On the Streets of Paris

Sorry for the delay in getting this post out. My computer was NOT getting along with the internet service provider in Paris and since I've been home I have been battling the most pernicious case of jet lag I've ever had the misery to deal with. Add jet lag's habit of making me fall asleep at the drop of a hat any time of day, anywhere I am at that moment to the miserable heat wave we've been enduring here in SoCal (No shit? 95-degrees at eight in the morning AND nine o'clock at night? And triple digits in between??) and to be perfectly honest, I just haven't felt like sitting down and banging one of these posts out. However, last night I actually slept through the night for the first time since being home and the temperature is currently a relatively comfortable 81-degrees (at 7:30 in the evening), so here I am doing my journalistic duty. I'll do my best to make it worth the wait.

First things first. I lied. We did NOT go to Notre Dame (exactly) and the Louvre on day two. We met up with a friend of Greg's, had breakfast at a nice little sidewalk cafe, afterwards went for a long walk along the Seine, passing Notre Dame and finished up with an afternoon in the Jardin du Luxembourg (Luxembourg Gardens). So, now that we have THAT all cleared up...

Greg has a childhood friend named James who is a jazz guitarist that has lived in Paris for decades. He and Greg had not been in touch since high school, but Greg reached out to him in advance of our trip and he agreed to meet up with us and show us around a little. James called us at eight o'clock in the morning on our second day in Paris and told us to take the metro to Odeon, a neighborhood on the edge of the Latin Quarter. Shortly after we came up out of the station James came pedaling up on one of the ubiquitous "Velib" bikes you can rent throughout the city. More on that in a later post. After all the introductions were made, James led us into the Latin Quarter for breakfast and some time to visit and get acquainted.

Greg and James playing catch-up.

James is an incredibly interesting guy, as well as being a great tour guide. I will not try to tell his life's story in any detail as I will surely screw it up, but it goes roughly like this: Guitarist since childhood, got a music degree somewhere (I think?), joined the Coast Guard, after that moved to Spain and traveled around playing, came back to the US, met his wife, moved to Paris, played in Paris for quite a while doing the Bohemian musician thing, started having kids (two daughters), now teaches music at a middle-school (I think?) and teaches guitar to private students. A LOT of private students. On top of all that, he's one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet and very knowledgable about the history of Paris.

We walked along the streets for several blocks, past the square of St. Michel with its flocks of pigeons, a few camera draped tourists and young couples pushing strollers. We strolled down towards the Seine where you can see the bell towers and steeples of Notre Dame looming above the Ile de la Cite, one of two natural islands in the middle of the Seine. It was Sunday morning, so the streets were relatively quiet. The sidewalk cafes were already open, their tables starting to fill with hungry patrons and the shopkeepers who run the little stores and boutiques along the way were sweeping the sidewalks in front of their establishments. It was exactly how you'd imagine Paris to be on a Sunday morning.

The square of St. Michel.

Greg and James leading
the way.

The view from our breakfast table,
the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris

If you ever find yourself in Paris ordering breakfast, or any meal for that matter, allow me to offer some information to help you along. "Water" in French is "Eau", pronounced "oh". If you're from Souther California you will find this hard to believe, but the tap water in Paris is delicious. If you ask for water at a restaurant in Paris, and you don't specify tap water, they will bring you some way too expensive bottled stuff, usually sparkling. Ugh. So, if you want water, ask for a "carafe d'eau", pronounced "carafe doe" and they will bring you a bottle of tap water. Just so you know.

We sat down to eat in a little sidewalk cafe called "Le Petit Pont". We got a table right next to the sidewalk with a view of Notre Dame and the walkway along the river across the street. I had a delicious breakfast of coddled eggs with sausage and home fries. This dish was served in a way I was not expecting at all. It came to the table in a hot cast iron sauce pan with all the ingredients mixed together at the bottom. The sausage and potatoes had been cooked and dropped in the pan and then four eggs (whole, not scrambled) were poured over the top and it was finished, covered, in the oven. It was awesome, and not nearly as much food as it sounds like. It was served with croissants and baguette bread and cappuccino in a cup big enough to function as a jacuzzi. I wasn't too full to happily contemplate a day of walking the street and seeing the sights, but full enough to do it. Our day was off to a spectacular start. 

