Wine~n~Trip

My first full day in France finds in front of the Arc de Triomphye.

I ask the woman behind the lobby’s desk if they found my maps. She tells me that another guest claimed they were his and took them. (The nerve!) I spend the whole day eying the maps tourists are toting to see if I can hunt down the perpetrator—just joking! Instead, the woman hands me the hotel’s free map of Paris (not water and tear-resistant, like my maps) and says she will ask the person-in-question to kindly return my maps. (Never to be seen again!)

Trying not to ruminate about my lost maps, I head out on my first quest: Find and purchase a hairbrush! With the drizzly weather, I forget about my hair and head to what I think is the Louvre. I’m foiled by stately building flanked by impressive statues and flags. On I trudge, not consulting my hotel-courtesy map because I don’t want to look like a tourist. Besides, it feels good to walk after spending 12 hours sitting on a plane!

Then, voila! There’s the Arc de Triomphe. I discreetly (as possible) snap off a couple shots. Turning around and backtracking, I pass an enormous gold-encrusted Louis Vuittonstore. The Louvre still evades me. That is, until I have a bizarre encounter with a woman who scams me out of five euros. But, perhaps good karma is flung my way because, as if appearing out of a dream, I see the Egyptian obelisk before me; I have arrived. Joining “my people” (throngs of tourists), I enter the Louvre after a short wait in line (surprise!). Gotta love Thursdays!

Somehow I missed where they were handing out maps, so I decide to let the Louvre unfold on its own. (Many visitors with maps look lost, so I’m fine with my decision.) Not sure what to expect, I am dumbfounded by the colossal size of some of the masterpiece canvases, such as Gericault’s “The Raft of the Medussa.” Along with an Italian family, I am also drawn to Uccello’s marshmallow horses in “The Battle of San Romano.” “Our Uccello,” the Italian dad declares. Okay, so he’s not, technically speaking, my Uccello, but I hog the painting for a moment as I fire away with my Canon. Then, moving along, I mutter El Greco. I have come across his stunning canvases that cause cement to grow in my shoes as I admire this artist’s striking use of contrast and composition.

Yes, I saw Mona Lisa. Well, sort of. Through the chaos, I caught glimpses of this famous portrait. There is a velety-roped off affair that zig-zags in front of this iconic portrait that I avoided. Holding my camera above my head, I almost got a clear shot several times just as someone would thrust their own camera into my line of sight! I did, however, get a good look at “Madonna and the Rocks” along with other Da Vinci’s.

Besides the paintings, there are hordes of artifacts, including an impressive Egyptian collection, art objects, and sculptures. Due to the impending closing time, I skipped only one section, the Marie Antoinette display.

Sculpture at Musee d'Orsay

June 13, 2008
Goal: Experience Musee D’Orsay and try to resist Starbucks.

I must confess: I’m still perdu (tres lost) in Paris. The Eiffel plays hide-and-seek from me, until I finally tracked it down. (I cracked open my map a time or two). I retreat from the swarm of tourists and find a nearly desserted park with trees anda pond, perfect place to take the Eiffel’s portrait and watch the baby ducks. A breeze with a bite picks up, so I make to get-away. That is, until the entire Italia soccer team pours from their mammoth sized bus. Darn, I had to squeeze through a pack of sportif, dark-haired Mediterranean demigods!

After a brisk hike along the Seine, I arrive at my next destination, Musee d’Orsay. After a quick (and tiny) cafe creme, I whiz through the rather short line. (What a joy; Paris during the week day!)

A room filled with Van Gogh’s saturates my senses with color and movement. The vibrancy of these paintings is stunning. Midnight blue to sea foam, saffron yellow, emerald and rose swirls, squiggles, dashes, careens across canvasses. Several rooms later, I’m feeling lightheaded. Perhaps I’m dizzy from the Van Goghs? Or perhaps I’m faint because I haven’t eaten and it’s 3pm.

I don’t make it far once exiting the museum before I sit down on the museum’s granite steps to bask in the warm afternoon sun. My petite café crème is not holding me through. A paradeof pigeons march past me looking for pieces of pain or patisserie. I decideto press on, since I’ve now gone beyondbeing hungry. I decide to head to Notre Dame. After some photos on Pont Neuf, I walk towards a large church thinking I found the Dame herself. I’ve been Louvred! Another imposter-decoy. Who allowed more than one fancy cathedral to be built here? Really.

 

The good news is, I accidentally found the Pompidou Center. I sit at the fountain and watch others eat at cafes. I decide, what’s another couple hours and press on until I navigate to Notre Dame where I am humbled by the sheer size of the Gothic arches and bright colors of the rose windows. Arriving during mass, I am embarrassed by people snapping away with flashes. (Did they see the sign?) 

