Paris - Day 3



Day 3 – Saturday August 28^th

The key to our hearts, if not to the city

Our destination today was a big flea market in the 14th Arrondissement (neighborhood) which is south of our hotel.  It looked like a fairly long walk, and Chris wasn’t feeling terribly swell, but since we hadn’t ever visited that part of the city, we decided – ‘hey, we have all day, so why not hoof it’.  Chris was sure her new Keds sneakers would be just the ticket for a day long stroll (wrong), and would certainly be better than her flip flops (oh, so wrong).  

We started by crossing the Seine at the bridge called Le Pont des Arts, or the Bridge of the Arts.  We saw it decorated with innumerable padlocks and wondered what the story was.  Using this as a good reason to approach a total stranger, Chris asked two fellows who were sitting on a bench in the middle of the bridge if they knew what the locks meant.

“Yes,”, one of them replied. 

Pause……

“Would you like me to tell you?”, he asked with a mischievous smile. 

“Why yes,”, she replied. 

So he proceeded to tell us that this bridge was a favorite meeting place for two lovers, who were also artists known for their edgy risqué style, Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Dirkin.  A fad/tradition began (about 2 years ago according to one internet source) of couples putting locks on the bridge as a symbol of their undying love.  Well, Jane and I said it was too bad we were sisters and couldn’t put a lock on the bridge. 

Our stranger said, ‘You love each other, right?”

“Well, yes, we guess we do at that.”, we replied.

“Then go ahead and put a lock on the bridge!” he urged.

“Well, ok then!”

That settled, we decided we had to be on the lookout for a store that sold padlocks before our trip was over. 

Our friendly stranger turned out to be a fellow named Jean who was enjoying the view from the Pond des Arts with a friend from South Africa whose name was unusual enough that I didn’t quite catch it for posterity.  Here, however, is a picture of the two of them.







Jane and Chris on Le Pont des Arts




Another type of  'Locks for Love'




Jane on Le Pont des Arts with some of the Love Locks

The Price of Relief

And so on to the 14^th A and the big flea market that was written up so appealingly in Frommer’s Paris book.  We knew it was going to be a long walk, but we weren’t sure just how far because the flea market was beyond the area of our map.  (I looked it up on Google maps after we got back home and estimate we walked between 4 and 6 miles – each way!)

We found ourselves in the St-Germain area when Chris decided she needed to find a little girl’s room.  But being disinclined to pay a euro to use the public potty, she made the seemingly rational suggestion of stopping for a cup of something hot which might settle her still-not-quite-right tummy.  That way she could use the café’s jeunne fille’s room for free.

Sounded like a good plan until we got the bill for our 1 cup of coffee and 1 cup of tea and found that they cost 5 euro apiece, or roughly 7 bucks a cup! 

It was, Chris is pretty sure, the most expensive piddle she’s ever taken.

Here’s an interesting store window we passed along our way.

How many stacking dolls do you count?



The Treasure Hunt

We continued our walk which took us down a street with lots of Frenchy type stores such as those filled with beautiful cheeses of all sorts, and those filled with beautiful chocolates and confections.  We stopped frequently to consult the maps posted on every bus stop and wrote down the street names we needed to find in order to get to our destination. 

I recall that Rue Didot was a common theme that day (pronounced Roo dee DOH).  We said it as often as we could.  Rue Didot, Rue Didot.  Rolls off the tongue in a fun way, like Walla Walla Washington or Fon du Loc.  Rue Didot.  Try it.  You’ll want to say it over and over again.

We passed the Gare du Sud (Southern train station) (jane is this right?)  which was chock full of folks of all sorts and sported a carousel for the kiddies.  At this point Chris’s feet begin to feel the first signs of the pedal  discomfort to come.

The 14^th A is quite a nice city neighborhood with a lot of ethnicity and a different feel from ‘Paris central’.  There was a lovely little bakery where we purchased and shared a tasty raisin filled croissanty type roll

A pretty architectural detail - one of at least a bazillion in Paris



3 layered buildings in the 14th A.

