Paris Is Always A Good Idea, Part II

My stomach drops like a bomb on Paris during World War I as I realize my camera does not work.

Sean is standing in the Cour Carree courtyard of one of the most famous museums in the world -- the Musee du Louvre -- and my camera 's battery decides to die!  Damn it to hell -- if only the mail had delivered my back-up battery a day earlier! 

A few days before, as we waited in the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport for our flight to France, I checked my Amazon.com order and discovered that they had attempted to delivered it to our house at 9 that morning -- mere hours after we had left.  A lot of good that would do since I needed it for the trip.  I tried to tell myself everything would be ok if I kept my existing battery fully charged.  Liz, always so full of wisdom said, "Maybe that will teach you to order these things sooner than a few days before you need it."  My mumbled reply would only encourage more wisdom, so I licked my wounds and kept my mouth shut.

 

Two days later, as my battery dies on the threshold of the Louvre, Liz's words echo in my mind again.

As Sean disappears through the arch into another area leading to the museum's main courtyard and entrance, I remind myself to keep my mouth shut again -- this time because it is hanging open in amazement at the massive, yet beautiful building before me.  Its symmetrical design with vertical pilasters and colonnades resembles a majestic palace infused with decorative Greek gods and statues of important French figures.

As I rush forward to find Eric, Sharon, Sean and Liz, I enter the museum's main courtyard which is dominated by the Louvre's famous glass pyramid.   To my left and right (as well as behind me) stretch the Denon, Richelieu and Sully wings of the museum with more pilasters and colonnades topped by black steep boxy mansard roofs.  Fountains adorn the courtyard, with people standing nearby snapping pictures.  Damn the U.S. Postal Service!

In the distance I can see Jardin des Tuileries with its geometrical gardens, the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel and a picturesque Ferris wheel.  Blue skies have finally returned after this morning's rain.  It's a glorious view, one that French rulers like King Louis XIV would see every day before this palace was moved to Versailles.

A braid of people snake through the courtyard, waiting to enter the museum and get out of the day's heat.  Thanks to our museum passes, we are able to skip the wait and enter through doors which are integrated into the pyramid's glass walls.  I am excited as we descend the staircase that will take us into the museum's galleries and exhibits.  After so many years, I am about to see great works of classical art like Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory of Samothrace.  And famous paintings like Da Vinci's Mona Lisa and Rembrandt's The Supper at Emmaus.   

It is just the beginning of a week filled with great museums like the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay,  the Petit Palais Musee des Beaux Arts and of course, the Fragonard Musee du Parfum.  Ok, maybe the last one isn't on the list of Paris' greatest museums, but rest assured Eric, Sean and I won't forget our tour guide anytime soon.




The architecture in Paris is so opulent that it stops you in your tracks -- often right in the middle of the road.   Which, given the way people drive in Paris, is not a good idea.  The city's museums, hotels and gardens feature such an abundance of riches that it amazes you when you come across another structure that's even more decadent.

I've spent the morning on my own following the River Seine on my way to the Eiffel Tower.  Along the way, I see Gothic architecture represented in Notre-Dame and Sainte Chapelle, the royalty of la Consiergerie (the prison where Marie Antoinette lost her head), and the renovated train station called Musee d'Orsay with its beautiful twin clocks. 

Even bridges are adorned with gold -- like the Pont Alexandre III, a beaux-arts style bridge with its exuberant lamps, cherubs, nymphs and winged horses on either end.  It practically puts the Eiffel Tower to shame. 

Don't get me wrong, the Eiffel Tower is awesome.  Next to the Mona Lisa, is there anything that says Paris like the Eiffel Tower?  It's size dominates the skyline as I walk along the river, passing newsstands selling everything from newspapers, magazines, posters, old books and artwork.  I pass people selling various-sized Eiffel Towers and small crowds of people playing a game where you try to guess the location of a disappearing ball.

But compared to the collection of museums and hotels that I passed on the way, the Eiffel Tower is simple -- almost mundane.  It's best features appear at night, when the tower is lit with alternating colors that can be seen from miles away.

