Saving France

We took forever to get going this morning. We didn't leave the hotel room until noon. The restaurant downstairs was not open yet, so we walked across the street to the corner bar for coffees. We spoke to a woman with a small dog -- Pomeranian and Peking mix -- and took pictures, along with an old and very large German Shepherd who lives there in languid luxury. Antonia and Darien smile and engage everyone, which is both their strength and weakness. We have more interesting conversations, but it takes us longer to get where we are going.

I stopped to help a woman in our hotel whose doorknob fell off as she was leaving her room (it is that sort of hotel). Outside, I helped a young woman who was struggling to right a vehicle barrier in the street. My motto has become, "Saving France, one woman at a time."

The restaurant still wasn't open, so at my insistence we walked up the street to vendor selling crepes. He cracks an egg on the crepe while it is cooking, breaks the yolk, and smears it around on the crepe while it is on the griddle, adding cheese and other things at our whim while it cooks. He then folds it up before handing it over. My mushrooms drip as I eat; I try to keep it away from my clothes.

We headed off on the train to the Palais de Tokyo. Outside, in the median, is the largest farmer's market I have ever seen, filled with fresh fish, vegetables and fruits, breads and pastries, prepared foods, and other goods. It stretches the length of the block that he museum is on, which is quite far. Before we go inside, we wander around the wild gardens outside. They are maintained by different residents. Antonia says they are her favorite place in Paris, even before she discovered the chickens living there. We toured the museum, which is filled with contemporary art and mostly inscrutable. I chose a large work suspended from the ceiling made from camping tents, looking like a huge mask. Antonia chose an insect installation filled with sound. Darien chose a giant concrete block arch, held in place by a keystone and strap.

We walked across the Seine to the Musee du Quai Branly. It has only been open a few years and is filled to the brim with primitive art. We are all totally entranced -- with the art, with the building, with the lighting, with the displays, with the gardens. I took numerous pictures of faces, mostly masks but also bird people, devils, and grotesques that I'm going to have to edit and delete. I liked the Oceania exhibit and selected one of the male totems. There is a dead tree outside the cabin that I want to carve in homage. Darien chose a screen of some sort that I don't remember -- I hope she has a photo -- and Antonia enjoyed a multimedia exhibit of images and sounds.

We sat in the garden afterward with red wine and a light snack, then walk through the gardens.There was a charming water installation -- emulating sort of a right-sized aid project to help indigenous people create a tool -- including a water wheel and trough made with lots of recycled bicycle parts.

Walking over to the Seine, we find a tour boat. The only thing that kept me from sleeping on the tour was knowing I had spent eleven euros to take it. We walked over to the Trocadero, where thousands of people were cheering a World Cup match between Spain and Paraguay on a giant outdoor screen. We left before the riots started.

We metro'd home to El Dorado and ate in the restaurant downstairs. I had a salad with duck upon Antonia's recommendation; she had had it several years ago when she stayed here. The other two shared a salad and fish dish.

French women have some crazy shoes.

Dining with Eiffel

After lunch, we walked down Avenue Junot and then Rue Lepic  in search of the cafe where the film Amelie was filmed. We got off track and never did find it. We stopped in a shop that had lots of odds and ends, including lots of baby dolls, some of which were just the heads with the top of the skulls shaved off. Jonathan gave Antonia strict instructions ("No French babies!"), so we passed up the opportunity to purchase any.

We arrived back at our hotel in mid-afternoon. Our room was available by then, on the fourth floor, with the bathroom on the third and no elevator. It is very warm for Paris -- about 93 degrees. The air was still and stifling. We all needed a shower very much, then we dozed. We woke and did some hand laundry. I poked my head out the window.

"Can we see the Eiffel Tower from here?"
"I don't think so."
"What is that?"
"I think it is a radio tower."
"I'm going to say it is the Eiffel Tower."

The name of our hotel is El Dorado -- very French, I know. We had to stop at the front desk to ask where we could purchase a three-hole converter for the electronic adapter that got left in Richmond. The clerk directed us to a large electronics store, but we have time to get there before dinner. We decided to go out. We needed a better dictionary.

Me (to the bookstore clerk): "Bonjour. Parlez-vous anglais?"
Bookstore clerk: "Non."
Liar.

Some rain cooled things off a bit. We went in search of coffee and sat outside a small cafe. The waiter was much more willing to work with our limited French. I ordered my coffee with hot milk, which I never do. I also put sugar in it. Our new friend the waiter told us we should go to the Catorama gallery up the street to look for the adapter. He wrote down the name for us, and we immediately found what we needed.