Above and below, two perspectives on a pretty view from a pedestrian overpass in the 14th A.

L’ARRIVEE!!

When we finally got to the flea market at around 1:30, the vendors were already beginning to pack up. 

Nooooooo!!!!! 

Not after we’ve walked so far! 

Not after enduring Chris’s ever increasingly sore feet. 

Not after reading in Frommers that the market was open until 4:00, for Lord’s sake!

But alas, ‘twas true.  They were packing it in.  Still, we each managed to find some treasures that made the trip worthwhile – in Chris’s case, little Lord of the Rings figures she hadn’t seen before – in Jane’s case little naked ceramic ladies (don’t ask).

And so we headed toward home with Jane’s new treasures packed not nearly well enough to ensure their safety from breakage, in Chris’s fretful opinion.

Visiting the Dearly Departed

We planned to visit the Cemetery Montparnasse on our way back, but stopped for a drink along the way to give Chris’s protesting feet a rest.  We talked with two fellows at the next table who were from the West Indies.  One of them was wearing an Obama T-shirt, and learning that we were Americans, inquired what we thought about our black president.  And so we chatted a bit about that. 

Jane thought they were hot for us.  Chris said, if that was true, then hip-hip-horray, cuz that just doesn’t happen to her so much anymore.  But before finding out for sure, we opened our umbrellas, bid them a bon jour and made a hasty retreat – well, as hasty as Chris’s feet would allow at any rate.

Cemetery Montparnasse was quite nice, and would have been even better if Chris hadn’t needed a wheelchair by then.  She enjoyed the view from a conveniently located bench while Jane perused the aisles for Saint-Saens.  We didn’t end up finding either Saint-Saens’ or Brancuzzi’s graves but we did find Sartre’s along with many others who had wonderfully beautiful monuments, as you can see.

View through the doors of a typical shrine or sanctuary building on an individual's grave.  It's no bigger than an old fashioned closet - maybe 5 by 5 feet.



Above and below, two views of a monument we found particularly engaging.  Look at the beautiful tile work at the top.

From the outside, looking into another individual's little shrine building.  The door has the ironwork.  The stained glass is at the back of the shrine.

Just love this one

'Can I get you some chicken soup?' Jane asks.

Above and below, two views of this monument to beat all monuments.  But then Paris's cemeteries are full of monuments to beat all monuments.   



A Rash Decision

The rest of our return trip to the hotel Chris endured by making it from resting point to resting point.  One such resting point was the Jardin du Luxembourg, a beautiful park with many flowers, fountains and – most importantly – chairs for temporarily crippled tourists.    

Beautiful details, and showing the typically wonderful weather we enjoyed during the trip

Above and below, Jardin du Luxembourg

Une jeune fille consulting map in the Jardin



Your guess is as good as mine.

That evening we had a fabulously good meal consisting of a yummy chicken club and marvelous risotto with veggies at a famous eatery called Les Editeurs near the Jardin and in an area known historically for its book publishers.  Chris’s tootsies enjoyed the respite more any anyone else.

When at last we arrived back at the hotel and got into our jammies, we noticed that Chris’s calves sported a very red and fevered rash.  The pictures don’t quite do it justice, but suffice it to say it was a really weird phenomenon.  The rash was only on the part of her legs where her socks lay, so we can only figure it was a reaction to something in the sock material.  The rash persisted for most of the rest of the trip, albeit in a diminished state as the days passed.

Eeeuuuwwwww!!



American vs French sensibilities

It’s interesting to note a very different sensibility in what one sees along Parisian streets vs American streets.  Even in avant garde NYC, I’m pretty sure you won’t see post cards sporting full frontal female nudity along every tourist route.  And buttocks and boobies abound!  Oh, I suppose we Americans think about them as much as the next guy, but we don’t usually have to worry about our 4 year olds asking, ‘Mommy, what is THAT?” while we are perusing the post card racks.