It reminds me of Disneyland.  If you've ever been to the Epcot Center in Florida, you may remember its World Showcase featuring little villages from different parts of the world.  In "Impressions of France" you will find a little French village that looks just like parts of Paris.  You know you're looking at something that looks like it's centuries old, but it was really made in 1998.  At the time, I thought it was pretty cool.  Today, standing in Paris -- doing my Mary Tyler Moore impression -- I look all around me and see streets filled with Disney impressions.   The difference is, here the buildings really are four hundred to eight hundred years old.





 

Speaking of impressions, everyone should add sitting at a Paris café to their bucket list.  You can't walk more than a few blocks before you run into one.

Sidewalk brasserie-style cafes are the epitome of what it means to be French.  With their colorful awnings -- highlighted with red, yellow and purple flowers -- they add instant appeal to every corner. 

A typical café will have small tables under an umbrella for shade, with chairs facing the street so you can watch people walking past.  These tables are so close that you think you must know the people next to you.  If you're lucky, the sound of classical music from a school across the street or someone playing the accordion will reach your ears when there's no traffic driving by.

On the day we asked Sean if he wanted to join us in Paris, you could tell his first thought was:   sitting at a café, sipping on a beverage and reading a newspaper?  Yeah, I could do that.  He didn't even have to open his mouth -- the answer was written all over his face.

Today we are sitting at a quiet café for a breakfast of freshly baked croissants with jam, a pain au chocolat, some sliced fruit, yoghurt and a cup of hot chocolate.

Sitting outside, with the morning sun highlighting the dome of a gothic church across the street, I am able to see a delivery truck delivering fresh fruit, the ever-present moped buzzing by and a few people walking to work after last night's Bastille Day fireworks at the Eiffel Tower.  Next door is a market where you could buy fresh vegetables and fruit.  Next to that is a butcher shop, and next to that a bakery.  You get the idea.  In Paris it seems like everything you need is within reach of a café.  Sit long enough and you'll find what you're looking for just a few steps away.

That reminds me... did anyone see an ice cream shop?  There must be one around here somewhere -- it is summer.  And we are in Paris.

To be continued,

Paris Is Always A Good Idea, Part 1

Despite the rain, I force my eyes to look up toward the upper reaches of the cathedral.  Through the drizzle, I can see the transept and spire dominating the verdigris copper statues of the twelve apostles.  With today's weather, I can easily imagine the spire being a true "spiritual lightning rod" protecting everyone inside from the storm. 

 

Facing the cathedral's West façade, dominated by its two large towers, I am greeted with the ringing of the 13-ton, bourdon bell known as Emmanuel.  It's a magnificent sound -- filling the surrounding buildings, alleys and cafes, forcing its way into the gutters and catacombs beneath Paris -- one that is accompanied by the remaining four bells ringing from the cathedral's South Tower. 

I wonder how many storms, much worse than this one -- this building has weathered.  During the radical upheaval of the French Revolution in 1793, its walls were assaulted by common Parisians determined to tear down religious and political  hierarchies.  And yet it survived and was rebuilt in the years that followed.

As the rain continues, I see water exiting from the stone mouth of a hideous gargoyle, as though it is vomiting anything sent from the heavens above.

I feel sorry for Eric, standing to my side who is the only one in our group without an umbrella.  A jacket and baseball cap, pulled low over his eyes, is his only protection from the drenching rain.  Even Jacqueline and Colin seem tickled that they have umbrellas, but dad does not.  Elsewhere, multi-colored umbrellas -- muted by the morning's grey skies -- dot the long line of people waiting to enter the cathedral's massive wooden doors.  Many of them are waiting for Sunday Mass -- the rest of us will have to settle for the rain to wash away our sins.

For the first time since our arrival, I look down.  My feet are standing in a puddle of water, soaking my shoes and socks -- but I barely notice.  Standing before  the entrance to this eight hundred-year-old architectural marvel known as the Cathedrale Notre-Dame De Paris, I am reminded of how small and insignificant my time on this planet has been. 

It will not be the last time I feel that way.



