Advertisement
Published: August 8th 2007
La Tour Eiffel and the fastest TGV ever Giverny and Ave Maria must have pooped us out, because we got off to a terribly late start. Our Paris days have somewhat of a routine - Leroy and I get up and get ready, then walk from Maman’s on Boulevard Malesherbes, up Rue Legendre, and left at Rue de Levis. After the lavender-colored storefront, we punch in the door code, walk up one flight up the warped wooden stairs, and ring the doorbell. After some bonjours, we all leave the place for a new adventure. Today, we go to one of our two favorite bakeries on Rue de Levis for pastries and a Quiche Lorraine. Our plan is to go to the Eiffel Tower, where there will also be a showing of the TGV that recently broke the speed record (it’s an old train, but it went up to 574.8 kph, or 367.2 mph for you gringos). While underground on the metro, Leroy told us to get our cameras ready, for once our car emerged from the earth, there it was! The Eiffel Tower - once the tallest structure on earth, built for a World Expo and meant to be temporary, but
now it is an icon of Paris. We did the usual - took tourist pics trying to hold the tower in the palm of a hand or touch the tip (just the tip). Once on the tower grounds, the line to ascend was too long for our taste and we resolved to return at night, when the tower and Paris would be glittering.
Pondering our next move, we headed toward the Seine only to find out that the TGV would be on display starting tomorrow… but wait, why are those girls dressed in black and silver with “574.8” written on their dresses? And what’s with the troupe of rollerblading dudes giving out flags? Lo and behold, the famous TGV was rolling down the Seine on a raft, and we happened to be at the bridge at the right time to welcome it. We waved our flags and laughed as confetti flew through the air downriver. Yay, a fast train approaches, woohoo! The forecast for today is for 20% rain, and a few drops hit our foreheads as we huddle in the wind watching the TGV. Leroy says we should probably try to hide under the bridge soon, since dark
clouds are coming our way. But before we can start moving, more rain falls. Bettina and I look toward the stairs, and I quietly say, “What’s that?” There is a gush of water flying through the air sideways, as though someone had unleashed a firehose (say, at a bunch of soccer fans in Argentina, for example). But no, it was rain. Real rain, pushed sideways by the strong winds. Bett and I run, and we must be lucky, because we hide behind a big stone and statue and hardly even get wet. Everyone else was not as lucky. The five of us stand close together under the protection of the statue (so long as the winds don’t turn the other way) and are quickly surrounded by 15 other people trying to escape the flood. People are soaking… in Paris, the land of unpredictable weather. Twenty percent chance of precipitation apparently means you should get ready for a deluge. A man selling umbrellas passes by and demands 15 euros… no way! We wait out the roughest part of the storm, then run in the frigid air to hide under the bridge. When the clouds pass and it’s dry enough to venture
Trocadéro
Site of the Palais de Chaillotout, we plan our escape to the safety of the metro. But before getting there, Bett and I notice that the line for the Eiffel Tower is now substantially shorter. Unfortunately, the rest of our group didn’t know we had gotten to the front of the line and were sauntering about, so we gave up our place and still had to wait about 20 minutes in the ticket line. The summit was closed due to strong wind (of course!) and so we could only go up to the 2nd platform. Leroy showed us key points of interest as we enjoyed cappuccinos and café crèmes and took in the 360-degree view of the city. Beautiful.
Arts et Métier: Patting Ourselves on the Back Once out, we had little time to get to the Musée des Arts et Arts et Métier (Museum of Arts and Trades) since it closes at 6pm. Bob has really been looking forward to this museum, which chronicles the development of technology, from cars to printing press to typewriters to automatons and more. My mom and Bett are excited too, as they are both fans of crafts like quilting and knitting. I like technology museums; I even
World Record setting TGV
Making its way up La Seine spent seven hours in the Museum of Science in Munich once. It was so much fun (“are we having a geekoff?”). We got to the museum an hour before closing time, and they tell us we can get in for free if we just wait another 15 minutes, so we do. Then, we’re all off and running. Each of us pretty much goes our own way with Bob going straight to the steam engines (Did I mention he owns one and it’s in their backyard?). I enjoy the typewriters and toasters from the early 20th century, and mom gets a kick out of the ancient Singer sewing machines. There really wasn’t enough time to get into everything, and should I have a lazy day in Paris again (and maybe an equally nerdy companion), I’d definitely come back.