And what is this thing they have with portrayals of public peeing?  I don’t get it. 

Paris - Day 2

Day 2 – Friday August 27^th

We had ordered our breakfast to be delivered to our room at 7:30.  It arrived promptly, and Chris learned why Jane had chosen the bed farthest from the door – it was so that CHRIS was the one who had to get up to let the breakfast deliverer into the room.  Crafty girl….

Our breakfast, as it did every morning, consisted of 4 bread/croissants each, fresh squeezed OJ, plain yogurt, an assortment of condiments and ‘American’ coffee (somewhere between real coffee and espresso). 


This morning we began a pattern that repeated itself several times throughout our stay - get up long enough to drink our coffee before it goes cold, then lay back down for a few extra winks before we really get up.

(Jane adds: It was really a decadent feeling.)

(Jane adds: They also gave us cheese, fresh butter and assorted designer jams.  We would save some of it for lunches and the birds, (pictures to follow))

Le Marais

Jane and I decided that today we would tour the section of Paris called Le Marais, which means literally The Marsh.  It was to le Marais that the citizens of the Ille de Cite migrated around the 13^th C when the Ille became too crowded.  Since then it has gone through the ups and downs of many urban areas, being the aristocratic center in the 17^th C, seeing a downfall as the aristocracy opted for places like Fauberg St- Germain in the 18^th C, etc.  It is seeing a resurgence in popularity again and is a popular area for artists and such. 

(Jane adds some history:  This area is also the thriving hub of Paris’s gay life as well as literary, artistic and entertainment crowds.  From the end of the 100 year war beginning with Charles VII, the Marais became the home of the French kings, living in the Palais de Tournelles.  That was until Henri II was killed in a jousting tournament.  His grieving widow, Catherine de Medici, was so heartbroken, she had the palace torn down and replaced with a horse market.  Henri IV decided he wanted to build another palace and started with a grand square surrounded by stone and brick pavilions.  Unfortunately Ravaillac dashed the palace dreams by assassinating Henri, but the grand square remains today.) 

(Chris adds:  Jousting, assassinations, so much blood.  Reminds me that Jane bought a pretty hilareous book called A Bloody History of Paris, or something like that.

We very much enjoyed the neighborhood feel of the Marais.  In particular we enjoyed strolling along the Place de Vosges, touted as Paris’s oldest square.  One walks under arch covered walkways covering the old brick and stone pavilions that house artists’ galleries, eateries and trendy upscale shops. 

(More cool history from Jane: These are the pavilions that Henri built.  It is interesting that the 36 rooms (now stores) have an arched opening façade that has a height exactly equal to the width and the peaked roofs of each arch is exactly half as tall as the façade opening.  This was also the one time homes for Hugo, Daudet and Gautier.)

It was not too crowded, and we enjoyed a glass of wine in one of their outdoor cafes as we listened to a young man play beautiful clarinet to a taped symphonic accompaniment.  He was really quite good and we slipped a euro into his hat. 

Jane is looking back at the clarinet player from our table.  We also bought a couple of nice paintings from a vendor nearby who took our photo for us – the only one of the two of us we got in the whole trip, I believe. 

(Jane notes: Chris, you need a new camera.  I know that a camera is supposed to add 10 lbs but yours add 30 to each of us.)

(to which Chris responds:  Indeed, I’m quite sure I had my camera on the 'wide bum' setting.)

Below are pictures from an architectural detail found in the

gardens of the Hotel Betune - Sully adjacent to the Place des Vosges

Walking on from Place des Vosges, we had a falafel lunch in the Jewish quarter, the last remaining vestige of a once thriving Jewish community in Paris, pre WWII. 


(Jane say: Actually it still looked pretty thriving to me.  There was an abundance of black hats and yarmulkes and ethnic food.  It was really hard to pick which restaurant to go to.)

