"Bonjour! Good day! How is your family? Bonjour! Good day! CanIgetapictureofElliotinaberetwhileinParis?" As much as I wish the songs in Beauty and the Beast mentioned the hubs, it was still my goal to get a picture of him in a glorious noggin cover while we were in gay Pareee two weeks ago.
Much like our weekend jaunt last year to Rome, Veteran's Day fell on a Sunday so we had a long weekend to play with. We'd been putting off Paris for the longest time because it always seemed flights were so cheap from Sevilla, and we always went for the more exotic locations if they were around the same price (Bucharest, anyone?). But since our departure date is early January (or mine at least), we realized it was time to stop dragging our heels and book our flight to the land of cheese and wine.
Fortunately, we had direct flights out of Sevilla, and we didn't have to take off work earlier than normal. We were flying some French airline, Transvia, that was crazy disorganized throughout the boarding of the plane. We were still sitting at the gate to board when we got our first taste of the French laissez-faire attitude. A woman just starts breastfeeding her baby at the gate. "Well, that's completely normal" you may say, and I would agree with you, but it was out there in the open. No blanket or anything, just baby on boob. Hey, kid's gotta eat, whether you're at an airport gate or not, and every woman has the right to breastfeed in public; I'm just not used to actually SEEING a child feed. Viva France?
I'm telling you, the whole experience of getting to France was like living a French stereotype. Elliot claimed that everyone "looked French" (you may recall his French disdain from when we went to Brussels), and I crap you not, there was a very pungent B.O. order wafting through the air. All you needed was some guy named Francois wearing a blue and white striped shirt, red neck scarf, and beret holding an Eiffel tower miniature, and you hit the trifecta.
The flight itself wasn't bad, and we got into Paris Orly at 10:00 at night. We took the shuttle to the Main terminal, picked up our (free!) checked bag and caught the last Air France shuttle to the city center. We decided to fly into Paris Orly rather than Paris Beauvais, despite the added $40 to the flight cost, as Orly is only 30 minutes from the center. Yeah, Beauvais is an hour and a half. After last year's Memmigen experience, I think it's safe to say that we're done with that kind of nonsense. The shuttle was really speedy and took us right to the Invalides metro stop, which is on the same line and only two stops from the hotel where were were staying.
I had downloaded an Internet free app for the Paris Metro, and we had a pretty great map of the city and metro from the Wynn's, so we were able to figure out the metro system pretty easily. Despite it having what looks like a hundred different lines going in a thousand different directions, the metro is surprisingly easy to decipher. My mom went to Paris her senior year of high school for the culmination of her French studies (after working early morning shifts at Dunkin' Donuts to pay for the trip-that's dedication!), and the ease of the metro stuck with her. Needless to say, I wasn't overly concerned. We'd be screwed if it wasn't as easy, as my French is limited to "Welcome to the cheese exit. Thank you."
There were two young guys smoking and drinking out of a bottle of white zin on the metro (although I thought the French had better taste in wine? Sorry, Mama B), and I laughed at how "French" the situation seemed. I wanted to high-five them and rub blue cheese in their faces to REALLY Frenchify the experience. After getting off at the Etole Militaire stop, we found our (Lonely Planet recommended) hotel, Hotel du Champ de Mars, set on Rue Cler, an adorable (VERY Parisian) street lined with cafes, restaurants, cheese shops, sweet shops, bakeries, butchers, and boutiques. I found out after the fact that Rue Cler is Rick Steve's favorite area in Paris. So we hit the jackpot on accident. BONUS.
The hotel is owned by a couple, Francois and Stephanie, and is more like a bed and breakfast. The rooms are cozy, albeit tiny, and made to feel like you're staying in someone's home. The bed was the coziest hotel bed I've ever stayed in and piled high with blankets and pillows. We slept like kings that night and woke up early without feeling tired.
We had heard that the Louvre would be more crowded on Sundays, so we woke up bright and early Saturday to get there a few minutes before opening time. Typically when we travel, we dress for maximum comfort and maneuverability, but for some reason we both packed stylish clothing. Our fashion sense is barely above hobo level, yet here we are trying to look classy for the fashion capital of the world. Who knew we had it in us?
I had read to use the Louvre Carousel entrance as opposed to the Main one, and we were only the 25th people in line to get in. We were next to this young guy who tied his silk scarf in a knot around his neck, and I thought Elliot's head would explode over how Parisian this guy was. We bought Paris Museum passes and made a beeline to the Mona Lisa. At the top of the stairs on the way I saw my all-time favorite statue of ever, the Nike of Samothrace. Ever since learning about it in college, I've been obsessed with it. I don't know what it is about that statue that speaks to me, but I adore it. I even have a mini-version of it at home. Imagine my shock and delight when we saw NO ONE around it. I was able to get pictures of just the statue, and one of me standing next to it. My Paris trip could have ended right then and there, and I would have been satisfied. Our morning at the Louvre became even more awesome when we went to the Mona Lisa, and there only a few people were there. Normally the crowds are a few people deep, and you can get a picture from a distance, but since we got there so early and it was November, we could get up close and personal with Miss Lisa. Everyone always claims that she's a lot smaller than they thought, but since we had heard that from so many people, we were surprised by how much BIGGER she ended up being. Look at me blowin' your mind!
