French Ventures: Paris 2.0

I guess if you want to get technical, this constitutes my fifth visit to Paris (all have been varying lengths, but we'll stick with Paris 2.0 for your sake.

January 10, 2013:
Departing from Glasgow we had the nicest taxi driver in the world (with the most difficult Scottish accent). As it was Margaret Thatcher Day, he didn't hesitate to let us know his opinion about her -- unfavourable -- and that he couldn't wait for her to keel over so he could pop some champagne. I think he might have felt strongly about her government.... but it's just a hunch.

At the airport, I was pleasantly surprised by a mountain of whip cream on my hot chocolate at Wetherspoon's where I ate breakfast. Talaira then ate breakfast at Frankie & Bennie's, so everyone was happy. Meanwhile, I searched for aluminum-free deodorant (which is different than antiperspirant) in the Boots drugstore and could only find one brand. Of course I forgot to check what it smelled like. I realized later that I was the owner of boys' deodorant (in the interest of being gender-neutral, I suppose it could also be for girls, but the musky scent made me feel like I was trying to be masculine).

Talaira and I boarded the plane and we made the flight attendant laugh when I said it was Talaira's fault that I was out of breath after climbing the stairs. By my logic, if she wasn't so lazy, I wouldn't be so out of shape. (I stand by this).

Our first stop in Paris was a pastry shop outside of Moulin Rouge. I had never seen it before and we snapped some photos and then half-glanced at all the other shops on the street, without really wanting to look.

After this summer, I think it's safe to say that Montmartre is one of my favourite areas of Paris and I convinced Talaira to climb with me to the base of the Basilique Sacré-Coeur, even if I couldn't convince her to climb the 300 steps to the top with me. The view of the city is beautiful at night.

To meet up with our Couchsurfing host, we walked from Anvers to Gare du Nord, and along Boulevard de Magenta where Talaira found her future wedding dress at a store called L'Empire du Mariage. The whole street was lined with wedding dress stores and places to buy tuxedos. We finally met him at the Place du Châtelet and went for dinner next to the Centre Pompidou (so far this is my favourite art museum in Paris).

They served popcorn as an apéritif.... A) I found this incredibly strange and B) this is a brilliant idea that I intend to adopt potentially in the future if I have a fancy party. I ordered boeuf bourginon which was sadly not as good as the one that Danielle makes, but I was still extremely grateful for a return to French cooking. It was somewhat awkward in terms of making dinner conversation because each of my companions only spoke one of the two languages I speak. I had to act as a go-between while also translating my own contributions to the conversation. It wasn't very smooth, to say the least, but we rounded out the evening with a walk through an illuminated Paris including the spectacular sights of the Hotel de Ville and the Notre Dame. The Notre Dame served as a talking point because it was the name of Talaira's high school. However, in place of the French "Note-ruh Dawm", Talaira pronounced it in Canadian English: "Noter Daym". Not quite as distinguished.

Our host told us that the Paris sky never gets black; it was a hazy pink from all the light polution. His apartment was located in the Telegraphe region which is so named because during the revolution, the cities wanted to communicate across long distances with each other. They invented windmill-like structures with arms that could be manipulated to form different signals. It was located at the highest point in the city, where we would be staying the night in an apartment the size of a postage stamp. For 630 euros a month, our host was the proud owner of a hallway-sized kitchen/bike storage area, a toilet, a shower, and a bedroom/living room/office/dining room/etc/etc/etc. For Paris, he was doing well for himself. Luckily for us, it was all very comfortable and well-organized. Unfortunately, I had confused the dates and we were only staying with him one night, instead of the two I had anticipated. We booked a hostel for the next night and went to bed.

January 11, 2013:

We awoke bright and early to a French continental breakfast of pain au chocolat, cereal, croissants and orange juice. Our host was insistent that we were well-looked-after. At the metro stop, we said goodbye and Talaira and I went on our way to the Notre Dame to see it in the daylight. The cathedral turns 850 years old in 2013 so there was a special raised walkway and special exposés inside. Naturally, our next stop was the Eiffel Tower.

After a delicious pasta lunch (since we were suddenly starving) and an even more delicious dessert called meringata, we headed off to the Arc de Triomphe, keeping in mind the challenge issued by Lauren in Glasgow: to cross the traffic and get to the underbelly of the Arc.

This turned out to be not so difficult. There is a staircase that leads you under the treacherous roundabout to the centre where there are war memorials and the tomb of the unknown soldier with a lit flame. It was touching and graceful. Just as proof that we made it:

Our luck was certainly changing from that experienced during our disastrous trip to Inverness and when we arrived at the hostel, they informed us that unfortunately the wing of the hostel we had booked to stay in was under construction and that they would have to put us up in a partnering hotel for the same price that we initially paid. FREE UPGRADE! We felt like the Queens of the Castle when we realized that we would get our own private room with our own private bathroom and individual single beds AND a television!!!!!!

