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Published: August 13th 2006
While my original intent was to sleep the entire way from Newark to Paris, I had the pleasure of sitting next to a charming, and friendly, Frenchman. I asked him what I should do with my layover in Paris. He insisted that I
NOT stay in the airport. So, I asked him if he knew the easiest route to the most interesting sites (I had read that the French love to give directions). Well, that sure worked. He went into the overhead for a pen from his bag and we called for paper from the flight attendant. He took the time to draw me a fairly detailed map of the area between the Louvre and the Arc de Triumphe (including the main streets, parks, and river). He went on to draw me a map of Paris, and then one of the south of France (recommending places I should go). He owns a home in Cannes and is purchasing a piece of property further west on the Meditaranian and he strongly recommended that I go no further east than San Troppez. I was actually thinking the same thing given what I’d heard of the tourist high season and how crowded the beach
area and roads are.
I had read another interesting tidbit about French culture. It said that the French have a different sense of private vs. public, and two examples of this are that they do not readily exchange names (especially their first names) and they don’t talk about what they do for a living (two things American’s almost instinctually discuss when starting a conversation). Well, it was definitely true for my neighbor on the plane. I made a point not to mention my name or work, nor ask his, and he never brought the subject up (in 2 plus hours of conversation). We talked about France, the French, the weather, travel in America, music, winter sports, Corsicans, Italians, but never work and never shared our names. Despite the fact that I’ve always thought that talking about work was the most boring icebreaker, I still found myself having to fight the urge to ask him “what he did” during lulls in the conversation.
Once the food came and our conversation waned, I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep. After a light breakfast, we were in Paris. As my new friend said, customs took only 5 minutes. He
then led me through customs and on to ground transportation, and bid me adieu, wishing me bon voyage.
It was drizzling much of my time in the city, but I managed to walk the Champse Ellyse from the Arc de Triomphe to the Louvre. No wonder everyone seems to love this city. Imagine San Francisco with trees, flowers, a river, bridges, and thousands of years of history.
In addition to all the beautiful grounds and buildings I was lucky enough to find my favorite sandwich of all time for lunch - fresh mozzarella and tomato on olive cibatta bread. I used to eat at least two of these a week in San Fran and hadn’t seen them since. I think the idea must have come from France since the one I had in Paris was even better (they added a drizzling of olive oil ).
My layover didn’t allow for enough time to tour the Louvre (since that takes days), but I walked a fair amount of the inner courtyard. On my way back to the Arc de Triomphe I walked along the Seine river and then took a brief ride on the metro (just because).
Simone and I met in Toulouse and after a hassle with my bags and my rental car (service is not what it is in the states), we were off to her home in Limoux. Surprisingly, by the time we arrived it was 59 degrees Fahrenheit. Considering how hot it’s been here recently and the fact that Simone’s place (like many in France) has no air-conditioning, this was a real blessing. Another blessing was Simone getting high-speed internet just before I arrived - I must be living right.
Simone’s has a cute little apartment (a lot of things are down-sized in France), but I am tired after only 4 hours sleep in the last 40, so no more pictures for now.
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rebecca
non-member comment
beautiful
Jim, You take wonderful photos!! When I'm feeling stressed with my studies I find a kind of peace reading your 'blog' and going through your photos. Thanks for sharing it all with me! Rebecca