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On a rainy day at a café on the St. Germain, NLEH and I sat behind a stylish Parisian couple with their little Bichon Frise. A homeless woman approached them with a cup and the gentleman dug in his pocket and retrieved a coin which he deposited. All hell broke lose as the woman cussed at him and asked him how she was supposed to buy a meal like he is eating and he needed to give her more than that! The gentleman’s wife became involved in the situation and asked the woman to leave but she wouldn’t’ budge, continuing to have a fit until the Maitre D’ shooed her away – proving the point that no good deed goes unpunished. After leaving the restaurant, NLEH and I walked down the sidewalk to see a stylish woman with her hair in a chignon, high heels, a skirt and a brown velvet sweatshirt that said “Georgio†down one sleeve. As we came closer the woman shoved a cup in our face demanding a coin. This was the best dressed street beggar I have ever seen! I have to give her credit for marketing—she blended in with the crowd so people didn’t avoid her by walking on the other side of the street. However, it was hard to be sympathetic to someone so very chic.  "Would you like to buy a gold ring?" Today, NLEH was approached by a gypsy playing the old ring game. This is the oldest trick in the book, and every tour guide that I’ve read warns tourists about it. A gypsy approaches you holding up a gold ring telling you that they found it and would you like to buy it. Of course the gold is fake and who would buy a gold ring off a gypsy but the amazing thing is that PEOPLE DO! After NLEH told the gypsy that the ring was so lovely she ought to keep it, she walked away and approached two British women. Next I saw them digging in their bag for coins to buy the ring! I should have minded my own business but I said, “Excuse me, but this is a popular scam This woman is a gypsy and her husband is over there watching. Don’t buy the rings!†This infuriated the woman who then put a curse on me – something that was a little scary — and of course her husband came over to curse me, too. I wasn’t afraid because there were police nearby, but the really shocking thing was that they walked right over to another nice tourist and we watched as he looked at the ring and dug in his pockets for change, too! NoLo E-hub isn’t feeling well –I look at him and he is sweating and he looks awful. So we hail a cab to take us back to the apartment. On the taxi’s radio, the announcer tells about a Roberta Flack concert and I think about how much I love her song “Killing Me Softly.†I picture a small intimate Parisian venue where we could practically touch her as she sang. It would be fantastic. But then like many ambitious ideas, I realize that I really didn’t want to stay up late to listen to Roberta Flack, I’d rather be reading a book back in the apartment.  Roberta At the apartment, NoLo E-hub curls up in a ball on the bed and before joining him I load the disherwasher. As I reach under the sink for dishwasher soap, I have an idea.
We’ve been sleeping with the windows open at night and it keeps the apartment very cool but tiny little mosquitos or gnats have been feasting on me (They haven’t touched him—must sense germs.) Here under the sink is an aerosole can of bug spray with a picture of a fly, beatle and other flying insects. What the heck, maybe this will solve the gnat problem. I march into the bedroom and spray around the outside of the bedroom window similar to the way we spray the entrance to our tent to discourage mosquitoes from entering. We’ve practically eaten our way around the Ile Saint Louis–literally. Three blocks of cafes, restaurants, brasseries and bistros. We had every intention of leaving the island, but why? The food here is fantastic—some of our meals go on the best ever list: Lentil soup at Le Tastevin: what can possibly be interesting about lentil soup? This soup didn’t resemble a lentil—they had been pureed and then mixed with cream, broth and divine spices. I had a giant bowl before as an “entree” (appetizer) and could not exercise self restraint to save room for my dinner. Calamari unlike you’ve ever eaten. Squid fritte. Small, thin strips of delicately breaded calamari served with an herbed mayo.  French English Dictionary I am fearless about speaking French and probably not as good as I think I am. I say the words so confidently that even if I’m wrong I can convince people that I’m speaking French by my bold attitude. Many times tourists on the streets of Paris, thinking I’m French, ask for directions to the Palais Royal or a random boulevard. So today when the telephone at our apartment rings I assume it is either a telemarketer or perhaps it is our landlord calling–so I answer confidently. “Allo!†I say  How I imagine the sweet grandmother to look I walk next door to deliver the message. “Emmanuelle, your grandmother called and left a message with me to ask you to call her.†“She did?†Emmanuelle says. I could see she didn’t believe me. “She said she’d like you to call her tonight.†Emmanuelle thinks about this for a while. “It’s my birthday today. That’s probably while she called.