It's hard to express the joy of this moment. It's often the simplest things that bring the greatest happiness, especially after 26 days of travel to foreign and exotic lands (yes, I mean the British Isles). We settled in and watched subtitled episodes of "Les Ch'tis à Las Vegas", the French version of Jersey Shore. Even though Talaira couldn't understand the language, it was entertaining. I realized that apart from the shows I watch online (Glee, New Girl), I hadn't watched television in months, and I certainly hadn't seen any trash television since leaving Canada. It was oddly comforting.

I had the pleasure of meeting up with my friend Greg, an Australian I met through the 2010 iRYLA Conference, who was taking a break from his exchange to China by visiting a friend in Paris (who he also met through Rotary). On the way to meet them, I had some issues with the metro map.

Tessa: Do you know those times when your brain doesn't work?
Talaira: Have them all the time!
Tessa: *slightly offended* Who, me?
Talaira: No! Me!
Tessa: Ohhhh! Me too.

Maybe you had to be there. But this sent us into hysterics. It's a good introduction for the way the rest of the evening was going to go. Greg's friend, a bilingual Frenchman with a British accent, took on the role of unofficial tour guide, giving us random information only a Parisian could know (that I have since forgotten.. it's that exclusive).

Our only mandate for the evening was cheap dinner. We really didn't care what it was, as long as it was cheap. However, Greg's friend had other plans. He led us to the Café de la Paix.

Let me set the scene: the room is done in art deco style and probably with gilt. When we first walk in, you can see the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and before we can catch our breath, the attendant has asked to take our coats. Greg refuses because he's afraid of losing his passport, etc which he is guarding in his pockets. We all refuse as well. I refuse mostly based on the fact that I know I cannot afford this restaurant. We sit down and receive menus. I glance around.

The parties surrounding us are of a different calibre. You can see them eyeing us somewhat suspiciously as they tuck in to their gourmet meals. I glance down at the menu. The cheapest « formule » offered is for 50 euros; this includes entrée, main course and dessert. Greg's friend orders champagne. I'm reading through the list of options in this formule horrified that I don't find any of them apetizing and wondering how I could ever justify the expense for something I don't even like. Talaira and I contemplate getting only a plate of vegetables for 20 euros. Or a French onion soup for the same price. It's 7:30pm and the waiter approaches to ask if we're ready to order. We ask for a clarification and he realizes that since it is now 7:30pm, the menus must be changed. Suddenly the cheapest « formule » is 80 euros.

It is at this point that I protest the choice of restaurant. Greg's friend offers to pay for everyone. I still feel uncomfortable, but am more willing to give the menu a chance. I decide on the menu item listed in English as jugged rabbit with creapy spelt wheat. I could not make this up if I wanted to. I order it simply for a laugh. I have no idea how you "jug" a rabbit and I assume they must have meant "creamy", but I prefer the description "creapy" because it was probably more accurate.

After two glasses of champagne, I feel a bit silly, and a bit less inhibited and we really started to have some fun. Greg speaks English and Chinese. Greg's friend speaks English, French and Chinese. Greg's other friend speaks French, Vietnamese and some Chinese. I speak English and French. Talaira speaks English and understands some French. It was one of the most interesting dinner conversations I have ever participated in. The number of combinations of languages we came up with and the number of times we had side conversations was astounding. Thank goodness the company was good because for 400 euros, the dinner was average (or sub-par if you consider the value for money). Talaira was hungry after an hour.

Before parting ways, we took a ride on the Roue de Paris (ferris wheel) in Place de la Concorde, saw the Hotel Crillon from the lobby before we were kicked out because we weren't guests (and it wasn't a museum as the doorman helpfully pointed out), the Napolean Statue and the U.S. Embassy found in the area. We said reluctant goodbyes at the Champs-Elysees and went to bed in our luxury hotel room. Living the life.

January 12, 2013:
We had a glorious grasse matinée (late morning) in the hotel room and fueled ourselves for a crash course on the Louvre with a crêpe breakfast at Café Foresta where Talaira insisted on tipping even though service is always included in France.

We saw the Mona Lisa and the Egyptian section to start. We spent about an hour searching for the Impressionist works in the museum and instead we happened upon the Napolean apartments.

I guess the theme for our Parisian part of the trip could be excessive luxury. The trim in this room was done in gilt. Really. These apartments call for a good old-fashioned North American "Oh. My. God." Picking our jaws up off the ground, we finished our tour of the Louvre by asking at information about the Impressionists. We were informed that in the museum there are only five Impressionist works. They recommended going to a different art museum. We gave up and went souvenir shopping instead.

It was an excellent conclusion to an excellent train and we happily boarded the train to Lyon where there was snow waiting and my own bed. Talaira's trip didn't finish there, but that's another story!