OnTheRoad: AH, PARIS....

PARIS
February 21 – February 27

Our arrival in Paris was beset with problems, a host all related to our inability to communicate or even read the word “exit”. After purchasing our Oyster Pass we were going to do it the local way and take the metro to our hotel....mistake....no elevators and 4 months worth of luggage don't mix. We did accomplish getting to our destination with the metro but once above ground...another problem...where are we???..At one point, totally frustrated because we couldn't get our bearings, we took a cab, 200 yards - unknowingly - to get to our hotel and we were happy as we watched our driver give us the French royal treatment.

We stayed in a centralized populated area off the Rue de Rivoli suggested by my goddaughter, Tara and her trusty Irish lad, Phelim....it was perfect.... The Seine was 2 blocks away. … Notre Dame just down the street, metro within a block and many cafes, bars, brasseries,

restaurants, patisseries,

boulangeries and shops nearby.

The

first day's stroll was down the Rue de Rivoli as we encountered many restaurants, spilling over into the streets ,making crepes....we stopped in and had our first crepe and drink...

Sillouettes of killed pedestrians line the Rue de Rivoli...perhaps 100 posters such as these....people jay walk like crazy.

Sights and Museums

Our local church was Notre Dame which we “toured” one day and then went to Mass there on the following Sunday. Its beauty cannot be over stated.

Gerard and St. Denis Ann and Joan of Arc

We visited most of the well-known museums.

The Louvre was a bit overwhelming for us. It’s huge and sprawling.

To be honest, it is not a place for the casual art appreciator. As “they” say, if you spent a couple of minutes admiring each work of art there, it would take a lifetime to experience it all. As you can see, there were no lines to get tickets...yes, travelling in the off season has many benefits!

Of all the museums, we enjoyed the Musee d’Orsay the most.

It had works by the usual suspects: Degas (ballet dancers), Renoir (large, naked women, or clothed women with umbrellas), Lautrec (dancing women), Monet (hazy, pastoral scenes), Cezanne (fruits), Gauguin (Tahitian tableaus),

Manet (dark portraits), Van Gogh (lots of yellow, Ann noted how thickly the paint was applied, you would never know this from seeing a copy of the pictures) , et. al. (I’ve just trivialized the works of those great artists, C’est La V ie).

The Picasso Museum

showed how prolific Pablo was since he worked with wood, ceramics, canvas, marble, et. al. This seems to be the norm for great artists - multi talented. Most of his work here was not well- known, but always interesting.

One painting Ann liked the most was a picture of his daughter with her doll. A different version of that same painting was stolen from Pablo’s granddaughter’s house two days later as the thieves made off with it in the middle of the night.

We saw “The Thinker” in a beautiful outdoor setting at the Rodin Museum. They also had “The Kiss”, which really did make you stop and take in your breath. Ann continually commented on the sculptor’s ability to make something so beautiful with such flowing lines out of the cold hard marble. There was a peaceful garden here as well with a large pond.

We went to the Montmarte and visited the Sacre Coeur, a beautiful, 19th century church high on a hilltop with gorgeous views of Paris. Ann enjoyed the many fabric stores in the area (and Gerard was in fear I would visit them all).

One night, for fun, we walked down the Champs- Elysses to the Arc d’Triumph where in days past Napoleon had march through with his triumphant troupes and also in days not so distant Hitler had made his entry into Paris. It all just made you stop and imagine those times.

Couture wedding gowns off the Champs-Elysses and the latest offerings from Louie Vuitton.

Another night we took a boat ride down the Seine, while the Eiffel Tower twinkled. The lights are on every night but the twinkling lights are on for 10 minutes beginning on the hour. We also joined in on the number one pastime on the ride down the Seine - making out, which we enjoyed!

Food and Restaurants

The food was great. For the most part, we ate in the café/brasseries/patisseries (tarts, bread, French onion soup) and it was always reasonably priced. You have to be tolerant of smoke at these places because chain smokers are everywhere, and always seated right next to you Ann would say. Although I consider myself tolerant, I literally developed a smoker’s cough for a few days.

Metro/Music

Once you figure out the subway system (it’s not complicated), it’s amazingly efficient. You can get anywhere in the city at anytime of the day or night for picket change. We purchased a weekly pass as soon as we arrived. It would help, if you are coming to Paris and would like to do this, that you bring a 2x2 inch photo, as this is required. We went to a machine in the metro and had our photo taken, but because we did not understand the language, ended up getting one of the “fun” photos depicting us in jail….but, with the help of some scissors, they accepted the photo and we were granted our pass. The metro is widely used and neither of us felt unsafe anywhere in Paris at any time.

A bonus of the Metro is the music that you’ll hear during the time that you’re getting to your train. We heard:

A 10 piece South American sounding band;
An 8 piece orchestra which played Pachabel’s Canon in “D” Major;
A black bluesman playing an electric guitar;
A man working a marionette that played a piano
Acoustic guitar players
Accordion players
Violin players, and
Singers.