To be honest with you, the museum wasn't crowded at all that day; oftentimes it was just me and Elliot in an entire gallery. Save for small groups of art students holding class in different exhibitions and a few wannabe Da Vinci's painting their own versions of masterpieces, there was hardly anybody there. Because we're ever the planners, we made a list of all the things we wanted to see in the Louvre ahead of time. I have a book "The 300 Masterpieces of the Louvre" that included the wings and rooms where everything was located. Once we got a map at the entrance, we took a minute and plotted all the things we wanted to see on it. By doing so, we were able to walk around the entire Louvre, and see everything we wanted to see and more, in two hours. We deserve like a reward, or a trophy, for navigating that b so quickly. To be honest with you, it wasn't nearly as big as we thought it would be. I guess everything seems small though after you've been to the biggest museum in the world (The Hermitage). It was still incredibly beautiful though, and I was able to see so many fascinating pieces like Napoleon's coronation, the Code of Hammurabi, the Victory Stele, the bust of Akenahten, and that saucy minx The Venus de Milo. My museum fix has been fulfilled! Huzzah!
We went to a very "old Paris" looking cafe with blackboard menus by the Louvre to get a late breakfast/early lunch, and we got our first taste of how damn expensive everything in the city is. I had a "French breakfast", which consisted of cafe au lait, a massive croissant, buttered bread (more like a breadstick), jam, and a eye dropper's worth of orange juice for 9 euro (not too bad), but Elliot ordered a large Coke which cost a whopping 8 euros. For that price, you can buy two 24 packs of Coke! Unless that Coke is brewed by fairies and seasoned with Ryan Lochte's kisses, no soda is worth 8 euros. His drink almost cost as much as my breakfast. Le sigh.
After our $40 breakfast, we decided to stroll through Paris and walk down the Champs Elysee to the Arc d'Triomphe. I had heard from multiple people that it rains a lot in Paris, and the forecast called for a 90% chance of rain all day Saturday, so I planned ahead and wore my new frog rain boots. Well, thanks a lot a-holes, because it didn't rain a smidge while we were out and my feet were KILLING me b/c I was basically walking in rubber tubes all day. Note to self, rain boots =/= walking comfort.
On our way to the Arc we stopped in a Dessange hair salon to pick up a hair mask for me. I read on Jezebel a long time ago about this product that is really good for thick, wavy hair like mine. I'm always on the hunt for products to make my hair more manageable, and this one sounded ideal. The problem was they only sell it in Paris. So here I am, strolling into this extremely high-end hair salon on the Champs Elysee, wearing my frog rain boots from Target and my jacket from the Old Navy 2010 collection, trying to fit in with the chic crowd. No one there spoke English, but one hairstylist spoke Spanish, and I was able to make my purchase without completely outing myself as a classless American. Tre bien!
The street was lined with French flags, and they were starting to set up stalls for the Christmas markets, so our stroll was very entertaining and whimsical. I can only imagine how it looks all lit up with snow on the ground. It is probably pre-tty dang beautiful. As we were walking, I hear a French woman yelling "Excuse moi! Excuse moi!" and she gets my attention. She is holding my wallet in her hand, which must have fallen out of my purse after I bought the hair cream. I thanked her profusely, but the cynical side of me still checked to make sure everything was still there (it was). So much for that age-old stereotype about Parisians being rude and snobby. Thank GOD.
They were setting up cameras and microphone's for the next day's Armistice Day ceremony, but it didn't take away from the sight of the Arc. I don't know why, but arches always impress me, and I seem to photograph the heck out of any kind that I see: Paris, Bucharest, Rome. Maybe it's the carvings or sheer size of them? I especially enjoyed the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and eternal flame below the Arc, for obvious reasons. Our Paris Museum pass actually included going up to the top, so we made the lung-busting climb. Good Lord was it worth it though. The visibility was perfect, and everything seemed so much more in focus due to the slight clouds. We took multiple pictures, and another kind French woman offered to take a picture of me and El with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Gotta be at least a LITTLE cliche in France, right? It's not like I'm going "unh hunh hunh" and slapping people with a baguette. Which is a little tempting, to be honest with you...
We decided to take the metro to the Musee d'Orsay, and there was a 7-piece band just going to town in the hallway. We were so impressed that we stopped to listen for a spell before taking a picture and tipping them a few euros. The Musee was only a couple stops away, and we were able to go through everything in about an hour. We unfortunately couldn't take pictures inside, but we saw some incredible pieces like Water Lillies, Starry Night, Van Gogh's self-portrait, and Abbott's mother amongst others. It was an Impressionists dream. Elliot made a comment that the most obnoxious and pretentious conversations must be happening in the cafe in the Impressionists section of the Musee d'Orsay in Paris. I concur.
