Paris, April 2006

Paris, April 2006

Ah, the joys of Envoy Class! Don had gotten on the web way last June and used almost all of his frequent-flyer miles to get free tickets for April, so as soon as we were seated we were offered champagne and we could stretch out in comfort in the huge seats. We had trundled our luggage to 30^th Street Station and taken the train to the airport on a day that was warm enough to make us regret our heavy jackets and sweaters, so it was nice to get on first and sit in air-conditioning. We enjoyed bourbon and gin (respectively) plus a nice wine and a good dinner, then actually managed to get a little sleep—for me about two or three hours. Quite a change from the usual steerage.

We struggled off at Charles de Gaulle Aeroporte and searched for an ATM, finally finding what seemed to be the only one up a level from where we were. Then we looked for the bus to the train station. The gate that the internet had told us the day before was where busses left was unproductive; a nearby information desk told Don that the bus was on a different level and at a different gate altogether. So much for up-to-date information. We went to the other level and gate and were standing looking puzzled enough that a sympathetic bus driver (of a different bus) pointed us in the right direction and we found it.

We drove round and round the airport to get to the train station, got tickets at the window after puzzling in vain over the machine, and tackled the turnstiles. For some minutes we had been watching people trying to shove, lift, throw, and push large suitcases through turnstiles that were designed for very slim, unencumbered people. Don went through, I handed him his suitcase under the stile, followed by mine, and managed to squeeze myself through with my briefcase by the hardest. You would think that when they put in the turnstiles they would have thought that since this is, after all, an airport, people might have luggage. But no.

We waited and waited for a train while at least four went in the other direction—very odd, since the train goes only one stop further. What was happening down the line? Something devouring trains? Finally one came, and we went in to Chatelet-Les Halles—the biggest subway/train station in Paris. It was an adventure simply getting out of the place, including again getting stuck in a turnstile gate that grabbed my suitcase. I was rescued by the next man through. We found Rue de Turbigo, a big diagonal street, and trundled our way down six or eight blocks until we found the little side street that led to Rue Dupetit Thouars, then to Cité Dupetit Thouars, the tiny dead-end street where our apartment was located. As we puzzled over how to ring the doorbell, a window above our heads opened and John said, “Bonjour!” They had arrived shortly before us.

The apartment was very compact, but well-equipped and spotless. We let John and JoAnn have the bigger bedroom with the queen-size bed and we took the “kids’ room,” which had twin beds at right angles to each other. We could manage to fit all our clothes either in the small bureau, on the hanging rack at the foot of my bed, or in the living room closet, so we didn’t have to live out of suitcases—a blessing.

We spent the rest of the day getting settled and having naps, except for John, who explored the neighborhood and found a huge Monoprix supermarket right around the corner, so when we woke we shopped for breakfasts and such essentials as toilet paper. That night we consulted guidebooks and information left at the apartment and walked quite a long way to Bacarane near the Place de Vosges, where we were overfed with excellent food, much of which we had to leave on our plates. Too bad the French don’t do doggy bags—we could have eaten two dinners from it.

Next day (Saturday, April 1) it was time to start moving. We walked down the same street as last night to get to the Carnavalet Musée, the museum of the City of Paris. It was enormous. We were speeding through until a little guard slowed us down by expounding on the greatness of everything in the museum and shamed us into looking more extensively. It was all interesting: mostly furniture and paintings, and unfortunately the section I was most interested in—the prehistory area—was closed. It rained a bit on us as we left and also while we went into another entrance to see the gardens—very elaborate curlicues of plantings. We walked back to the apartment, picking up sandwiches and Fanta Citron (which I kept calling Fanta Limone) to consume at home.

Then off to the Metro to go to the Musée Marmatton. Got in at half price, because the second floor was closed for renovation, but all the Monets (the museum has the entire contents of his studio at his death) were visible at least. Unfortunately, the second floor is where the paintings by Monet’s buddies are. Still, very worthwhile. The Monets are quite fabulous: I especially loved one of steam and fog in one of the train stations. Also there was a wonderful exhibit of illuminated medieval manuscripts.

Rain again as we left, so we didn’t get to sit in the big park and people watch as Don and I had done on our last visit. That night we just went down the street a block to Novatello, an Italian place that was really good. And at least the menu was more translatable, as we are all used to Italian dishes. We were so early (by Parisian standards, at least) that the owner didn’t have his menu printed out yet, which he thought was a great joke.