After a leisurely breakfast and much conversation, we decided the food had sunk into our bones enough that we could begin our journey. We headed east down Rue de la Bucherie and after a very short walk found ourselves standing in front of "Shakespeare and Company" bookstore. Shakespeare and Company was originally opened on a different site in 1919 by Sylvia Beach, a New Jersey native, and was a lending library as well as a bookstore. During the '20s, when the "Lost Generation" was in full swing, future literary giants like Hemingway, James Joyce, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ezra Pound used to hang around there. It was closed during the Nazi occupation and never re-opened. In 1951, another American ex-pat named George Whitman opened a book store at the present location, only it was named "Le Mistral". This was during the days of bohemian literature, and the store again found itself being frequented by literary stars-to-be like Alan Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs. When Sylvia Beach passed away in 1964, Whitman renamed the store "Shakespeare and Company" as an homage to the original. The store's clientele over the years reads like a who's-who of beat, bohemian and counter-culture writers. The store is now run by Whitman's daughter. It is still a gathering place for writers with regular readings and workshops, as well as sleeping quarters for young writers to use while they work in the store and work on their own projects. A very interesting place with lots of history and an amazing selection of used books. Yes, I came home with a couple. How could I not? 

Shakespeare and Company today.
Yeah, I know. The picture is a little blurry. My bad.

If you know me at all, you know bookstores are my kryptonite. I didn't have time to do any real shopping this day, but I made it back a few days later and got lost inside for a good hour. If you like bookstores like I do, set aside a decent amount of time to peruse the nooks and crannies in this place. It is amazing, and you'll be in Paris for chrissake!!

After a too brief spin through the bookstore, we ambled eastward a short way and crossed over one of the many bridges in the area onto the Ile de la Cite, where Notre Dame sits. The weather was perfect the whole time we were there so the walking was quite pleasant. At this point the streets were getting busy, but somehow the added hustle and bustle made the place seem cozier. It was a beautiful day. 

Looking west along the Seine.

Notre Dame is considered to be a fine example of French Gothic architecture. It is very ornate and it is massive. Dark. Fortress-like. For me, the overall impression was one of foreboding and gloom. But that's just me. It is not an uplifting, beautiful building like you would expect from a place of worship. It looks like a place you'd be brought to when you're in big, big trouble. During a thunderstorm the place would be downright frightening. 

North Rose Window.

North side of Cathedral.

The lines to get inside on this morning were too long to endure so we decided to come back on a weekday when we theorized it would be less crowded. After walking around the Cathedral we continued on our walk along the Seine towards the Louvre and back to where our morning began outside the train station in Odeon. Quasimodo must have been hanging out inside because I did not see any hunchbacks scurrying around the grounds.

Sights along the way...

River Seine

Local enjoying the day.

City Hall

Debby Harry was interviewed the first time Blondie played in Paris, and she was asked how she liked the city. Her response (and I'm paraphrasing) was something to the effect of, "I like it a lot. All these old buildings look like dusty wedding cakes". I see her point. Beautiful, old, dusty wedding cakes. 

"Love locks". I had never heard of such a thing, but my wife had. A love lock is when two sweethearts inscribe their names or initials on a lock, attach it some public structure (bridge, fence, gate, whatever) and then throw away the key to symbolize their unbreakable love. Barf. I know. As a guy it all seems rather silly and sappy, but girls love that stuff, so guess what Dorry and I did in Paris? Yup...

Yes, those are locks.

Railing have been known to collapse under the weight of the locks. Seriously.

Awwwww... 

Our last stop of the day was the Jardin du Luxembourg, or as we Yanks would say, Luxembourg Gardens. In 1611, Marie de Medici, the widow of Henry IV, decided to build a palace in Paris. She bought the Hotel Luxembourg and began building. Over the course of a couple of decades she purchased more land surrounding the palace and created the gardens that are there to this day. It's a very beautiful park with statues on the promenade around the basin directly behind the palace, and many fountains and statues tucked back in amongst the foliage. It's a very peaceful place to walk and there are many places to sit and contemplate the garden while enjoying the view, and you can even get an ice cream or coffee at the little snack bar there. 

Luxembourg Palace

The Medici Fountain

l'Acteur Grec (The Greek Actor) by Arthur Bourgeois

One of the many walking paths in the garden

After spending a couple of hours in the park we headed back to the apartment we were renting in the neighborhood of Boulogne. One of the best things about Paris is the fact that their underground train system is so simple a ten-year old could figure it out. Once you've ridden the trains and familiarized yourself with the maps and the way the trains run, you can find your way around the city with complete confidence whether you speak French or not. The trains are modern, clean, relatively quiet and I don't think we ever waited more than four minutes for a train. A very easy and convenient city to get around in. 

