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