† Bon anniversaire! “In that case, bon anniversaire! “ I say with gusto, feeling confident that I had the perfect birthday wish right there on the tip of my tongue. Then my no-lo ehub(no longer estranged husband as he prefers to be called) says, “Did you just now wish her a happy anniversary?” Confidence shaken. I rush to the English/French dictionary, and there it is, right there. Bon anniversaire. I knew I still had it!  Shakespeare and Company S&C has three small rooms on the ground floor with floor to ceiling books–a great offering of titles in a compressed space. The aisle is barely wide enough for one person and if the person in front of you stops, then you need to stop too—forget trying to pass. As a game, you can try to walk through the entire bookstore making a circle without knocking a book off the shelf or bumping into another person.  The chalkboard at Shakespeare and Company I didn’t plan to buy any books but when I leave I’m carrying two bags of books! Many are gifts emblazoned with the famous S&C stamp—the clerk will stamp the inside of the cover with the S&C logo making it a great souvenir. Plus, today was an extraordinary day at S&C—the first new issue of Paris Magazine published by S&C arrived in boxes as I stand in line to pay for a copy of the Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. Copies are flying out the door and I snatch four—another fabulous souvenir for writer friends. Two teenage boys with British accents are standing next to me discussing Sylvia Plath and wondering how she killed herself. “Head in the oven,†an American tourist replied to their ghoulish delight. “Ewwww, I knew it was something horrible,†on of the boys exclaimed. If you love bookstores, (who doesn’t), making a trip to Shakespeare and Company feels like going to church. This month S&C hosts a three-day literary festival—I can’t imagine where they could fit all the people, they certainly wouldn’t fit in the store. “At the little park next door,†a clerk tells me. This is something I don’t’ want to miss. It’s Sunday in Paris! Our plan is to have a lazy morning in our quiet apartment, followed by breakfast (un petite dejeuner) in a corner café with giant Café au Laits. I am sitting in my bathrobe just waking when I hear what sounds like a marching band outside the window. Going to the window, this is what I see.  The view from my window So for now, my NLEH and I are trapped in our apartment on the Ile St. Louis. Normally a quiet, little, ice cream-cone overrun village, the streets are packed with thousands of people not to mention a drum section. But shouldn’t every Sunday in Paris begin with a marching band? Every Sunday in Paris is a celebration! Not to be stopped by a few thousand people wearing white hats, we eventually make our way to breakfast followed by a bike ride to the Eiffel Tower.  Eiffel Tower On Sundays in Paris the roads along the Seine are closed to traffic and you can ride your bike for miles without fear of being run over by a taxi. We pedal along the river to the Eiffel Tower then realize that it’s time for lunch. Near the Eiffel Tower is a charming community called Rue Cler—a pedestrian mall with shops and cafes where we perch ourselves on a few café stools and watch the world walk by.  Rue Cler On our way back to the apartment, we pedal up a steep hill and as we crest the top we are faced with a crowd of hundreds of roller bladers coming straight at us. We pull our bikes onto a sidewalk to move out of the way as the crowd passed and continue on our adventure.  Roller blades in Paris Later, I learn that this group skates every Sunday different routes in town. It looks like a death wish to me but what do I know , maybe we should try it some day. Still if feels safer riding on a big clunky metal bicycle than being on two tiny wheels surrounded by a throng of maniac skaters. We have never ridden East of the historic center so we continue East of Ile Saint Louis on the bike path to the Italian Center, an area that becomes more suburban and industrial. At four o’clock we flip around, ready to head back to the island to return our bicycles. Here’s how Velib the do-it-yourself bicycle rental works: You visit any of the stations around the city and plug in your credit card. Then when you are finished, you simple put your bicycle back into the rack and receive a receipt that you’ve returned the bike. We approach the Velib stand at Notre Dame to find that all the “parking spots†are taken. We continue to another location three blocks away—thank goodness there’s a map of all the bike stations—where two available parking spots await us. Just minutes after we arrive, a line of people form behind us also searching for available parking spots and heading to the next Velib station.  Velib What a lucky day! Waking to a marching band, avoiding a rollerblade run-in and parking spots for two! We must celebrate with a glass of wine!  Le Pigeon aux Petit Pois Looking for other Picassos in Paris, I found a recommendation in Frommer’s to see Picasso’s “Dove with Green Peasâ€, saying it was not to be missed at the Modern Art Museum.†But wait, this was the painting that was stolen last month. In May, 2010 the Modern Art Museum was burgled by a lone masked thief who sheared off a gate padlock and broken a window to get into the gallery. The stolen works, part of the museum’s permanent collection, were “Dove With Green Peas†by Picasso, “La Pastorale†by Matisse, “Olive Tree Near l’Estaque†by Georges Braque, “Woman With a Fan†by Amedeo Modigliani and “Still Life With Chandeliers†by Fernand Léger.  