Doing the Paris Café Thing So now it’s 6pm and we’ve been booted from Arts et Métier. We have two hours to kill before our Mother’s Day dinner at 404, a Moroccan restaurant that Leroy has told me about many times. You should see the look on his face when he describes the first and only time he went there many years
ago. We’ve decided that it’s a great spot to celebrate Mother’s Day (especially since Parisians won’t be celebrating that holiday until two weeks later). We park ourselves at a corner café and indulge with wine, beer, and freedom fries. Bob isn’t feeling the Leffe Blanche he tried and still prefers Heineken. I’ve been neglecting the labels we’ve been tasting, much to my dismay and especially considering how careful we were to chronicle our bottles in South America. I know we’ve tried Bordeaux, Côte de Rhone, Beajuloais, Sancerre red and white, and more - but I’ll never remember the vineyards or years. Oh shame… but truth be told, we’ve been imbibing on the low end and I have yet to be impressed. Wait, that’s not fair. French wine is delicious. But there is a lot of yummy wine in this world, and even in Cali, I don’t think I have a favorite vineyard or year. I just like Syrah more than Merlot, although I won’t throw a fit in an alley if someone orders it (please refer to blog in Buenos Aires about “Sideways”). I guess I just don’t have the talent for it.
A Heavenly Mother’s Day Dinner at 404
We get to 404 right at 8pm (clearly we’re not Parisian) and our friendly comedian of a waiter seats us in a corner booth. The atmosphere is warm, not as in temperature, but as in the feeling that the restaurant creates for you. Our menu is filled with scrumptious options like tagine and couscous dishes.
It’s terrible, but since I’m writing this over a week later, I can’t remember what we ate. I think I had couscous with some kind of lamb. Bob and Leroy had the lamb shoulder. I know for sure that my mom also had lamb because it was her third time eating Little Bo Peep’s ward since getting to Paris, but I decided not to give her a lecture about her diet because it’s Mother’s Day. Bettina ordered the fish tagine. The food was out of this world. There were sublime vodka and lemon drinks (so good, mom got the virgin version), and a bottle of wine. We were so full we couldn’t even order dessert. I was so full, I just wanted to get up and go. I had no desire to wait another hour for a belly dancing show, especially since my
own belly was about to pop. Our overly funny and questionably straight waiter was on a different time zone though, and when I got up to give him the payment for our bill, he quickly told me to “Sit down.” Thanks to the wine, I was in too good a mood to even throw an “excuse me?” look.
A Long Walk Home Finally we pay and then proceed to stumble (not from alcohol, but from gluttony) into the narrow street and rub our protuberant middles. What say we walk? It’s about 10pm, and a nice night walk will do our digestion some good. And into Paris we shuffle. Boulevard Saint Denis to Haussman to Malesherbes. The stroll gives us a chance to see more of this great city and even walk by two of the “portes,” or gateways into the old city. We pass by major department stores (Galeries Lafayette and Au Printemps) whose windows shine brightly in the night. The walk is, according to my mom’s search on The Google later that night, 3.35 miles long. It’s a bit of a stretch for ma dukes, but at that pace (it takes us almost an hour and a half),
it is the best exercise we’ve had on vacation yet. And Paris is the kind of city that must be walked. I recall that in my capstone Psychology course in college, we read about a study on how people “map” cities or places. That is, how do we create our concept of our neighborhood and city and how we live and get through that space? For some people, these mental maps are created when they walk through cities as children. The study actually used Paris as a case example, which is unique due to its arrangement by arrondissement. At the time, I realized that I only really understood the layout of a city if I had driven it. Despite four years of college in Cambridge near Boston, I only figured out how towns were arranged when I rented a car and drove out of state. Perhaps it’s because I’m from L.A. that I needed to do this. Whatever the (psychobabble) case may be, walking in Paris is a delight and the best way to soak up the city.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.24s; Tpl: 0.02s; cc: 10; qc: 28; dbt: 0.0822s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
anonymous
non-member comment
Paris looks awesome, especially the Eiffel Tower. Can't wait for the wedding bells and a chance to see Paris.