We took a snooze back at the hotel after almost drowning in culture and/or things that are far too classy for us. While we were snoozing, the skies decided that that was the most opportune moment to open up and finally rain. While I can't complain that it didn't rain while we were walking around, it is rather ironic that I had my damn rain boots on ALL DAY in the sunshine. Le sigh #Deux
When we ventured out for dinner, Rue Cler was alive with music and the cafes were buzzing. We took the metro to a restaurant that was described as "like walking into Victor Hugo's Paris", and onto our subway car walked a guy with a bass fiddle because why not? I gotta tell you though, the music on the metro is nice the first few times, but you eventually get tired of the extended palm for tips and the monologuing homeless men who pipe up when the music dies down. Maybe I'm just cynical...
Polidor was a cute little restaurant with bench tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths. The decor WAS very old-time Paris, and the restaurant was still very cozy despite its large size. A cute little old lady brought us a nice Bordeaux from 20-6, and we had a tasty meal of tomato and mozzarella salad for me and cream soup (he ordered carrot, but she thought he had cream), and we both had beef bourginon with these delicious and creamy mashed potatoes. We finished our bottle of vino and had some sorbet and apple pie for dessert. By that point another couple sat on the bench right next to us, and we awkwardly said Bonjour. My journey of French stereotypes continued when the guy had a big ol' plate of garlic escargot placed in front of him. I wanted to shake his hand while shouting, "Oui!"
After dinner we grabbed a drink at a nearby bar called "Fubar" (which is the best freaking bar name ever) before trying to find an Irish pub that Elliot had looked up. The pub was too crowded with people watching the France-Australia rugby match, so we want across the street to this bar called Moosehead. As you probably guessed, it was a Canadian bar and it was filled with young expats and students studying abroad. And it was AWESOME. The decor was kind of bizarre (Canadian items and glow in the dark painted monsters?), but we loved the vibe of the place and they were actually showing college football on tv. It was an awful match-up (Virginia vs. The U), but it was still fantasmic to actually watch college football without AFN commercial breaks. And I almost peed my pants when they cut to a clip from the Iowa game. IOWA! IN FRANCE! I LOVE THIS COUNTRY! My 1664 Blanc tasted all the sweeter with an added touch of gold. El and I swung by a cafe back on Rue Cler before hitting the hay for the night.
The next morning we set off in search of this "Sunday breakfast buffet" that I had read about that "faced Notre Dame", but it sounds like this place belongs in children's stories along with the Loch Ness monster and Richard Simmons. We walked along the Seine River, past Notre Dame (twice), the Liberty Tower and these bridge statues that looked like they were out of The Lord of the Rings. We eventually gave up and just grabbed a quick breakfast at a nearby cafe. It was once again expensive (32 euros ugh) but decent, and we really just needed to fuel up for another packed day.
After breakfast, we headed across the river to visit Notre Dame. It's like the Cathedral was inviting us, because the bells started ringing while we were eating, and we responded to Quasimodo's call. The line to get into the Cathedral was bonkers long, and there were a ton of peeps hanging around the courtyard in front, taking pictures. Despite how long the line was, it continuously moved so we only had to wait about 5 minutes. The doorways were decorated with reliefs of saints and church figures, much like Sevilla's Cathedral and the Dom in Koln. The exterior of the Cathedral was beautiful, and I was able to sneak a picture of those famous gargoyles before heading inside.
My favorite part of visiting any Cathedral in Europe isn't the nave or the main altar; it's the "chapels" on the sides of the churches. Notre Dame's consisted of these elaborate stained glass windows with elevated statues directly in front of them. The effect is amazing, and the majority of my pictures were of the windows. The interior of Notre Dame was very pretty, but I didn't think it was nearly as beautiful as Sevilla's, or the Basilica of St. Anthony in Padua. I guess it's a different style of beauty, and it just doesn't speak to me as much. I'm a fresco and statue kinda gal (Italian churches) with a pinch of bling (Spanish churches). I am also more of a fan of Romanesque or Baroque churches than Gothic ones. I had an Art History professor who described Romanesque buildings as "thick and chewy" and Gothic ones as "thin and crispy", and that has stuck with me since. I'll catch myself thinking "that building's looking pretty crispy; must be Gothic."
Elliot and I stopped to light a candle for Will, and we were about to keep walking when an usher asked us to stay to the side because Mass was about to start and the procession was going to pass us. A lone cantor at the altar started singing, and altar men (they were like in their 20's, so they don't qualify as boys) and several deacons and priests followed. I was expecting a much grander show, but I guess they can't go all out for every single mass. Then we'd be back in the good ol' days of heretic burning. Eek.
The choir was absolutely spectacular and provided the perfect soundtrack for walking around the Cathedral. I felt like I was transported back in time to the 1500's, and the world seemed to slow down while they were singing. It was a very peaceful way to enjoy the sights.