Tete d'homme moustachu This week the Modern Art Museum reopened so we went for a visit—surely they must have additional Picassos lying about somewhere. The museum’s permanent collection is free to the public—a wonderful treat; admission to the visiting collection is 9E. We entered a cavernous gallery with a painting at the very end of the room and as we approached we noticed that the guard was dozing. I’m not sure if this had anything to do with the theft. But who could blame the poor guard, sitting quietly iby himself all day long in an empty room? We strolled through the Paris School in Gallery 8 with Pierre Bonnard, Raoul Dufy, and Amedeo Modigliani. We passed through the Decorative Arts gallery overlooking the Seine with furniture and decorative arts from the 1930s. At the end of our museum tour, we came to a single Picasso, a painting in grays, browns and blacks called “Tete d’homme Moustachu.†I guess the burglar forgot this one or perhaps wasn’t crazy about the colors. We plan to continue our Picasso search later during our visit at the Orsay.  Peonies in Paris Maybe it’s because I’m intoxicated by this city, but so far I’ve noticed how affordable the good life can be: Triple cream cheese, one pound, $8; organic chardonnay $5; bouquet of peonies with six grapefruit-sized blooms $7. Plus, many things are free. You could simply wander the city all day long and gorge yourself on the sights—boats on the Seine, Notre Dame, Les Tuileries, Le Jardin du Luxembourg, the Eiffel Tour, and admission to the Musee de Modern Art are only a few of the free amusements.  Cheese shop on Ile Saint Louis Taking photographs of cheeses in a shop window, sitting along the Seine on a bench and watching barges float by, standing on the ancient Pont Neuf, listening to a gypsy brass band as they march down Blvd. Ile Saint Louis their music echoing down the cement canyon, walking in the rain with a borrowed umbrella, and listening to church bells play a song that sound like a cover of “Three Blind Miceâ€â€”all free. A 110,000 mile ticket to Paris, compliments of Delta Skymiles. (Award tickets went up during the past year from my bargain 60,000 mile ticket in 2009.) A day in Paris, priceless. Today, rain is falling over the city creating a coziness in cafes that is often portrayed in romantic movies. Taxis rush by on the wet streets splashing pedestrians as they pass; pedestrians march down the sidewalk–an army of umbrellas. Waiters step outside periodically to poke the canvas awnings with broomsticks disgorging the water collecting overhead.  Les Deux Magots in Rain NLEH (no longer estranged husband) and I head out to a late lunch at Les Deux Magots, the famous literary café and find it packed with Parisians and tourists. Seats are hard to come by because what is there to do on a rainy day besides eat, drink, and chat with friends over a café or vin? We squeeze into a back corner next to an older French woman dining alone. She orders a melon salad followed by Carpaccio but when it comes she isn’t pleased so she sends it back for a house salad.  my favorite umbrella Beneath the table, I carefully stash my red polka dotted umbrella which has been very handy today. When the waiter arrives, I order a glass of “pink wine†popular and a Deux Magots Salade similar to a cobb salad with boiled egg, ham and chicken. NLEH orders an omelet and a glass of fume blanc. As we wait, I translate the story of the restaurant from the back of the menu to him: the restaurant was built on the site of a store called Deux Magots—named for the two wooden statues of Chinese commercial agents (magots) that adorn one of the pillars. It is one of the most famous literary cafes in Paris known for patrons like Ernest Hemingway, Jean Paul Sarte, Albert Camus and Pablo Picasso.  Statues of Le Deux Magots When our food arrives, we marvel at the creations on the table. Simple lettuce, eggs, ham and chicken yet so fresh and delicious it tastes much different from many chef salads. NLEH’s omelet of herbs, ham and cheese is so flavorful that he stops eating periodically to say, “Yum.†The woman next to us finishes her lunch, stands and grabs the table for support, prying herself out of the tiny booth. Her balance is shaky as she puts on her coat and NLEH smiles at her and moves our table over to make it easier to pass. She smiles back and says to us, ‘La vieillesse quell naufrage.†Charles De Gaulle.†She asks in French if we understand. “Old age is like …†I begin and stop. I don’t know the word “naufrage.†She motions up and down with her hands like waves and then makes sounds like waves crashing and says “un bateau.†A boat. But I’m still not sure… The waiter can’t read her writing so I bring the placemat with me to translate back at the apartment. And NLEH in one swell swoop, pinches a menu for a souvenir to bring back to the room. (He is not the sort of person who steals salt and pepper shakers, shot glasses, or soap—so I’m impressed that he would do this as a gift for me even if some readers may perceive this as wrong.) |
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