On Sunday (April 2) I wanted to go to St. Sulpice on the left bank to hear the organ concert after the Mass. Quite a number of people were waiting for the same thing. The organ was excellent, but I missed knowing what was being played. We found sandwiches for lunch and headed for the Cluny Museum, the medieval collection. It is a fantastic monastery building constructed over the ruins of a Roman bath, so you got a lot of layers of history. The famous lady-with-the-unicorn tapestries are there, as are the heads of the kings of Judah that were on the frieze of Notre Dame. During the Revolution the mob beheaded all the statues thinking they were kings of France, but a secretive noble retrieved them and buried them in his garden where they were found after many years. Although the museum was free on Sundays, I had a thought and we bought our museum passes there. Expensive, $60 for six days, but we used them extensively and they were very much worth it. For one thing, no lines to wait in.

From there we wandered to the Luxembourg Gardens, which are huge and full of people. Vast amounts of space, well planted and in bloom with tulips, daffodils, and primroses, plus people playing boules, basketball, and tennis, as well as the biggest playground with the most equipment I’ve ever seen, full of kids. It was neat.

Then we walked over to St. Germaine des Pres and visited that church. Much nicer than St. Sulpice, which despite its organ is a hodgepodge. From there we metro-ed home.

That night we walked back down toward the Place de Vosges to the Café de Musées, which we had spotted on the first night, and the amusing waiter managed to squeeze us in without a reservation. Excellent food. It was always guesswork ordering: even when you know boeuf and porc and agneau it is a mystery. I did remember that rognons were to be avoided and found in the dictionary later that they are kidneys.

Next day (Monday) we tackled the Louvre, but not directly. First we had to find John some cold pills, and JoAnn wanted to go to an English-speaking pharmacy off the Champs-Elyssées, so we went there on the Metro. Wandered a while finding it, and we weren’t totally sure we had the right one, but the pills he got worked very well. Then we backtracked to the Arc du Triomphe. They went up to the top, using the museum passes, but I chickened out after looking in the door at the very tight spiral staircase. I regret it, but claustrophobia is difficult to cope with. They got great pictures. We found some lunch and then walked all the way down the Champs, through the Tuileries, and into the Louvre. Quite a hike, and I was very grateful for the restrooms, although they’ve never heard of potty parity and JoAnn and I had a long wait in line. At least the museum passes meant we could go in the group entrance, which was much faster.

We went into the Greco-Roman area so John could see the Venus di Milo and the Winged Victory, then headed upstairs to paintings. Walked and walked and enjoyed all the Italians (particularly the other Leonardos) and French, and then at my request made a massive excursion to the opposite building (Richelieu) to see Flemish and Dutch. We did find some things, including the wonderful Rembrandts, but the main part was closed off. Fudge. I really wanted to see the van Eyck Madonna and the Vermeers. When we got back downstairs, exhausted, JoAnn also remembered that she had wanted to see the Michelangelo Slaves, so she went up to the desk and asked about openings and closings of galleries. Turned out the Flemish area was only closed that day, so we planned a catch-up day for Wednesday.

We took the Métro back home and decided to try dinner nearby at Chez Jenny, which was listed in Good Eats in Paris and several other guidebooks. We weren’t all that impressed—the food was good enough, but it was all very impersonal and not great.

Tuesday there was a threat of a Métro strike, so we decided to walk to Notre Dame. Of course the first thing we saw was a bus, but we were committed. On the way we stopped at the marvelous fountain (I think by Tingueley) that has all the Stravinsky music depicted in sculpture. It’s a block past Pompideau. I had been charmed by it when they used it as the opening shot for the French in Action series we had followed on PBS.

We walked around the cathedral to get the wonderful view from the back of the apse with all the flying buttresses, and then used our museum passes to go to the archaeological crypt museum under the plaza out front. Very mildly interesting—they’ve done a good job with not very much. Bits of walls, bits of houses, all displayed in situ behind glass, with information on the periods of history on the walls behind.

Then we went into Notre Dame, which was spectacular as usual. Spent quite a while just walking around, looking at details and windows. There is so much to see.

We popped across to the Left Bank to seek lunch and to our considerable surprise found ourselves on a whole little street of Greek restaurants. Picked one and had a sumptuous lunch quite cheaply. JoAnn suggested that we walk a block further and see St. Severin, which was mentioned in several guidebooks, so we did. Nice flamboyant period church, and the organist was practicing so I sat and enjoyed that. Its little cloister off to the side was pleasant, too, and it had marvelous gargoyles.