After the Marais we spent a short time in the Louvre, looking again at the medieval artistry (almost entirely church related) that Chris loved so much from the last trip.  It still somehow draws her.  Perhaps she lived during that time in a previous life.   

Here are two of the odder items of that exhibit.

 I call this one 'My Tummy Hurts'.  Apparently, after the folks in that era wearied of the idealized funerary monuments, they became enamored of the realism genre which depicted what actually happens to the body after death.  The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out. 

This I lovingly call, 'Why One Doesn't Stand Naked Over One's Dog'

DON’T YOU BELIEVE IT!

It was as we were getting ready to enter the Louvre that we encountered our first ‘dropped ring’ scam artist.  It would not be the last time.  It goes like this.  Someone walks past you, leans over and presumably picks up a gold looking ring from the ground and asks if it’s yours.  You say no, it isn’t yours, look at it inquisitively and hand it back to the person.  They offer for you to keep it saying it’s your lucky day.  They start to walk away then turn back around and ask, since you’ve been so lucky as to be given a gold ring, if you wouldn’t be able to spare some money so this person could eat. 

As I say – DON”T YOU BELIEVE IT!

(Jane relays a harrowing tale….. Sometimes I wonder about my sister’s sanity.  All of these scams are pretty well orchestrated, like holding your child and begging right next to an ATM, so obviously there is an underground movement.  As we are heading back to our hotel one evening, we see the same perps trying their game on some fresh tourists across the street.  So here is my sister across three lanes of traffic, waving her arms and yelling “No, don’t do it, it’s a scam!!!”  I look at her in abject horror waiting for the Gypsy Mafia to recreate the St. Valentine’s Day massacre on this heroic female trying to foil their plans.  I didn’t walk past that place for a few days.)

Architecture and Oddities

Paris abounds with beautiful architectural details.  I’m talking serious architectural overload.  During our walks this day, Chris couldn’t help capturing some pictures of the Samaritaine building.  Notice the reflected scenes in the store windows as well as the art nouveau tiling.

And by the way, Parisians read seriously bizarre stuff.

By the end of the day it became clear we were still under the influence of EDT. We were pretty pooped out, so for dinner we found a nice outdoor café near the hotel and ate some good soupe a l’oignon and wine.  There we met two kindred spirits in the form of Mary Jo and Phillipe.  They had fun trying out their little bit of English with us, and we had fun trying out our little bit of French with them.  We bought them a round of wine and talked about American and French movies/actors/actresses.  She was all agog over Edward Norton, of all people.  Well, I guess someone has to be.

(Jane notes: One misses so much if they don’t get out and enjoy the people and the ambiance.)

Dancing the Two Step

Our room had two short steps that went from the level where our beds were to the level where the bathroom was.  The first night, being extremely dark in the room, Chris missed the steps entirely coming back from the bathroom and was fortunate not to re-sprain her ankle (which she sprained a few months earlier by missing a step in her house), or break something else equally as valuable. 

After that, each time one of us came back to bed in the dark the other one called out ‘two steps’ so we wouldn’t faw’ down, go boom.  

(Jane adds:  The other person would invariably wake up because you almost had to crawl over one another to get to the bathroom, and if that didn’t do it, the toilet flushing would.  It was never an option not to flush because one of us always prefers a fresh bowl. So I would rather hear that than the consideration of trying to let me sleep.  Food for thought, if Chris took two steps to get up to the bathroom, wouldn’t it be logical that there would be two steps down?)

(Ha ha.  Very funny)

Paris 2010 - Day 1

Day 1 - Thursday August 26^th

The Arrival

Many improvements seem to have been made to Chas. de Gaul Airport since last we visited and found it to be a throwback from the Jetsons.  It was much nicer than we remembered. 

