During Week II we made it a point to get out and about
more and we discovered, of course, fine art, great food, busy tourist-weary
Parisians and, happily, that there are a lot of Americans in Paris.
What? Kit and Alan
are happy to see Americans abroad? That
is impossible!
It is official, we have become Those People. It used to be that when we traveled abroad we
hated being seated next to other Americans; after all, we didn’t travel so far
to overhear the same conversations, in the same accents, that we could while
sitting at home. But after nine months
in Europe (and over a year with just each other to talk to) we are happy to
hear an American voice. And so we have
become Those People: The ones who sit
beside you and engage you in conversation.
The ones we would have avoided like the plague if we were here on a
short vacation. Mon dieu.
As for the tourist-weary Parisians? They can be a bit rude as evidenced by the day
we were window shopping along the Boulevard St. Germain when a lady, and I use
that term generously, and I nearly collided.
I looked up (and up and up—she was well over six feet tall) finally
finding her face into which my, “Excusez moi” froze onto a field of ice. It was like looking into the eyes of a
cobra. A cobra with a long, long nose. She did not smile, she did not move, she only sent a penetrating chill down my spine.
But this has not been our experience of French people in
general. Americans typically think of
the French as rude and vice versa; however, many Americans experience the
French in Paris and Paris alone. That is
like experiencing Americans in Manhattan.
Most of our time outside of Paris the French people were welcoming,
helpful, and interested in making our experience of their country extraordinary;
much like you might find in Texas or California. But Parisians? Mais non.
To Parisians, like Manhattan-ites, tourists are nothing more than speed bumps; dark grey lumps
designed to slow your progress.
And so typically we don’t get the cheery, “Bonjour!” to
which we had become accustomed in the small towns; although when I am out on
the early morning constitutional with The Noses we often get mistaken for
locals (who else would have two terriers in Paris?) and garner more welcoming
nods and even a few, “Bon matin”s—but not until they are finished with their
effusive greeting of The Noses.
Taking the advice of a friend of SP’s (P1), we ventured out
to dinner at Le Relais de l’Entrecote and what an experience that was! Insider information was again very helpful: Armed with knowledge that there is always a
line at the door (opens at 7, no reservations) we arrived at 6:45 and joined
the queque. P1 also prepared us for the
only three questions we were to be asked that evening: How do you like your meat cooked? What do you want to drink? And, What would you like for dessert?
You sit where they indicate, answer the three questions
(the house red wine is quite good and a bargain at €17/bottle) and wait for the
food to arrive. First up is a fresh,
simple green salad with a fantastic dressing.
Then the steak arrives, sliced and served from a large platter, followed
quickly by a delicious light cream sauce on top of which the pommes frites
float invitingly. They keep an eye on
you and as soon as the first helping is done they are at your side with more
steak and frites. Both are so delicious
it is difficult to stop. P1 recommended
the profiteroles for dessert, but I opted for the crème brulee (I am afraid
they used the torch, a staple in US restaurants which I had hoped was banned in
France) and SP had the peach melba. Next
time we will follow P1’s suggestions all the way through. Oh yes, there will be a next time.
Alas, there is more to Paris than shopping and food and
one day we even managed to get to the Louvre.
Thankfully the lines are gone and we were able to walk directly to the
ticket counter (opting for the machines) and then into the museum. It was still plenty crowded particularly
around the popular ladies (Ms. Lisa, Ms. Milo.)
I don’t profess to be an art expert but I know what I like and I was
completely uninspired by both ladies.
However, the plasticity (and yes, I have been waiting since my
Humanities 101 class in college to use that delicious word in context and so
will do so again) the plasticity found
on many other sculptures was simply incredible:
The drape of the robes looked so soft and realistic I thought it
entirely possible to just reach out and make a slight wardrobe adjustment. My favorite area of the Louvre, so far, was
the seemingly outdoor sculpture garden; although I am reserving judgment until
my next visit during which I will find my way to Napoleon’s Apartments.
As for The Noses?
I can’t say Paris is their favorite spot: They spend an awful lot of time indoors or on
leash weaving through crowds of people while trying not to get their eyes
gouged out by the corners of expensive shopping bags. Our morning walks are a highlight for all
three of us as they get some off-leash time in the Palace Gardens during which
Rosco digs for moles in the shrubbery and River simply runs as fast as she can
in any direction, often complete circles.
We follow that up with a short off-leash walk along the Seine before
leashing up and walking through the crowded shopping streets back to the flat.
Paris, in general, is welcoming to The Noses although
they were disallowed from the public bus for being too large. (With the crowds that are often crammed onto
the busses, I don’t blame them for not wanting dogs that cannot be held on a
lap.) We have seen larger dogs on the
Metro but I can’t get enthused about navigating a turn-style with a
terrier. We have had no trouble bringing
them into restaurants but the tables are so small and close together that even sticking
them underneath doesn’t really work. So
we opt to give them their exercise, leave them sleeping in the flat, and
then go out and enjoy some human time.
Coming next week:
Kit finishes updating her wardrobe and a visit to the Musee D’Orsay and
then . . . Guests!
-K
No comments:
Post a Comment