We are in Paris, France for a week, joining Liz's brother and family from Chicago.  Just saying something like that -- in Paris, France -- takes some getting used to.  Adjusting to a different time zone, foreign language and new surroundings will take more time than we will have on vacation.  But that doesn't mean we won't try.

Our arrival at the Charles De Gaulle Airport is uneventful, but without a cell phone to call Eric or Sharon we are left wondering how we are going to find them among Europe's second most busy -- and the world's seventh most busy -- airport.  Fortunately, we are able to find the correct terminal and arrival gate after dashing through a sea of foreign speaking travelers.

How utterly confused I feel as we rush from one screen to another searching for an incoming flight from Chicago.  The gentle chimes of the airport's overhead speaker system is doing little to settle our nerves.  We discover that the Ogden flight will be delayed by a couple of hours, so we need to find our taxi ride to the apartment on our own. Fortunately, Liz has a packet of information and a phone number to call.  With the assistance of help from the informations su l'aeroport, we are soon face to face with our smiling escort, holding a sign that reads OGDEN.

Ten minutes later -- exhausted from our overnight (and sleepless) flight -- I am left speechless as our taxi zips between speeding cars, buses, motorcycles and fearless pedestrians.  I still can't believe we are in Paris!  While Liz and Enzo talk about family and his growing taxi business, I look out the van's dirty window at a world that is as foreign to me as the language being used by our taxi driver.  A quick look at the speedometer tells me we are maneuvering through traffic at speeds of 130 kph (80 miles an hour).  As we approach a four lane, traffic junction, we slow, then suddenly stop waiting for traffic from the right to merge.  Enzo beeps his horn at the car ahead and -- muttering something insulting in French -- we're off again.

Three bouchons (traffic jams) and forty-five breathless minutes later, we are on the Ile Saint Louis, standing before our temporary home away from home --  Bour 55, 5 Quai de Bourbon -- Paris.

Ile Saint Louis is one of two natural islands in the middle of historic Paris.  It is a small island connected to the rest of Paris by four bridges to both banks of the River Seine.  While much of Paris has modernized over the years, Ile Saint Louis remains romantically frozen in the 17th century when Ernest Hemingway rented a room here.  I can tell immediately that it will provide an oasis of calm in an otherwise busy part of the city.  As we look out of the large open windows onto the gentle flow of the river, I am already forgetting our ride from the airport.

Our townhouse is typical of the beautiful 4- and 5-storied French architecture that is common through out the island.  Dwellings are oriented towards the outside, rather than towards an inner courtyard, with large open windows and balconies looking out to river views.  As I would find out later, we are surrounded by narrow one-way streets with several restaurants, markets, bakeries, fromageries, toy shops (puppets!), cafes and ice cream parlors at street level, as well as one large church.  It will not take us long to visit Berthillon, with its primary ice cream store on the island.  Within two blocks are three or four additional shops, each with their own unique flavors of ice cream.  We all agree -- it's some of the best in Paris!



 

At the moment, I am just standing in the living room of our townhouse.  Too tired to move.  That's because to get to our apartment within the townhouse, we must open three locked doors and climb more than 100 steps to the main living room.

The charm of the old building can be found in its unique characteristics and solid construction. But these steps are a killer!  In addition, we have three large suitcases that need to be brought up.  Our Parisian "greeter" invites us to use a small (Liz will tell you very small) elevator on the second floor.  It's big enough for one person and a suitcase.  You slide the door open, step into its cramped space, shut the grill, push the up button, and ... pray.  Miraculously, a few minutes later it opens on the fourth floor just like he said.

Despite the steep stairs, we use the elevator only to bring the suitcases up on the first day, and down on the last.

Much to our surprise, we are told that there a no bugs to worry about ("too cold!"), so we throw open four large windows to let the sounds of Ile Saint Louis wash over the apartment.  With no screens on the windows, we can look straight down to the narrow street below and the River Seine, which is flowing right to left.  It is a beautiful view -- either sitting in a chair or perched on the ledge -- and one that we will cherish in the days and nights ahead as we are reminded that Paris in the summer is always a good idea.

To be continued,