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Joe and I
had joked on a few occasions...well before our trip...that we
weren't "riding" the Aerostar. We were buying it. Anita
insisted we buy the Premier tickets...something akin to what we
know as First Class here in the U.S. Suffice it to say...the tickets
were expensive. But after Spencer, Yvonne, Anita, Joe and I sat
down in our comfy quarters we all realized how right she was.
Instead of having to leave one's seat...and have someone guard
the baggage...we were served. And we were served handsomely. Champagne,
bagels and lox, fruit, juice...all brought to us by smartly dressed,
friendly attendants (and it was included in the price). In my
younger days I would have felt a little guilty about such splurging.
Not any more. The five of us...after all...were on our way to
Paris. I like London. But I simply love Paris! I suppose it's because it is that much more exotic with the language and cultural differences...at least to me. I find a real joy in people going about their daily routines, chattering away...me not having a clue as to what they might be talking about. Because Paris is so cosmopolitan with such a magical draw for tourists...many of the locals at least know a workable amount of English. But what I have learned is that first you must accommodate the Parisians ever so slightly...show a bit of humility...by greeting them with "Bon jour" followed by "I am sorry. I do not speak French. Do you speak English." Do this IN FRENCH!!! Will it make a difference? But of course. You will at the very least...as is always my case...delay your ugly American persona. And that is magnifique!!! Spencer had
recommended a hotel he had stayed in many years ago called Hotel
Du Danube in the Saint Germain district very close to the
Musee D'Orsay. The price had risen from a paltry 4 dollars a night...back
some 35 years or more...it was reasonable enough considering we
were in a wonderful area of the city. Spencer also had a friend he knew from New York who had moved to Paris a few years ago named Sally. She recommended we go to dinner at a restaurant named Le Petit Zinc. Of course the five of us...and our new expatriate friend...made reservations for 7 p.m. Now I know...that is late by American standards. But in Europe it is extremely early to be dining. We sauntered into the place right on the hour. When one of us said to the hostess, "We have a reservation for 7 p.m."...in English no less...well...let's just say I don't think we impressed the scurrying staff...who obviously were still getting ready to open. A tight lipped hostess (I guessed she was gritting her teeth) whispered to our group...in English..."Please leave and come back in 20 minutes." And that's exactly what we did. Sally first took us to a charming little cafe for cocktails called Cafe de Flore where we had a wonderful bottle of wine (Spencer is an enthusiast remember?) Apparently many famous existential philosophers like Jean Paul Sarte used to congregate here and...uh...do existential stuff. Like we were doing...eating French cheeses and drinking French wine. (And in my case pondering how to equate the 3 Stooges with existential slapstick.) After we all had a wonderful dinner at Le Petit Zinc, enjoying the company of new friend Sally, we went back to the hotel. But Yvonne and I got restless and decided to venture out again. I loved this part of the city already...after only a few hours...and we soon wandered into a jazz club called Cafe Lourant. We ordered more luscious wine and sat listening to a piano, drums, and upright base outfit play some spirited jazz. What a delightfully lovely end to the day. The next morning (Friday) we had decided to go our separate ways. Yvonne and I wanted to see some art. But first I wandered down to a bakery and ordered coffee and croissants. I believe I set Franco-American relations back about 5 years with my flustered attempts at ordering a small breakfast in...uh...French. I took French...two years of it...in high school. And it was painfully obvious I deserved all those D's. Still...the tiny espressos and baked goods hit the spot and Yvonne and I were soon enjoying the bustle of Paris...the magnitude of the Louvre...the charm of Musee D'Orsay...the gargoyles of Notre Dame. We made our way to the Champs-Elysées where we strolled to the Arch D'Triumph...ate roasted chestnuts and marveled at the modest yet beautiful Christmas decorations. I mean...can you get any more romantic than this? Especially in December? We stopped in a little cafe full of locals for lunch. Yvonne and I thought we were ordering spinach crepes. Since we're quasi vegetarians (we eat seafood) we thought that be a good, safe order. But the waitress had insisted we order this thing...through her French I could only make out "It's magnifique!!" so we did. And when she brought our plates there was a stack of ham on each one that rivaled the Arch