We headed back to the Ile de la Cité to see Sainte Chappelle only to find that it was closed because of the strike, or the incipient strike. Not enough staff. So we put it on the Wednesday list as well and headed next door to the Conciergerie. The big Gothic hall is still terrific, and it is still unfortunate to think about all those people who went to the guillotine from there, who are listed on three walls of a small room.

A detour around to a small park in back of the Palais de Justice that was highly recommended by Rick Steves and others led to nothing much. Back to the flower market near Notre Dame, which was nicer. That, we felt, was enough for the day, so we walked back to the apartment for a much-needed rest.

We decided to call a place we had passed by in the neighborhood that was also listed in Good Eats in Paris, Au Bascou. I managed to call to make a reservation, hoping that because he had asked my name he had understood and said yes. Indeed, they were expecting us, and it was a good thing we had reserved because it filled up very rapidly. Had a great meal, finished off by Don’s “Basque Beret” dessert—a feast of chocolate.

Wednesday was catch-up day. First we took the Métro to the Ile de la Cité and went to Sainte Chappelle, which was open at last. It was even more awe-inspiring than I had remembered, possibly because the day was gorgeous and the stained glass was spectacular with so much light. We simply sat and basked in the glory of it all for quite a while.

Then we headed for the Louvre, went through all the security yet again, and found the Michelangelo slaves, wonderful as expected. Don and I had seen the others at the Accademia in Florence the year before, so this completed our view of them. Then up to the Richelieu wing again, and this time the Flemish wing was open. We wandered and wandered, found the Vermeers and admired them, but looked in vain for the van Eyck. Finally, when we had doubled back everywhere we could think of, I asked a guard. He knew exactly what I was asking for, but as usual I was much better at asking than at understanding the answer. He tried another description, and this time I grasped that it was all the way down on the right. We tried again, and after some trouble found the tiny room off the end of a big hall and there it was. Unfortunately, it is in dire need of cleaning, but I was glad to see it anyway.

JoAnn’s back, which had never given her trouble before, suddenly started having spasms, so we found a museum café and had rather expensive Cokes while she tried the sitting-down stretches my chiropractor recommended, which helped somewhat so that she was revived enough to continue.

We left the Louvre and took the Métro to Trocadero. Unfortunately, although the regular fountains (which are spectacular enough) were going, they didn’t have the great water cannons on. Oh, well. We’d seen them and loved them on our earlier visit and were sorry J & J couldn’t enjoy them. Then we headed across the river to the Eiffel Tower. We had hoped to go up in it, but the lines were so long that we knew we wouldn’t get through in time for our dinner reservation, so we just walked under it and admired.

Then a long hike down the Champs de Mars. At some point John looked back and exclaimed “Look at that!” They were running the Millennium lights on the Tower and it looked like a starburst. We went around the Ecole Militaire and a good way further to the restaurant that Don and I remembered from our previous trip. Another Cheap Eats/Good Eats recommendation, it offers only menu  choices, which include a kir and a bottle of wine for each two people. Delicious meal and much wine—especially since JoAnn only had one glass and John actually indulged in two, so Don and I had the rest. Don was inspired to make a reservation for us to return on Saturday.

On Thursday we took the train to Versailles. Don and I didn’t particularly want to go, but we did want to be with John and JoAnn, who did want to go. Lots of walking. We had to go a good distance to find a place for lunch—a very nice one indeed—and then a further trek to the gates. After some fumbling around (finding out how to get in was a big problem) we headed into the grand public apartments on our museum passes. They are grand indeed—wretched excess at its worst. They have finished half of the restoration of the Hall of Mirrors; the other half has sort of a tent/passageway that was decorated more to my taste than the Hall itself. Finally got through all of that and went out to the gardens.

Well, it’s big. But the fountains weren’t running, which was a cheat, and they did not have a single flower planted. After all the flower beds and window boxes we had seen in Paris, replete with thousands of daffodils and primroses, it was annoying. You’d think they could at least have bulbs planted that would come up all by themselves if they don’t want to spend money on planting things. The best part of the garden trek was sitting by the lake and watching people rowing around on it, even if I did get mud all over my pants. Then we had to walk all the way back to the palace and around it, then across the huge and very bumpy cobblestone grand courtyard to get out, and then all the way back to the train station. All of us were wiped out.

