargaining again until everyone was happy
and I had even more to pack.
The trip alone would have been treat enough for me. It’s such a rare thing for me to
splurge on myself that I decided just to let it go this time. The prices are very reasonable for the quality and creativity. If you’re ever in Paris, you must visit this wonderful store, but good luck "just looking". I’m quite
sure I will again, someday.
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| You don't need to speak the same language to communicate. |
In
our walks along the Latin Quarter to choose our restaurants for the evening, we
noticed at least one that had their meats and vegetables roasting on a
revolving grill in the front, and we opted to try one of them on this night. It was another good choice, including
roast chicken in béarnaise sauce, green salad with corn and beets, pomme frites
[real French fries], salmon over pasta, and beef with Roquefort sauce and
little potatoes. All delish!
 |
| Yum |
MONDAY
- DAY 19
On our last full day in Paris, we started with our usual Starbucks lattes and
muffins, then, took the Metro to the Chatelet les Halles neighborhood. Ron had a pilgrimage he felt strongly
about making. He had looked up the
address for the Charlie Hebdo weekly satirical magazine that had been attacked by
terrorists and wanted to visit to show his distain for the cowardly
attacks. We found our way to the
building, but when we knocked discovered that it was the old address and the new
one was being kept quiet.
 |
| Centre Georges Pompidou - Art inside and out |
Next
we headed to the Centre Pompidou, which houses a vast public library, as well
as, the largest museum of modern art in Europe. Once again, we encountered long lines that we didn’t wish to
stand in, but the trip wasn’t a wasted one. Per Wikipedia, the
Centre was designed by three architects, whose project was awarded to the team
in an architectural design competition.
It was the first time French architects had been allowed to participate
and they were one of 681 entries.
National Geographic described the reaction to the design as “love at
second sight”. An article in
Le Figaro, a French daily newspaper, declared “Paris has its own monster, just
like the one in Loch Ness.” [Parisians
also hated the Eiffel Tower when it was first built.] But two decades later, The
New YorkTimes noted that the design of the Centre “turned the architecture
world upside down” with its exposed skeleton of brightly colored tubes on the
exterior walls for the mechanical systems. All of the functional structural elements were
color-coded: green pipes for
plumbing, blue ducts for climate control, yellow electrical wires and red
circulation elements and safety devices.
The exterior, alone, was certainly a sight to behold and worth the
time. And...
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| Across the street, there were bright, motorized works of art in a pool, which we would have loved to see running, but even still, they were a sight to behold. |
The
next stop didn’t go as planned, either.
I had read about a large underground mall with gardens atop it at Les
Halles, which was close to Centre Pompidou. But, when we reached the location, we found that it was
under an enormous renovation. We
peeked at it from different viewpoints, but started to walk back to the hotel in the sunshine that had broken
through so we could rest and regroup. For me, that meant starting to see how much of the clothing purchased at
Tcha Tcha’s would fit in my suitcase.
Luckily, I always under-pack to leave room for purchases.
 |
A small part of the massive Les Halles underground mall project.
It reminded me of Boston's "Big Dig". |
We
found “General Petain” again for our last dinner in the French Quarter, and it
was my best dinner, yet. Close
your eyes for a minute and imagine a fresh tomato and mozzarella salad, Paella
with tender, sweet mussels and calamari, and then, chocolate mousse for
dessert. Ron tried the oysters,
mostly out of curiosity, and found that our Cape Cod Wellfleet oysters truly
are the best. We learned that
our “general” was named Gigio, and was from Italy. We thanked him for making us feel so welcome and told
him we would be returning to the U.S. the following morning.
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| "General Gigio Petain" - a dead ringer. |
NEXT: PART VI - THE CARPE DIEM TRIP CONCLUSION
TEASER:
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| A trip like this leaves one with so much to think about. |