Parisian Society/People

This place is diverse. Every shade of mankind seemingly melds together to form a whole. We did see a rather large protest rally of Africans who presumably had issues…how would I know?

French

The French people that spoke English were always happy to speak with us and were helpful when we had a need. The non-English speaking French are obviously difficult to read. Attempts at communication are a waste of time if all you know are bonjour, merci, sil vous plaint, and all they know is Hello, goodbye and up yours. Personally, I think it is arrogant to go to another country, mingle with the masses and not be able to express basic needs which would take a few hours to learn.

Anecdotes

Dry cleaning is expensive in Europe. In Ireland, they wanted 10 euros ($14.00) to clean a pair of pants and it never varied much in other countries. I was directed to a dry cleaner in Paris where I brought a few items. I was greeted with a bonjour by a 30ish attractive woman. She counted my items, told me the price and I said “credit”…she abruptly said, “no”, pushed my clothes aside and took care of the next customer. I dipped into my pocket, pulled out cash and she accepted my clothes, prepaid. Two days later, I showed up for pick up and was greeted with a bonjour. She then said, “ticket?” As soon as she said it, I remembered giving the ticket to Ann “in case I die.” Nevertheless, I went through the motions of searching pickets while she stared at me. I finally said and express, “I don’t have the ticket.” Her eyes squinted, showing disgust and scorn but she said nothing. It occurred to me that I’m not getting my stuff. As we all might remember, “no tickey, no shirtie”, I started searching again for what is not there. (Ann says this is a common practice of mine) I say more emphatically, “I don’t have the ticket.” She starts mumbling. Her co-worker (husband?) is off to the right smiling…he’s happy that someone else is incurring her wrath. She pulls out a receipt book from under the counter and I could only guess that she’s saying the following: “You’re causing me all this trouble…you Bush loving Yankee. See what I have to go through..You wouldn’t do this in your country.” She shows me two shirts…”Those are mine.” I reach out to touch but she raises her hand as if to hit mine. I quickly withdraw my hand. She does further cross-referencing and finds all my clothes. The guy to my right is still smiling. She packs my stuff up, gives me a phony smile and says, “Au revoir”, which I echo.

They have these international call centers in Europe, mostly connected to an Internet Café. Calls to the U.S. range from 12-20 cents (euro) per minute. They’re usually crowded and the booths they provide are not well insulated. One night, I called my mother. She’s 91 and does not hear well. In Ireland, I called her once and everybody in the café turned around smiling or laughing as Ann explained to them my mother’s circumstances. This evening the effect was different. As I’m yelling at my mother, an African man starts loudly yelling at me as if to drown me out. My mother’s saying, “who’s that man, Rod?” I confront him and tell him my mother doesn’t hear well. He stares in my eyes and continues to speak in a language I don’t recognize. He is with a friend who is talking on the phone in the next booth, probably to his mother in Africa. I yell goodbye to my mother and tell her I live her. I exit the phone booth and the ranter meets my eyes. He is snarling at me. I pay my fee and as I’m walking out, my African brother moves his body so as to prevent exit. I step back, he moves and I leave.

On February 24, England was playing Ireland in rugby in a major international tournament. The game was being played at Croke Park, the site of a new soccer/rugby stadium in Dublin. 89,000 people attended.

Around 1920, during the Irish Revolution, there was a “battle” at Croke Park and the English massacred 10-20 Irishmen, The event is known as Bloody Sunday and is memorialized in U-2s son “Sunday, Bloody, Sunday”.

At the beginning of the game, the players will be introduced and each National Anthem will be played. The Irish (each one that we spoke to in Ireland when the subject arose) find it contemptible that God Save the Queen would be played on this hallowed ground. I wanted to see what was going to happen. I went to an Irish Bar, McBrides, who were showing the game in English. The place was jammed and Kelly Green could be seen everywhere. Although I didn’t have any green on, I demonstrated my Irishness by ordering a Guinness and a Jameson, which arrived just before game time. Our lady Irish President was on the field greeting players from both sides, much to the chagrin of some of my fellow imbibers. Finally, the English anthem began and I’m expecting fireworks. They’re showing the players impassionedly mouthing the words. A guy to my right starts singing “God Save the Queen”. I’m thinking he’s in trouble but he wasn’t. Nobody rally cared. There was some mild discussion but nothing more. No incidents on T.V. The Irish anthem was played and the players sang it with all their collective hearts. The Kelly Green imbibers all chimed in: “Ireland, Ireland>” I was truly moved. I thought of our athletes during our national anthem and their blaseness. The bottom line was that nothing happened. Ireland kicked butt, routing the English, their way of remembering the fallen. I had another Guinness.

French lady we had lunch with.....with the aid of our electronic tanslator...also, rose trees, for you steve..