D'Triumph!!! We had a good laugh over the rest of our meal. As we made our way back to the hotel, we stopped in to a little wine shop. And when I dropped a bottle and it broke on the floor I felt...if not the Ugly American...then the Obvious American. Yet the shop keepers were polite and understanding and allowed us to buy wine before leaving. Friday night Anita, Joe, and Spencer took us to a place the hotel staff had recommended called Le Temps Porda. (I hope I'm not butchering the name.) This was more of a small family style restaurant and it was wonderful. And after our meal I suggested we all go to the club Yvonne and I visited the previous evening. Anita and Joe decided to join us and soon we were back at the Club Lourant sipping wine and listening to a somewhat different band. The pianist was the same but this night he had a guitarist, upright bass and drummer with him...all different musicians. After a particularly moving free flow jam I shot my fist in the air and yelled, "YEAH!!!" I could see many in the crowd look at me with a wry smile. If they weren't thinking "Ugly american" they surely were thinking "Obvious". But hey...I embraced being an obvious American on our first European vacation ten years ago when I realized I was probably the only man on the Continent wearing...uh...shorts. I can live with it. There is no way I could hide being an American with a Cleveland accent if I tried. So next time...instead of pumping my fist and yelling "YEAH!" I'm going to yell "OUI!!!" instead. Maybe snap my fingers in lieu of fist pumping. Saturday we all got together for breakfast at a place I cannot remember the name of. There are so many restaurants and clubs it's difficult to keep track. And the Saint Germain district has such a cozy, warm feel that everything blends together after a while. Yvonne and I ventured out to find the Musee D'Art Moderne. It rained on and off...on and off. We got lost. We got a little cold. We bickered a little. But I'll tell you...even bickering is better in Paris. Call it "romantic bickering" if you will. And we finally found the museum. It was great. But I wouldn't recommend modern art on a drizzly, dank day. That night we made our way to Damien and Sarah's apartment. Damien worked for me at Ohio State's Main Library when he was an undergrad. And now he was living in Paris with his French wife...at least for a few more weeks. Ironically, we were attending their returning to the U.S. party. It was great seeing him again...meeting his lovely wife and their new baby. Chatting with their friends at a party in Paris. I could never have imagined! What a joyful juxtaposition!!! And in their place they had a tiny little Christmas tree like the ones we saw in front of flower shops along the Seine River. Another freak happenstance occurred in the cab after the soiree. The cabbie...who happened to be British...abruptly turned off the rugby game he had been listening to...popped in a CD...and when the music began I realized it was Neil Young's "Harvest". (Damien was also a big Neil fan and we had gone to at least two of his concerts together.) As I sang along to "Out On The Weekend" the driver turned to me, grinned and said, "Good choice huh? That's when I noticed the lights on the Eiffel Tower. It was like a dream. Once back at Hotel Du Danube, Yvonne and I decided to make our way back to Le Petit Zinc. By now it was after 11 p.m. and this time the place was packed!! They found us a cozy window table and we ate a lot of fresh seafood. We were both hungry since the party was mostly snack food and light faire. What a wonderful day!!! (Even with the bickering!!) Joe called our room Sunday morning to say so long. He, Anita and Spencer were leaving for home while we had one more night in the City of Lights. We wandered aimlessly for most of the day...did some shopping and site seeing. We must have walked 9 miles Sunday. But in Paris it's the best way to get around...even in December. And I'm still waiting for someone to say, "Hey. I like your shirt." Just so I can reply with "Thanks. I bought it in Paris!!" On our grand finale evening on the Left Bank we wandered into a small cafe specializing in fresh seafood and ate about 4 pounds of mussels...each. At least it felt like that after we were finished. Like every dinner...it was superb. The sights...the sounds...the food...the music...the lights!!! Paris is a sensual smorgasbord of earthly delights. I have been no place like it. I'll go back. Soon. And as I wrote in Part One of this tale...our London beginning...it was surprisingly wonderful having friends there as well. Anita, Joe, Spencer, Sally, Tony, Damien and Sarah...this made such a comfortable, warm experience. And a most memorable one as well. Yet is was Paris that made the trip magnifique!! I love this city. Not only can you dine at a cafe once frequented by Jean Paul Sarte...but where else can you hear Scooby Doo bark in French? |