We arrived without incident, but the incidentlessness didn’t last long……… 

As we were nearing customs Jane began looking doggedly for her passport - with no success.  We both combed through every crevice of her carry-on bag - to no avail.  I must say, Jane was outwardly very calm and collected as she declared that we had to go back to the plane to see if she’d left it there.  She promises that inwardly she was utterly verklempt!  Of course once you have left the secure area, you can't go back.  Thankfully, the security fellows got back to the plane and shortly came back with passport (and cash, credit card – Jane’s whole enchilada) in hand.  This was not the last time the good Lord looked out for us on this trip.

(Jane says:  Inwardly, I was a wreck.  I was certain that our whole trip would be ruined, I would be escorted out of the country in penury and I would never get to see Johnny Depp.  He lives in France you know.)

(Chris replies:  Shoot, I KNEW that hunky guy who was giving me the eye from across the bistro looked familiar!)

We got our checked bags, found our pre-arranged driver quickly and arrived at our hotel in time to take a little sieste (no, not siesta.  This is Paris, remember?) before heading out for our first foray onto the streets of Paris.

The First Foray

 We decided we had the energy to tackle a smallish walk, so we selected the Latin Quarter on this first afternoon without a full night’s sleep and still very much on EDT.  Though our walk began with the fountain, Place St. Michel (Davioud’s 1860 sculpture of St-Michel slaying the dragon), familiar to us from our last visit, it was the first time either of us had really explored that section of Paris.  We liked it very much.  It has a nice city neighborhood feel with quiet streets, lots of flowers and some hills. 

 (Jane adds:  Also included in this fountain area are the engraved names of those that died fighting the Nazis in 1944.)


Une jeune fille in front of a pretty Parisian fountain

 




Une jeune fille is wary of the Puking Sphynx

 

We walked past the Sorbonne – a huge structure - the famous university founded in the 13^th century.  It boasts past  professors such as Thomas Aquinas and Roger Bacon and alumni that include Dante, Calvin and Longfellow. 




La Sorbonne est un grand place!

 




Clock on exterior of Sorbonne

 


One corner of the Sorbonne's roof

 




A courtyard approaching the Sorbonne

 

I happened to see the architectural corner piece dedicated to Geology and took a photo in John’s honor.



This is a shot inside what I beleive was St-Severin, but it might have been Eglise de la Sorbonne or perhaps even St-Julien-le-Pauvre.  So many cathedrals.......

(Jane says:  We wanted to see some sites we missed the first time around, and I decided this trip I’d allow my sibling to wear comfortable shoes, because the only way to truly see Paris is to walk it.  In addition to the Sorbonne we also passed the Musee de Cluny which was something we fortunately decided we may want to come back to later in the trip.  One of the very many churches we saw on this stroll was St. Severins which was built in the 11^th century with further additions in both the 13^th and 16^th centuries, quite a cacophony of architecture and brilliant workmanship.)

(Chris interrupts:   Don’t you just love the word cacophony?)

(Jane continues:  This walking tour was primarily an architectural gawking tour which included everything from remnants of Roman Baths to the smallest house in Paris and one time homes of luminaries from Dante to Mitterand.   We were both rubbing out the crinks in our necks for the rest of the evening.)

We ended our first day on Paris by having a nice prix fixe dinner and heading to bed before dark - though it surely was dark over on the EDT side of the planet. 

On This Day in History

As we strolled around town we noticed fresh bouquets of flowers in many locations around the city.  They were hung through iron loops attached to various buildings, each located under a plaque on the building that honored the people who had lived, gone to school, or were transported from their homes to the building and detained there awaiting deportation to Nazi extermination camps.  When we asked about the occasion for the flowers, we were told that this was the 66^th anniversary of the liberation of Paris at the end of World War II.  It was very sobering to think that it was only 66 years ago – a mere 3 generations – that Paris and the rest of Europe endured such man made Hell (but then, isn’t all Hell manmade?).

Here is an example of one of the plaques we saw.

  

It translates as follows:

Arrested by the Vichy Government police, collaborators of the Nazi Occupation, more than 11,000 children were deported from France from 1942 to 1944 and assassinated at Auschwitz because they were born Jewish.