9:11pm: My first and last meal of the day. Lacking the energy to seek out a restaurant, I stumble into Café Romantica, the Italian restaurant across the street from my hotel. Haha—my first meal in France is Italian. (Sounded funnier on a calorie-deprived mind!)

Can it be romantic if you're alone? Food was fabulous!

1^st course: tomato and mozzerella salad with a generous dose of confetti strips of basil. I fear my teeth will be draped in said basil. With no mirror on-hand, I run my tongue over my teeth and hope for the best. Too hungry to care! Tomatoes taste as if they were just plucked from the vine. So sweet and ripe, yet firm. Molto bene! Bravo! Barollo to accompany meal. Although a pinot gris would have been nice with main dish, the barollo hits the mark for a medium-bodied red.

2^nd course: Clams (in the shell) with linguine doused in delicious oil (butter and olive?). This unctuous seafood delight melts in my mouth. I restrain from holding the bowl up and shoveling it into my mouth. I gracefully twirl my pasta onto a spoon and lift it to my watering mouth. 

A couple on date take the table next to me. Luimakes my evening by ordering the dish of delightful presentation. Upon walking into the café, I noticed a metal cart with two giant wheels of cheeses, each requiring its own shelf. I thought that they might offer a cheese plate for dessert, but boy was I wrong. “The dish” requires Monsieur Fire to use a butane lighter to heat up the inside of a hollowed-out cheese wheel (Parmesan, I presume.). Then, taking a set of tongs with pointy tips, Monsieur scrapes away at the melted cheese in a circular, sweeping motion. With a flourish, warm pasta is added to the center and tossed with the oozing cheese! What a show!

Wish I saved room for the carmelized peaches for dessert. Instead, I order a café decaf from tres beaux dessert waiter. He swindles me with his smile out of a larger than Parisian tip!

Satiated, I collapse onto my comfie bed and flick on television before drifting off to sleep.

 

View from top of crypt at Basilique due Sacre-Coeur.

 

June 14, 2008
Goal: Reach Montmartre by foot.

Looked easy enough on my tiny map I bought at the bookstore. Yet, crossing the bridge to the Right Bank, I discover the Jardin Tuileries and the Place dela Concorde to be barricaded off. So, my route is foiled! (I think it is because of Bush’s visit to Paris.) After walking a marathon through the narrow streets and being flung into the confusion of roundabouts (reminiscent of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey blindfolded-spinning disorientation) and changing street names, I finally stumble into Montmartre. Leaping up the steps to the upper reaches of the hill, I followed the signs to Sacre-Coeur.

Since I had shied away from the massivelines at the Eiffel, I headed straight to the crypt. I heard a rumor that the views from the top of the crypt were as (if not more) impressive than those from the Eiffel. Plus, pay attention here Paris newbies, there were only six people ahead of me in line! (Not the 600 at the Eiffel!) A smallish sign warned that there were 300 steps and no lifts (elevators). Pas du problem pour moi! After some confusion as to where to feed in my bills into the automatic ticket dispensor, I am on my way. Mounting the metal spiral staircase, I begin the ascent. At the first landing, a gentleman dressed in a nice suit, who was out of breath, let me pass. The stone walls creep ever closer to the staircase. I slow down to settle my spinning head from the increasingly tighter circles of the spiral steps. Then it gets darker andmore confined, and my throat tightens. My clausterphobiatried tries to inflict a panic attack. Taking a deep breath, I continue. Besides, there’s turning back now, since the stairway is wide enough for only one person. Soon I emerge into the sunlight and find myself overlooking the city. Snapping up the sweeping view with my camera, I capture the glint of the sun reflecting off the dome of the Hotel des Invalides, blocks from my hotel.

Inside the Dome of Hotel des Invalides.

 

June 15, 2008

Goal: Un cadeaux pour Cassidy.

Sundays are sleepy in Paris and shops are closed. (What? Panic!) I’m been so busy getting lost that I’ve left little time to find a souvenir for my niece who adores all things Paris. Combing the streets branching off from the Seine, I finally find an open shop. And, like much of my Paris adventure, my wish was fulfilled. I found an adorable present that my niece will like (I hope!).

Left with only an hour before I must make my way to Montparnasse to catch my train to Libourne, I stride over to the Hotel de Invalides to peer at Napolean’s grand tomb. Then, I lumber down aisle upon aisle of metal weaponery and armor, enamored by the shiny objects of destruction and protection.

Checking my watch, I am sad to be leaving Paris behind, for now…