We walked around for about an hour before getting some Christmas presents at the shop. We had thought about doing a tour, but it honestly wasn't something that we were REALLY excited about, so we just decided to end our visit. We stopped at this nearby bookstore that looked absolutely fascinating. It was like something out of Notting Hill or the 1940's; everything about it screamed "Paris during the golden years": a grand piano upstairs, cozy chairs for reading, and walls of wooden shelves filled with different genres of books in a variety of languages. I picked up a vintage copy of "For Whom the Bell Tolls" for Melissa and a book on Hemingway during the Paris years. I was just stinkin' enchanted by this place, and I kept telling the cashier how much I loved the shop. It wasn't until the plane ride home, while I was reading my new book, that "Shakespeare and Company" bookstore was a place for the meeting of creative minds like James Joyce, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, and, you guess it, Ernest Hemingway. The store we visited wasn't the original (with the shelves made by hand by Ezra Pound), but it still had that historical feel to it. Maybe that's why I liked it so much, without even knowing the story behind it.
We picked up some souvenirs (Elliot refused to try on the berets. Me: Elliot come here! Elliot: I already saw them, and I'm not doing it) and decided to embark on Rick Steve's walking tour of Paris, which would show us the "Paris side of Paris". Always looking for the road less traveled, we started off in the adorableness that is the Latin Quarter. A fun, eclectic neighborhood close to Notre Dame, the Latin Quarter is full of energy and is filled with fun bars, restaurants and shops. We also saw kebab place after kebab place, and we were PISSED that we spent 32 euros on breakfast and now weren't hungry. Shakes angry fist! We stopped in a nearby jazz bar to grab a 1664 (a French beer that's really good) before heading towards what was supposed to be a flower market. I dunno, I guess I was expecting stalls filled with beautiful flowers (even though it was November); there were a few bouquets of flowers, but mostly the stalls were filled with seed packets, gardening supplies, and a crapload (no pun intended) of birds in cages. I've never seen so many caged birds in my life , and it was kind of gross to be honest with you. I just kept thinking about the poor schmuck who would have to clean that cage...
We walked past the Justice Department and the gorgeous clock with good ol' Latin written around it and took a Jason Bourne photoshoot on Pont Neuf. Elliot remembered that name b/c that's where the CIA operative was supposed to meet Jason in the Bourne identity. Leave it to him to know even minuscule movie details like that. We hopped on the Pont Neuf metro back towards our hotel and got off at the Invalides stop. Napoleon's Tomb is part of the museum/armory complex there, and it didn't disappoint in its grandeur. Even in death the little shit is still ostentatious. There are stone reliefs of him in all his glory, and there's an image of him in the floor wearing Roman emperor laurel leaves in his hair. Talk about a Napoleon complex...
We were so close to our hotel that we walked back and enjoyed the views of the Hotel des Invalides and Eiffel Tower along the way. We took another power snooze and went to a cafe around the corner that was recommended by the front desk, La Terrasse. Once again, the waiters and hosts were incredibly nice and helpful; honestly, we didn't experience any of the Paris rudeness that people had complained about. Everyone was beyond friendly. Even Elliot admitted that French people "weren't so bad". I had a hot bowl of French onion soup, or as the French call it: onion soup, and garlic scallops and veggies for dinner, and El had this artichokes and mushrooms dish and duck and veggies. The food, especially the soup, was tasty, and we split a slice of chocolate cake. We washed this meal down with a bottle of white, and floated our way towards the Eiffel Tower.
The Eiffel Tower at night was just incredible; it all lit up was a sight to behold. Up close, you feel like you're looking at a giant erector set. A really freaking big erector set. The architecture IS impressive, and it was fun to watch the elevators go zipping along to the top. Neither one of us really cared to go up in the tower; we were satisfied with just getting pictures. The night setting on the camera shows a picture of the Eiffel Tower, and it didn't disappoint. The light caught perfectly, and we were able to get some shots that are framers.
We took a looooong train and metro ride to the Opera stop and walked to grab a beer at Harry's Bar New York, the old stomping grounds of Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. We grabbed a cozy booth table in the back of the narrow bar and were served a beer by waiters wearing white coats with black ties. The dark wooden walls were decorated with college pennants from all over America, including this gorgeous yellow and black one from the Hawkeye state. Some of the pennants looked like they were from the 1900's, and I'm sure some represent schools that no longer exist. We tried in vain to find a BU pennant, but it was not to be. Also decorating the walls were old photographs and old, wooden coats of arms. It was easy to imagine the smoky ambiance of Paris in the interwar years, very "Midnight in Paris".
We stopped by Corcoran's Irish pub, where I "read" the French newspaper sitting on the counter and took a picture of a recipe to make a crepe casserole. For some reason, I thought it looked really good. I've since deleted the pics. We grabbed some garbagey tasting street food (don't judge me) before heading back to the hotel and crashing for the night.
Awaking with bowels of fury, we went back towards the Seine and Notre Dame. Elliot haggled with a street vendor for two canvas paintings for 50 euros; the guy even "threw in there" a cardboard tube for the bargain price of 5 euros. Stupid Paris and your stupid prices. He did give me a free gift though, and now I have a lovely Paris compact mirror. Me oui!