More than 500 children lived in the 4^th Arrondissement.

Among them, students from this school.

Never forget them.

(picture credit - picture found in Jennifer's blueparis.net website)

Paris 2010 - The Send Off

Acknowledgements

Chris would like to thank her sister, Jane, for making it possible to fly among the peacocks and not among the chickens.

(Jane says: I don’t really care for chicken plumage)

Chris would also like to thank her friend and literary cohort, Elizabeth Graham, for sending her the link to Christopher Moore’s Paris blog to get us in the mood for our trip.  You, too, can enjoy his exploits (complete with expletives) by going to the following link: 

http://blog.chrismoore.com/index.php/archives/476

 Jane and I had many a giggle over Mr. Moore's unique brand of observation, and it gave our entire journey a ‘snogging’ subtext.   

Verb, 1. snog - touch with the lips or press the lips (against someone's mouth or other body part) as an expression of love, greeting, etc

Wednesday August 25^th

The Departure

Jane and I began our latest travel adventure smartly dressed in similar travel friendly black slacks and jackets, first class tickets and passports at the ready.  Our toes were freshly polished and even Chris wore a full complement of makeup.  But the similarities ended when we looked at our suitcases.  Jane’s was a brand new raspberry colored piece with 4 swivel wheels for easy lugging.  Chris’s on the other hand -- wasn’t.  She toted a well traveled and well worn black number, similar, certainly, to 80% of all other travelers’ bags with the exception that she’s pretty sure hers was the only one sporting both duct tape and electrical tape.

(Jane says:  Black is not only avant gard but the real reason is that it is slightly slimming which to two menopausal metabolically challenged women is important. I don’t lug which infers schlepping, I simply pull along the raspberry hued luggage complete with the brightly colored name tag with the saying "I don’t do coach". Sadly Chris is correct, her luggage did indeed bear tapes of the duct and electrical vintage. Please excuse the pun, it was ‘very tacky’.)

(Chris replies:  Yea, but who’s going to break into a tacky black bag like that? They’d go for the raspberry parfait, for sure.)

The Journey

This was Chris’s first time traveling first class on an international flight since IBM sent her to Germany in 1982.  This IS the way to go, she avows, if one can possibly afford the extra fare.  One feels so much more rested upon arrival, and it’s so much easier on increasingly cranky bones.  Aside from that, one gets a full sized pillow and quilted blanket, plus a ditty bag filled with ear plugs, socklets, eye masks and all sorts of other wonderful stuff. 

Jane was all about the unlimited champagne.

(Jane says: This was great, one never had to ask for more. Champagne upon boarding, straight through dinner, the night and even for breakfast. For the Eloise lovers, when they refilled my glass for the third time, I looked at Chris and said " I just love the Plaza")

We departed Grand Rapids to the hugs and well wishes of Phil and the insistent yips of their amazingly small dog, Moe.  Our connecting flight in Atlanta was on time and we hit the skies for Paris already feeling the glow of said unlimited champagne (though Jane did manage to waste some of hers spilling it into Chris’s seat…)

(Jane says: This was only the first glass so it was indeed an accident)

Speaking of seats, they supposedly fully reclined, but actually – not quite.  It was certainly better than coach, but it occupied our first hour of flight trying to figure out the controls.  Jane somehow found Chris’s experiments in seat adjustment amusing, because at one point Chris is sure she saw champagne coming out of Jane’s nose from laughing so hard.

(Jane says:  The seats are actually built for taller people and don’t quite fit those of smaller stature.  Chris began to push the button to recline the back of her seat and with each successive push, she kept fading lower and lower until her poor body was in a compacted heap on the lower third of the “chair”.  I couldn’t even begin to help her because she just kept slip sliding away and I couldn’t quit laughing, it was one of those ‘you had to be there’ moments.  Suffice it to say that all my societal aplomb went to hell as I was reduced to a fit of laughing hysteria.)