Paris: Last Day
Paris, it’s time for our last tango.
The Olympic torch came through Paris today and there was a large protest. Check out the sign on Hotel DeVille (Paris City Hall). I saw the end of the protest but I was a few blocks away buying shoes. There, I said it. I saw a unit of horse-mounted officers (is that how you say it? horse cops?) trot through stopped traffic.
Today I visited Montparnasse and ate at La Coupole. I visited a cemetery and came back to my little apartment to pack. I’ve finished my beer and now it’s time for one last cafe. It’s late afternoon and the weather is cold but clear. Later I’ll dine at my favorite restaurant. Tomorrow it’s up and at ‘em.
Comments (be first)Paris: Why You Gotta Be So Cold?
Oh, Paris. I’m melancholy. Has it really been almost two weeks since I arrived and is my trip really coming to a close? A few days ago I was homesick something fierce, missing the fam and longing for conversation. The weather is inching toward spring but today it’s colder than it’s been during my trip and raining. It matches my mood, wistful and reflective. I walked around Montmartre listening to Terry Callier and Ray LaMontagne on my iPod. I retreated back to my apartment around 5 p.m. after deciding I’d drank all I wanted from a rainy Sunday.
Tomorrow is for odds and ends — shopping, sitting in a cafe or three and a final dinner at my favorite restaurant. I want to stay relaxed and enjoy my final day in Paris.
Awesome Text Messages I Received In Paris
Here is a sampling of the texts that came my way in France.
Tom: You’ve now faked out the pros which means you ain’t faking any more.
Monique: Are French bears actually fat?
Candace: Chanel dress??
Doug: Enjoy that Frenchy meat and cheese!
Ted: Moxie still waiting for you, sleeping on your side of the bed.
Jules: Objet Volant!
Paris: The View From Here
Paris: One Of Those Days
Do I look angry in this photo? I’m posting it to remember that travel isn’t always fun and easy, for as wonderful as this trip has been there have been times when I wanted to scream or cry or not be on my own. This morning was one of those times.
Yesterday I bought some clothes, including the jacket I’m wearing in the picture. It was a splurge but it’s fashion. Today I was walking to Musee Carnavelet when I had a premonition. And then it happened: a pigeon shit on me. First I heard it hit my sunglasses, then it ran down my new jacket, hitting all the fancy buttons on the way, ending in one big turd on my pants. Ugh. Also? It hit the inside of my sunglasses. Just how did that happen? I screamed, flung my glasses into the street, yelled obscenities, searched my bag for a tissue and then gagged trying to clean it off.
So. Yeah. I was close to the museum but realized I was in no state to look at beautiful things. I ducked into a cafe where I sat not reading my open book for an hour, attempting to re-group. I made it to the museum and my day sort of turned around. Looking at the picture I see a little smear of shit on my side of my face. I’m off to go dunk my head in antiseptic.
Kisses to you all, dear readers. Kisses to you all.
Paris: Grand Palais, Grand Day
Today was monumental. I saw all sorts of big, majestic stuff — Place de Concorde, Grand Palais, Ecoloe Militaire, on and on. I went to see the Marie Antoinette exhibit but after waiting in a not too long line for two hours had to leave. The silver lining to my Grand Palais visit was the Art Paris: 10e Foire d’Art Moderne + Contemporain show, which runs only four days. It features contemporary art from around the world. How fortuitous that I took a wrong turn after quitting the Marie Antoinette queue.
Dear readers, my feet hurt. I mean, srsly. Even the tops of my feet hurt and how the hell did I swing that? Ancient cobblestones are not forgiving. Of course my eager-walker attitude doesn’t help; I tend to underestimate distances and get lost. I took a photo of my feet in yoga toes, for the record, but what an ugly picture that is. I won’t be sharing.
Paris and I have found a rhythm. I can’t stand the thought of leaving next week although I miss home. My appetite is slowly returning and the Parisian schedule of late meals is fitting my mood. Now I need to scare up some supper ’round these parts.
Paris: Eiffel Tower
Ah, the splendor of standing under the Eiffel Tower when the golden night lights dim and suddenly the entire structure is pulsing with bright white LEDs. Paris, you keep the surprises coming.
Moxie Now Even More Famous
I go to Paris and Moxie gets on ABC TV nightly news! She says “Last night they aired a segment on ABC World News about where I work and they got me leaving a meeting!”
Thanks to the Internet I can watch the spot from over here. I’ve only viewed the clip a dozen times. If you’re alert you can see a slice of Ted’s head. I agree 100 percent with John Vars about the social clues we miss when we’re fiddling with gadgets. Laptops and PDAs can be disconnectors. Viva la topless movement.
Belly Of Paris
Paris is still wonderful. I’ve been ingesting all it has to offer and think maybe I’ve overdone it. My system isn’t used to all this rich food and I developed what Julia Child called “Paris belly.” Too much, butter, pate and wine. And bread! Croissants, pain au chocolat, baguette… no wonder I feel ill around the gills. Last night at dinner I sat next to three men who are in town for an international bread conference. One Spanish, one Italian, one German. They asked me to join them for desert and I did. No one spoke much of the other’s language… there was lots of hand-talking and face-making.
I’m at the halfway point of my trip and there’s still so much I want to see. I’m trying to be calm and not panic, let Paris present itself to me. Yesterday during a wander/shopping expedition I happened upon one of the things I’d earmarked in my travel guide, a medieval house. Before I leave I want to do one fancy, ricidulous dinner but need to get my tummy functional. Last night I got eight hours of sleep. Here’s to that becoming a trend.
Centre Pompidou
When I first studied French, way back in middle school, I was enchanted with the photos of Centre Pompidou in my text book. Such a fun word to say, Pompidou! Pomp-eee-dew! What would normally be the innards of a building were placed on the outside, spearheading contemporary architecture in Paris in 1977. The color-coded escalators (red), air ducts (blue), water pipes (green) and other bits run along the exterior. Located in one of Paris’ oldest neighborhoods, it’s wildly avant-garde. Like the Eiffel Tower before it, the center was controversial and maligned by Parisians. And like the Eiffel Tower, Centre Pompidou is one of Paris’ most beloved treasures.
Imagine the surprise on my first night in Paris when not three minutes outside my door I ran right into it! So incongruous, this city. Approaching my apartment I’m on a small alley from the middle ages. Turn the corner and wham! A giant museum complex. Paris, I want to put you in my pocket. Or climb inside yours.
The special exhibition at the Pompidou is a retrospective of Louise Bourgeois, a French artist (who has lived and worked in New York for much of her life) to whom my friend (the painter/absinthe maker/mad scientist) Jennifer first introduced me. This is her mixed-media piece of Bourgeois, you should buy it. How lucky I am to be here during this exhibit. I felt so calm surrounded by Bourgeois’ art. I can’t even go into it; read more here and here.
Today I’m sticking pretty close to home because I woke up at 2 p.m. Last night I had a hell of a time sleeping. I went to a rock show at La Mechanique. Upstairs it’s a crowded bar with “wild DJ’s” (according to the flyer). Downstairs, in some sort of ancient tunnel-cave, is the club. I saw a garage rock band called The Maggots. Their encore was “Louis, Louis.” Hearing the French people sing along was hilarious. I departed the bar while it was still crowded, telling new friends “Je suis fatigue” (I am tired). When I got home I was super-pooped. And awake until 7 a.m. Oy! If you’ve ever been unable to sleep after taking an Ambien, you will understand the state I was in. Le bull-sheet, as the French say.