We walked along Saint Michel and the Latin Quarter some more before heading back to The Moose for lunch. We split an order of these delicious wings with a tangy sauce, and I had an avocado, bacon and tomato sandwich ON A TOASTED BAGEL! Holy poop, everything was so good, and it was a lovely Americano/Canadiano meal. After lunch, we went back to Rue Cler and picked up some beignets and pain chocolat for the plane ride. The cafe chairs were filled with people sipping cafe and watching the crowds go by. We had to laugh about how all the charis are turned facing out, like stadium seating. Apparently the person you're dining with isn't all that interesting. We caught a shuttle back to the airport, where our return flight was practically empty.
Much like our weekend jaunt last year to Rome, Veteran's Day fell on a Sunday so we had a long weekend to play with. We'd been putting off Paris for the longest time because it always seemed flights were so cheap from Sevilla, and we always went for the more exotic locations if they were around the same price (Bucharest, anyone?). But since our departure date is early January (or mine at least), we realized it was time to stop dragging our heels and book our flight to the land of cheese and wine.
Fortunately, we had direct flights out of Sevilla, and we didn't have to take off work earlier than normal. We were flying some French airline, Transvia, that was crazy disorganized throughout the boarding of the plane. We were still sitting at the gate to board when we got our first taste of the French laissez-faire attitude. A woman just starts breastfeeding her baby at the gate. "Well, that's completely normal" you may say, and I would agree with you, but it was out there in the open. No blanket or anything, just baby on boob. Hey, kid's gotta eat, whether you're at an airport gate or not, and every woman has the right to breastfeed in public; I'm just not used to actually SEEING a child feed. Viva France?
I'm telling you, the whole experience of getting to France was like living a French stereotype. Elliot claimed that everyone "looked French" (you may recall his French disdain from when we went to Brussels), and I crap you not, there was a very pungent B.O. order wafting through the air. All you needed was some guy named Francois wearing a blue and white striped shirt, red neck scarf, and beret holding an Eiffel tower miniature, and you hit the trifecta.
The flight itself wasn't bad, and we got into Paris Orly at 10:00 at night. We took the shuttle to the Main terminal, picked up our (free!) checked bag and caught the last Air France shuttle to the city center. We decided to fly into Paris Orly rather than Paris Beauvais, despite the added $40 to the flight cost, as Orly is only 30 minutes from the center. Yeah, Beauvais is an hour and a half. After last year's Memmigen experience, I think it's safe to say that we're done with that kind of nonsense. The shuttle was really speedy and took us right to the Invalides metro stop, which is on the same line and only two stops from the hotel where were were staying.
I had downloaded an Internet free app for the Paris Metro, and we had a pretty great map of the city and metro from the Wynn's, so we were able to figure out the metro system pretty easily. Despite it having what looks like a hundred different lines going in a thousand different directions, the metro is surprisingly easy to decipher. My mom went to Paris her senior year of high school for the culmination of her French studies (after working early morning shifts at Dunkin' Donuts to pay for the trip-that's dedication!), and the ease of the metro stuck with her. Needless to say, I wasn't overly concerned. We'd be screwed if it wasn't as easy, as my French is limited to "Welcome to the cheese exit. Thank you."
There were two young guys smoking and drinking out of a bottle of white zin on the metro (although I thought the French had better taste in wine? Sorry, Mama B), and I laughed at how "French" the situation seemed. I wanted to high-five them and rub blue cheese in their faces to REALLY Frenchify the experience. After getting off at the Etole Militaire stop, we found our (Lonely Planet recommended) hotel, Hotel du Champ de Mars, set on Rue Cler, an adorable (VERY Parisian) street lined with cafes, restaurants, cheese shops, sweet shops, bakeries, butchers, and boutiques. I found out after the fact that Rue Cler is Rick Steve's favorite area in Paris. So we hit the jackpot on accident. BONUS.
The hotel is owned by a couple, Francois and Stephanie, and is more like a bed and breakfast. The rooms are cozy, albeit tiny, and made to feel like you're staying in someone's home. The bed was the coziest hotel bed I've ever stayed in and piled high with blankets and pillows. We slept like kings that night and woke up early without feeling tired.
We had heard that the Louvre would be more crowded on Sundays, so we woke up bright and early Saturday to get there a few minutes before opening time. Typically when we travel, we dress for maximum comfort and maneuverability, but for some reason we both packed stylish clothing. Our fashion sense is barely above hobo level, yet here we are trying to look classy for the fashion capital of the world. Who knew we had it in us?
I had read to use the Louvre Carousel entrance as opposed to the Main one, and we were only the 25th people in line to get in. We were next to this young guy who tied his silk scarf in a knot around his neck, and I thought Elliot's head would explode over how Parisian this guy was. We bought Paris Museum passes and made a beeline to the Mona Lisa. At the top of the stairs on the way I saw my all-time favorite statue of ever, the Nike of Samothrace. Ever since learning about it in college, I've been obsessed with it. I don't know what it is about that statue that speaks to me, but I adore it. I even have a mini-version of it at home. Imagine my shock and delight when we saw NO ONE around it. I was able to get pictures of just the statue, and one of me standing next to it. My Paris trip could have ended right then and there, and I would have been satisfied. Our morning at the Louvre became even more awesome when we went to the Mona Lisa, and there only a few people were there. Normally the crowds are a few people deep, and you can get a picture from a distance, but since we got there so early and it was November, we could get up close and personal with Miss Lisa. Everyone always claims that she's a lot smaller than they thought, but since we had heard that from so many people, we were surprised by how much BIGGER she ended up being. Look at me blowin' your mind!