There are a couple of other quick asides I'd like to throw in. I've already spoken to the fact that the quality of the food here is superior to ours. The wine. Need I go on? You can buy a bottle of wine at the market for €2.00 (about $2.50) that you'd pay $40 for back home. Anything bakery related; baguettes, croissants, macaroons, cookies, crepes...all off the charts delicious. Believe it or not, the pizza here rivals anything I've ever had in NYC. And last but not least...

Cuban Cohiba

A nice dinner, a glass or three of some lovely red wine and a Cuban cigar after a day of seeing the sights with two of our closest friends in the City of Light. Does it get any better than that?

I hope you've enjoyed this latest installment of AdoAfield. There will be more to come from this trip. I will try not to let so much time go by before I get the next one out. 

Until next time....

Ado

Paris

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

Ernest Hemingway to a friend, 1950

I was never lucky enough to live in Paris as a young man. Hell, I was never lucky enough to have even traveled to Paris as a young man. As it stands right now this minute, I have only been lucky enough to spend three days of my entire fifty-seven years in Paris. Total. Three days and counting.

But I think Ernest Hemingway's assertion will hold true. Paris kicks ass...

The Palais de Luxembourg, built 1615-1645.
Commissioned by Marie de Medici, mother of Louis XIII.

I got out of bed at 5:00 Friday morning and started the long travel day to Paris, France. If you've ever been abroad you know that travel days are never fun days. They're more like going-to-the-dentist days. Uncomfortable, protracted, exhausting, but necessary if you want the payoff. For dental work, the payoff is eating and smiling with confidence. With traveling, the payoff is more unique to each traveler and tougher to define. But if you want true perspective and a sense of your place in this world, then traveling is your best bet.

We lifted off in San Diego at 7:45 am Friday and landed in Paris at 7:00 the next morning. I only managed to get a couple of hours sleep on the plane, but the adrenaline rush of being in a new country carried me through the day. On this trip, unlike every other trip I've taken abroad, I'm not traveling alone. I am accompanied by my wife, and we in turn are traveling with another couple, Jeannie and Greg. The four of us found our way from Charles DeGaulle airport to the apartment we rented for the week and began our day as innocents abroad.

It had been decided previously by the four of us that, upon our arrival, we would hit the streets running and go 'til we dropped. Jet lag is some pernicious shit, and it's been my experience that the quickest way to get past it, although not the most comfortable, is to ignore it as best you can and force yourself into a schedule that follows your norm. It hurts for a day or two, and you'll find yourself falling asleep at odd and inopportune times, but it beats the hell out of hanging out in your room and trying to ease into things. And it wastes less time. So off we went, plunging into Paris with a minimum of prior knowledge and a surplus of enthusiasm. First stop, probably the most iconic structure on the planet next to the pyramids at Giza.

The Eiffel Tower from about a half-mile
away

A little closer...

And, a little closer still.

The first impression that flashed through my mind upon seeing the Eiffel Tower was the sheer size it represents. Unless you've seen it in person you can't understand how enormous it is. In addition, some of the structure looks almost spindly in contrast to its mass. We spent the better part of two-hours walking around and under it, but the lines to go up were hours long and literally thousands of people deep. We agreed amongst ourselves that there was no way we were coming all this way and NOT going up, so we made reservations for our last night in Paris. Pictures and commentary will be forthcoming.

Paris is a walking city, and that has been my experience everywhere I've been in Europe. These old cities evolved before the automobile began fouling our lungs and assaulting our ears, so the necessities of life tend to be proximate to where people live. When you need groceries, you walk to the store. If you need to travel across the city for a distance that is too far to reasonably walk, you walk to the station and take the Metro (subway to you and me). Going out to dinner? Walk again. Stepping out for a cold drink? You guessed it.

If I walk around the block in the part of the city where we're staying I will pass a music store, a TexMex restaurant (no shit?), several brasseries/bistros/pizza joints, six or eight coffee shops, a bicycle shop with an amazing selection of high end road bikes, a music store, and the list goes on. On Sunday afternoon the wife and I walked across the street from our building and into a little plaza where we had a late lunch of pizza that would rival any pizzeria in New York for tastiness (my wife is a native New Yorker, and she will tell you the same thing). We walked past a sushi joint, a Middle Eastern restaurant and brasserie (read: French restaurant) to get there. The plaza was full of people of all ages out enjoying the sunny afternoon. Elderly couples out for a stroll, young families with children of all ages running around and playing noisily. We watched a father teaching his four or five year old daughter to ride a bike, running along next to her offering encouragement as she wobbled around the square. A cheerful, vibrant, chaotic, happy scene, and even though we were in a crowded residential neighborhood with five- and six-story buildings all around, there was very little in the way of vehicular traffic. Everyone was on foot.