Given our state of collapse, we decided to go back to our friendly Italian restaurant right around the corner, where we had a delightful meal and a nice conversation with the owner.

On reading the Herald Tribune that John had picked up we found that we had lucked out: we had initially meant to go to the Musée D’Orsay on Thursday and now found out that it had been closed most of the day because of a labor dispute. Of course that meant that on Friday when we did go the line to get in went for miles, but after we finally figured out where to get in with our museum passes we breezed right past all the peons.

It’s a great collection, even if a number of things were out on loan (including one that was in Philadelphia). We enjoyed ourselves despite museum feet, although we did speed up a bit through the last galleries on the top floor. All of us were starving, and the cafeteria was mobbed—as were the restrooms, so much so that some women were using the men’s room. We found a good sandwich place right down the street and luckily got in and seated just before a huge student tour invaded the place.

John wanted to see Les Invalides, and as the rest of us didn’t have anything more pressing to do we all went. Of course we ended up walking all the way around it because again the entrance wasn’t clear. Then we found that the whole wing John really wanted to see was closed off. We ended up going to the armor collection. My goodness. I think they have every suit of armor used by every knight and nobleman from Roman times on. Room after room of them—full suits, helmets, boots, spurs, lances, swords, daggers, on and on. We were most taken with a glassed-in storage area where you could see ranks upon ranks of full suits of armor all standing up as if they were watching you.

After all that we stopped in their snack shop for much-needed hot chocolate. We walked through the park outside to head to the Metro, only to discover that there’s a moat around the whole place and there was no exit—we had to go all the way back to the main gate and around again. Don and I took the Métro back home, while John and JoAnn went elsewhere.

That night we went exploring around the corner just off the Place de la Republique, where John had seen some restaurants on his walk the first day. We passed Chez Jenny again, but didn’t feel it was worth repeating. But right next to it was a Moroccan restaurant that turned out to have really delicious food (that unfortunately didn’t agree very well with JoAnn). A lucky find for the rest of us, at least.

On Saturday, our last day, I suggested the Jardin des Plantes over on the Left Bank, along with its Museum of Natural History.  Métro again. We had just bought another carnet of tickets, and by golly, two of them didn’t work. I had a one-sided argument with a ticket person, which I lost, but I was amazed at how fluent I was when annoyed.

The museum was incredible—at least the one building we went to. It obviously hadn’t been changed in decades. One huge room on each floor, filled with bones and more bones and more bones. They had skeletons of everything from whales to mice. Like the armor, it was the most incredible collection of everything I’ve ever seen. I think there were two more buildings, one filled with stuffed animals and the other with what is supposed to be a marvelous exhibit on evolution, but we couldn’t handle all that. We walked around the gardens, but not much was blooming and the greenhouse was closed for reconstruction, so it was a bit of a bust.

We took the Métro back to the Seine and walked over to the Ile St. Louis for lunch. Walked the length of the island just to see it and finally found a place that had delicious quiches. There were many crèperies, but John doesn’t care for crèpes, so we  had to skip those. We had read of the fabulous ice cream place on the island, but Rick Steves said that a gelati place nearby was just as good and much cheaper, so we went there. It seemed so familiar that I just walked up and said “Uno piccolo cono de pistacchio, per favore” without even thinking, and got it. Don was laughing—“You just shifted right into Italian!”

Then on to the Pompideau Center, which Don wanted to see again. We went up to the top floor on the escalators, which give fabulous views. (We had earlier tried to go up in the big department store on the Seine that is supposed to have great views from its cafeteria on the top floor, but the whole store has closed.) We saw an exhibit that was all movies and flashing lights and such. Interesting, but after a while it all got to JoAnn’s already queasy stomach so she left us and went home. We toured a bit more and then walked home, forgetting to stop at the fabulous clock nearby that I wanted to see.

We had reservations for the place we’d been to on Wednesday, but JoAnn didn’t think she could take the long Métro ride to get there, so I called and cancelled. Now where? I called Au Bascou, but no answer, and we then discovered to our surprise that according to Good Eats it is closed on Saturday and Sunday. Strange. So finally we ate Italian again—not the place we’d been twice, but the place next door to it, called Soprano. We’d not stopped there because it always looked empty, but it was quite good and we enjoyed it.

And so off home. We packed up and tidied the apartment. Next morning we took the Métro to the Gare du Nord and got the train to the airport. Parted from John and JoAnn with sadness and stepped into our luxurious seats on the plane once again.