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| Bad Bitches |
We went to a very "old Paris" looking cafe with blackboard menus by the Louvre to get a late breakfast/early lunch, and we got our first taste of how damn expensive everything in the city is. I had a "French breakfast", which consisted of cafe au lait, a massive croissant, buttered bread (more like a breadstick), jam, and a eye dropper's worth of orange juice for 9 euro (not too bad), but Elliot ordered a large Coke which cost a whopping 8 euros. For that price, you can buy two 24 packs of Coke! Unless that Coke is brewed by fairies and seasoned with Ryan Lochte's kisses, no soda is worth 8 euros. His drink almost cost as much as my breakfast. Le sigh.
After our $40 breakfast, we decided to stroll through Paris and walk down the Champs Elysee to the Arc d'Triomphe. I had heard from multiple people that it rains a lot in Paris, and the forecast called for a 90% chance of rain all day Saturday, so I planned ahead and wore my new frog rain boots. Well, thanks a lot a-holes, because it didn't rain a smidge while we were out and my feet were KILLING me b/c I was basically walking in rubber tubes all day. Note to self, rain boots =/= walking comfort.
On our way to the Arc we stopped in a Dessange hair salon to pick up a hair mask for me. I read on Jezebel a long time ago about this product that is really good for thick, wavy hair like mine. I'm always on the hunt for products to make my hair more manageable, and this one sounded ideal. The problem was they only sell it in Paris. So here I am, strolling into this extremely high-end hair salon on the Champs Elysee, wearing my frog rain boots from Target and my jacket from the Old Navy 2010 collection, trying to fit in with the chic crowd. No one there spoke English, but one hairstylist spoke Spanish, and I was able to make my purchase without completely outing myself as a classless American. Tre bien!
The street was lined with French flags, and they were starting to set up stalls for the Christmas markets, so our stroll was very entertaining and whimsical. I can only imagine how it looks all lit up with snow on the ground. It is probably pre-tty dang beautiful. As we were walking, I hear a French woman yelling "Excuse moi! Excuse moi!" and she gets my attention. She is holding my wallet in her hand, which must have fallen out of my purse after I bought the hair cream. I thanked her profusely, but the cynical side of me still checked to make sure everything was still there (it was). So much for that age-old stereotype about Parisians being rude and snobby. Thank GOD.
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| What a couple of tourists |
They were setting up cameras and microphone's for the next day's Armistice Day ceremony, but it didn't take away from the sight of the Arc. I don't know why, but arches always impress me, and I seem to photograph the heck out of any kind that I see: Paris, Bucharest, Rome. Maybe it's the carvings or sheer size of them? I especially enjoyed the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and eternal flame below the Arc, for obvious reasons. Our Paris Museum pass actually included going up to the top, so we made the lung-busting climb. Good Lord was it worth it though. The visibility was perfect, and everything seemed so much more in focus due to the slight clouds. We took multiple pictures, and another kind French woman offered to take a picture of me and El with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Gotta be at least a LITTLE cliche in France, right? It's not like I'm going "unh hunh hunh" and slapping people with a baguette. Which is a little tempting, to be honest with you...
We decided to take the metro to the Musee d'Orsay, and there was a 7-piece band just going to town in the hallway. We were so impressed that we stopped to listen for a spell before taking a picture and tipping them a few euros. The Musee was only a couple stops away, and we were able to go through everything in about an hour. We unfortunately couldn't take pictures inside, but we saw some incredible pieces like Water Lillies, Starry Night, Van Gogh's self-portrait, and Abbott's mother amongst others. It was an Impressionists dream. Elliot made a comment that the most obnoxious and pretentious conversations must be happening in the cafe in the Impressionists section of the Musee d'Orsay in Paris. I concur.
We took a snooze back at the hotel after almost drowning in culture and/or things that are far too classy for us. While we were snoozing, the skies decided that that was the most opportune moment to open up and finally rain. While I can't complain that it didn't rain while we were walking around, it is rather ironic that I had my damn rain boots on ALL DAY in the sunshine. Le sigh #Deux
When we ventured out for dinner, Rue Cler was alive with music and the cafes were buzzing. We took the metro to a restaurant that was described as "like walking into Victor Hugo's Paris", and onto our subway car walked a guy with a bass fiddle because why not? I gotta tell you though, the music on the metro is nice the first few times, but you eventually get tired of the extended palm for tips and the monologuing homeless men who pipe up when the music dies down. Maybe I'm just cynical...