We've all heard the stories of the haughty Parisiennes who refuse to speak English to foreigners and glare disdainfully when approached, and that is not altogether untrue. After observing the locals and interacting with them a time or two myself, I think I understand a little better why this is the perception so many people have. Imagine you're at work or walking down the street in your hometown, and you are accosted by a group of loud, pushy foreigners babbling at you in their native tongue. Imagine they are making no visible attempt to speak English, and it seems they are operating under the assumption that the louder and more insistent their tone, the better the chances are that you'll somehow magically gain the ability to speak and understand their language. Think you might find that a little annoying? Well, Parisiennes do too, and it has been happening to them constantly. For decades. I think I understand why they're a little testy. In certain parts of the city, the parts where tourists tend to be most often, I saw this little scene played out time and time and time again. One other thing, and I'm sorry to be the guy to tell you this, but Americans are the worst. If you ever want to know why the rest of the world finds us so distasteful, just observe your fellow Americans when they're in someone else's country. It ain't pretty.

My recommendation? Do yourself a favor. Learn a little French. Learn to ask how much things cost, and where are the restrooms, can you tell me how to get to...? Please, thank you and excuse me go a long way, too. A little effort on your part to be prepared will make your time here easier and more fun, and prevent you from totally aggravating the natives. They're not as bad as they're made out to be.

After oohing and aahing at the Eiffel Tower for the better part of two hours, we decide to head over to the Champs Elysees for a gander at the Arc de Triomphe.

The Arc de Triomphe is a monument built during the reign of Napoleon. It was commissioned after Napoleon's victory at Austerlitz. The French haven't always been wussies. It now stands as a monument to honor all the French who have fought and died for France, and there is also their "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier" located underneath the arch. It is located in the center of the largest traffic circle in the world, and you have to go through a tunnel to get out to it because the French drivers would gleefully squash you like a bug with their cars if you dared attempt to cross the street.

The Champs Elysee

The Arc de Triomphe

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

As mentioned earlier, the Arc de Triomphe sits at one end of the Champ Elysees in a gigantic traffic circle. Champ Elysee is a very wide street in a very pricy part of Paris. Think New York's Fifth Avenue on steroids. It's very wide, very crowded and very noisy. There you will find all the upscale shops and stores that women like my wife and her friend Jeannie, with whom we are traveling, find so alluring. So, after leaving them standing in line at the Louis Vuitton store (yes, she bought something, don't ask) Greg and I walked down to the Arc. Another perception we Americans have about France is that there are tons of beautiful women, all dressed very stylishly, gliding up and down the street on long, shapely legs. I am happy to report that this perception is absolutely true! According to our wives, the men here ain't too bad either. When you come here, be prepared to see lots of very well dressed, very attractive people. Hey, I'm just reporting the facts...

Sunset in Paris

Sunset on the Champs Elysees

After meeting back up with the girls, the four of us headed back to our apartment and called it a night. The wife and I had been awake for close to thirty-six hours straight and all four us had been walking practically non-stop since seven o'clock that morning (Paris time) and it was now approaching nine o'clock in the evening. It stays light until nine, so we didn't realize how late it was until we looked at our phones. Shortly after arriving back at the apartment, the dual pole-axe of jet-lag and fatigue caught me square in the head and I went down for the count. It was a fantastic first day in Paris, a non-stop barrage of sights, sounds and tastes to make the senses sing.

The next day we visited the cathedral at Notre Dame and the Louvre, and also went for a nice walk through the Latin Quarter and along the Seine with an ex-pat friend of Greg's named James (don't call him Jim) who turned out to be not only one of the nicest guys I've ever met, but an incredibly informative guy who has one of the most entertaining life's stories I've ever heard. I'll talk about all that and more in the next installment.

And just so you know, I've run into a couple of technical difficulties here that are hindering my ability to post in a timely manner. The kind of difficulties that come with using a six-year old laptop in a foreign country. I'll get the next post out as quickly as I can.

Until next time...

Ado