We had a scheduled dinner with the choir at the Eiffel Tower. We took the subway. While on the train, we saw three young men dressed in homemade gladiator costumes. They got on our car, but they were obscured enough I could not get a picture. They got off at the same stop and I followed them, but the crowd kept me away from them. We finally caught up with them, and made certain we got on the same car when we transferred. I still couldn't get a clear shot of them, but Darien took the initiative and worked her way through the crowd. Anything for three half-naked Frenchmen. I got my picture.

At dinner we sat with Cliff's mom, Betsy. Since the menu called for chicken, Antonia convinced the waiter to bring her and Darien something else. They ended up with a nice fish. The mashed potatoes were excellent, and the frozen dessert of some sort of shortcake was tasty as well.

Several of us decided to walk down the tower after dinner. At the bottom, in the large space under the tower, a number of people were running, shouting "cops!" At first I thought it might be some political street action, but it turned out that they were were after the illegal street vendors, of which there were many.  Someone saw the police had guns drawn.

It was still stifling hot when we got back to El Dorado. We went downstairs for beers. The garden was closed, so we stood at the bar, which wasn't much cooler than our room, but our room didn't have beer. There was some confusion over how to pay and I started talking to the woman next to me. She was from Madagascar, which didn't seem too unusual, but what did turn my head was when she told me she worked for Icelandic Air. We spoke about Iceland and where to go and what to eat. Afterward we stood in the street with her and her friends, finishing our drinks. We gave them the programs for the choir's performances. She was enthusiastic and said she wanted to come to one of them. Maybe she was just drunk.

Cramming it in

We ran into Ann Rawls in the Paris baggage claim. She yelled out something about Speckled Bird across the room, which may be its first utterance on French soil. We almost shared a taxi, but decided to stick to the original plan and take the train in, then transfer to the metro.

We walked from the metro station to our hotel on Rue des Dames. We stopped and asked several times for directions to make sure we were heading in the right direction, which didn't stop us from getting lost. We had to double back. Darien started to get a migraine headache, so I shouldered her backpack and she wheeled mine. Later we found out that what should have been a one block walk turned into a mile trek.

The room wasn't ready for us, so we sat in the courtyard for breakfast -- bread and apricot jam, croissants, pastries, orange juice, and coffee with milk. We asked the waitress how to pronounce everything so we could order in the future. As we were ready to leave, a video crew showed up to interview a woman from an English band for a Web TV channel. I didn't recognize her.

We took the metro out to Sacre-Cour. An old Montmarte street leads up to the church, where impromptu games of confidence -- a variation of the three card Monte -- are played on top of turned over boxes and suck tourists in. I try to snap a quick photo, but one of the confederate muscles quickly places his hand over my lens. Further up the street, more confidence men try to place a string around our wrists and force us to buy them. Supposedly deaf people ask us for signatures as a prelude to asking for money, and beggars sit on the steps up to the church. It is a non-stop circus.

A mass was in progress, so we stayed for that. It was very warm inside; Antonia and Darien were well prepared with their hand fans. A choir of nuns in white frocks and black habits sang afterward. 10 euro each allowed us to climb to the top of the dome, where we had grand views of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Arc de triomphe,  Notre Dame, and more. Antonia and Darien both conquered their fears of the narrow, winding staircases, although they made me walk in front on the way down.

Next to Sacre-Cour is Saint Pierre-de-Montmarte, built in 1147 on the site where Roman gods were worshiped. Montmarte was originally named for the god Mars, but this was later redacted to "martyrs" to de-paganize it.

Lunch was at the very pink (as in walls, tables, chairs) La Maison Rose. One of the tour books called it charming with lousy food, but we found the omelets acceptable. We had a rose wine, which I never do for lunch. With the Paris heat, I think I need a nap.

En Route

We departed Richmond with civility, not leaving until 10:15 AM. It was a brief trip. "We have found New York," the stewardess intoned 45 minutes after leaving. When we arrived in the international terminal, we had a small problem. Although we were careful to observe the rules for the size of carry-ons, we neglected to notice that Icelandic Air also had weight restrictions, so we were forced to check our bags anyway. This was more upsetting to some of us than others, but they were mollified somewhat just to be in the presence of Icelanders.

We were not scheduled to arrive in Iceland until 11 PM, their time. We read and slept and I watched Avatar (cowboys and Indians, and boy gets the girl high tech style). We went through customs in Reykjavik Finding a water fountain in its airport is difficult. The best part of the layover was to see on of Icelandic Air stewardesses in her cute little black felt pillbox hat whiz by on a Razor-style scooter.

The leg from Iceland to Paris was mostly uncomfortable, as we all tried to sleep in impossible postures.

.

What do you want to do?

-- What do you want to do?
-- I don't know. What do you want to do?
-- I don't know.
--mmmmm ....
-- Let's go to Paris.
-- OK.
-- mmmmm ... Can we go to Euro Disneyland too?
-- OK.
-- Sweet.

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