Polidor was a cute little restaurant with bench tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths. The decor WAS very old-time Paris, and the restaurant was still very cozy despite its large size. A cute little old lady brought us a nice Bordeaux from 20-6, and we had a tasty meal of tomato and mozzarella salad for me and cream soup (he ordered carrot, but she thought he had cream), and we both had beef bourginon with these delicious and creamy mashed potatoes. We finished our bottle of vino and had some sorbet and apple pie for dessert. By that point another couple sat on the bench right next to us, and we awkwardly said Bonjour. My journey of French stereotypes continued when the guy had a big ol' plate of garlic escargot placed in front of him. I wanted to shake his hand while shouting, "Oui!"
After dinner we grabbed a drink at a nearby bar called "Fubar" (which is the best freaking bar name ever) before trying to find an Irish pub that Elliot had looked up. The pub was too crowded with people watching the France-Australia rugby match, so we want across the street to this bar called Moosehead. As you probably guessed, it was a Canadian bar and it was filled with young expats and students studying abroad. And it was AWESOME. The decor was kind of bizarre (Canadian items and glow in the dark painted monsters?), but we loved the vibe of the place and they were actually showing college football on tv. It was an awful match-up (Virginia vs. The U), but it was still fantasmic to actually watch college football without AFN commercial breaks. And I almost peed my pants when they cut to a clip from the Iowa game. IOWA! IN FRANCE! I LOVE THIS COUNTRY! My 1664 Blanc tasted all the sweeter with an added touch of gold. El and I swung by a cafe back on Rue Cler before hitting the hay for the night.
The next morning we set off in search of this "Sunday breakfast buffet" that I had read about that "faced Notre Dame", but it sounds like this place belongs in children's stories along with the Loch Ness monster and Richard Simmons. We walked along the Seine River, past Notre Dame (twice), the Liberty Tower and these bridge statues that looked like they were out of The Lord of the Rings. We eventually gave up and just grabbed a quick breakfast at a nearby cafe. It was once again expensive (32 euros ugh) but decent, and we really just needed to fuel up for another packed day.
After breakfast, we headed across the river to visit Notre Dame. It's like the Cathedral was inviting us, because the bells started ringing while we were eating, and we responded to Quasimodo's call. The line to get into the Cathedral was bonkers long, and there were a ton of peeps hanging around the courtyard in front, taking pictures. Despite how long the line was, it continuously moved so we only had to wait about 5 minutes. The doorways were decorated with reliefs of saints and church figures, much like Sevilla's Cathedral and the Dom in Koln. The exterior of the Cathedral was beautiful, and I was able to sneak a picture of those famous gargoyles before heading inside.
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| Topsy-Turvy Day |
My favorite part of visiting any Cathedral in Europe isn't the nave or the main altar; it's the "chapels" on the sides of the churches. Notre Dame's consisted of these elaborate stained glass windows with elevated statues directly in front of them. The effect is amazing, and the majority of my pictures were of the windows. The interior of Notre Dame was very pretty, but I didn't think it was nearly as beautiful as Sevilla's, or the Basilica of St. Anthony in Padua. I guess it's a different style of beauty, and it just doesn't speak to me as much. I'm a fresco and statue kinda gal (Italian churches) with a pinch of bling (Spanish churches). I am also more of a fan of Romanesque or Baroque churches than Gothic ones. I had an Art History professor who described Romanesque buildings as "thick and chewy" and Gothic ones as "thin and crispy", and that has stuck with me since. I'll catch myself thinking "that building's looking pretty crispy; must be Gothic."
Elliot and I stopped to light a candle for Will, and we were about to keep walking when an usher asked us to stay to the side because Mass was about to start and the procession was going to pass us. A lone cantor at the altar started singing, and altar men (they were like in their 20's, so they don't qualify as boys) and several deacons and priests followed. I was expecting a much grander show, but I guess they can't go all out for every single mass. Then we'd be back in the good ol' days of heretic burning. Eek.
The choir was absolutely spectacular and provided the perfect soundtrack for walking around the Cathedral. I felt like I was transported back in time to the 1500's, and the world seemed to slow down while they were singing. It was a very peaceful way to enjoy the sights.
We walked around for about an hour before getting some Christmas presents at the shop. We had thought about doing a tour, but it honestly wasn't something that we were REALLY excited about, so we just decided to end our visit. We stopped at this nearby bookstore that looked absolutely fascinating. It was like something out of Notting Hill or the 1940's; everything about it screamed "Paris during the golden years": a grand piano upstairs, cozy chairs for reading, and walls of wooden shelves filled with different genres of books in a variety of languages. I picked up a vintage copy of "For Whom the Bell Tolls" for Melissa and a book on Hemingway during the Paris years. I was just stinkin' enchanted by this place, and I kept telling the cashier how much I loved the shop. It wasn't until the plane ride home, while I was reading my new book, that "Shakespeare and Company" bookstore was a place for the meeting of creative minds like James Joyce, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, and, you guess it, Ernest Hemingway. The store we visited wasn't the original (with the shelves made by hand by Ezra Pound), but it still had that historical feel to it. Maybe that's why I liked it so much, without even knowing the story behind it.
We picked up some souvenirs (Elliot refused to try on the berets. Me: Elliot come here! Elliot: I already saw them, and I'm not doing it) and decided to embark on Rick Steve's walking tour of Paris, which would show us the "Paris side of Paris". Always looking for the road less traveled, we started off in the adorableness that is the Latin Quarter. A fun, eclectic neighborhood close to Notre Dame, the Latin Quarter is full of energy and is filled with fun bars, restaurants and shops. We also saw kebab place after kebab place, and we were PISSED that we spent 32 euros on breakfast and now weren't hungry. Shakes angry fist! We stopped in a nearby jazz bar to grab a 1664 (a French beer that's really good) before heading towards what was supposed to be a flower market. I dunno, I guess I was expecting stalls filled with beautiful flowers (even though it was November); there were a few bouquets of flowers, but mostly the stalls were filled with seed packets, gardening supplies, and a crapload (no pun intended) of birds in cages. I've never seen so many caged birds in my life , and it was kind of gross to be honest with you. I just kept thinking about the poor schmuck who would have to clean that cage...
We walked past the Justice Department and the gorgeous clock with good ol' Latin written around it and took a Jason Bourne photoshoot on Pont Neuf. Elliot remembered that name b/c that's where the CIA operative was supposed to meet Jason in the Bourne identity. Leave it to him to know even minuscule movie details like that. We hopped on the Pont Neuf metro back towards our hotel and got off at the Invalides stop. Napoleon's Tomb is part of the museum/armory complex there, and it didn't disappoint in its grandeur. Even in death the little shit is still ostentatious. There are stone reliefs of him in all his glory, and there's an image of him in the floor wearing Roman emperor laurel leaves in his hair. Talk about a Napoleon complex...
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| I expect a tomb of this grandeur when I die |
We were so close to our hotel that we walked back and enjoyed the views of the Hotel des Invalides and Eiffel Tower along the way. We took another power snooze and went to a cafe around the corner that was recommended by the front desk, La Terrasse. Once again, the waiters and hosts were incredibly nice and helpful; honestly, we didn't experience any of the Paris rudeness that people had complained about. Everyone was beyond friendly. Even Elliot admitted that French people "weren't so bad". I had a hot bowl of French onion soup, or as the French call it: onion soup, and garlic scallops and veggies for dinner, and El had this artichokes and mushrooms dish and duck and veggies. The food, especially the soup, was tasty, and we split a slice of chocolate cake. We washed this meal down with a bottle of white, and floated our way towards the Eiffel Tower.
The Eiffel Tower at night was just incredible; it all lit up was a sight to behold. Up close, you feel like you're looking at a giant erector set. A really freaking big erector set. The architecture IS impressive, and it was fun to watch the elevators go zipping along to the top. Neither one of us really cared to go up in the tower; we were satisfied with just getting pictures. The night setting on the camera shows a picture of the Eiffel Tower, and it didn't disappoint. The light caught perfectly, and we were able to get some shots that are framers.
We took a looooong train and metro ride to the Opera stop and walked to grab a beer at Harry's Bar New York, the old stomping grounds of Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. We grabbed a cozy booth table in the back of the narrow bar and were served a beer by waiters wearing white coats with black ties. The dark wooden walls were decorated with college pennants from all over America, including this gorgeous yellow and black one from the Hawkeye state. Some of the pennants looked like they were from the 1900's, and I'm sure some represent schools that no longer exist. We tried in vain to find a BU pennant, but it was not to be. Also decorating the walls were old photographs and old, wooden coats of arms. It was easy to imagine the smoky ambiance of Paris in the interwar years, very "Midnight in Paris".
We stopped by Corcoran's Irish pub, where I "read" the French newspaper sitting on the counter and took a picture of a recipe to make a crepe casserole. For some reason, I thought it looked really good. I've since deleted the pics. We grabbed some garbagey tasting street food (don't judge me) before heading back to the hotel and crashing for the night.
Awaking with bowels of fury, we went back towards the Seine and Notre Dame. Elliot haggled with a street vendor for two canvas paintings for 50 euros; the guy even "threw in there" a cardboard tube for the bargain price of 5 euros. Stupid Paris and your stupid prices. He did give me a free gift though, and now I have a lovely Paris compact mirror. Me oui!
We walked along Saint Michel and the Latin Quarter some more before heading back to The Moose for lunch. We split an order of these delicious wings with a tangy sauce, and I had an avocado, bacon and tomato sandwich ON A TOASTED BAGEL! Holy poop, everything was so good, and it was a lovely Americano/Canadiano meal. After lunch, we went back to Rue Cler and picked up some beignets and pain chocolat for the plane ride. The cafe chairs were filled with people sipping cafe and watching the crowds go by. We had to laugh about how all the charis are turned facing out, like stadium seating. Apparently the person you're dining with isn't all that interesting. We caught a shuttle back to the airport, where our return flight was practically empty.
Life sometimes feels like you're in a movie. For me it's usually a slapstick or a "HOLYCOWWHATJUSTHAPPENED???!" theme, but every now and then you're lucky enough to live out something a bit more....magical. I didn't get a picture of Elliot in a beret, but I got to experience a perfect Parisian trip with my Boo. And I think that's pretty damn spectacular. Adieu....
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