stuff that happened in Paris

I feel like bullet points on this one.

• Everywhere we went we saw the entourage of the visiting President of Mongolia. He was driven around at a fast clip in a navy blue Peugeot, followed by 5 more of the exact same car. In the lead were at least 6 motorcycle cops and following behind all the motorcycles and Peugeots were two largish vans with big windows, filled to overflowing by the faces of desperate Mongolians taking pictures of everything they could as Paris whizzed past their windows. I think all their pictures must have been a blur. We saw them fly up to Notre Dame, then race past the Eiffel Tower, and then later the next day I saw the whole crowd shooting up the left bank of the Seine, sirens whining, Peugeots Peugot-ing, lights blinking and desperate cameras flashing plaintively at whatever they passed at street level.

• Our flight arrived in Paris at 9:15 am. I wanted to take a walking tour at 11am. In order to do this, I had to ask Rich to please take our luggage on ahead to the hotel while I ran to catch the tour. He very kindly did so, which enabled me to join a wonderful tour of the fashion history of Paris, taking in two century old shopping arcades, the Palais Royal and the legendary shop owned and run by Didier Ludot (on the premises that day and very tall and distinguished looking indeed)(scroll half way down the somewhat pretentious link for good photos and info). There are no prices in the window, it is very much the sort of place where if you have to ask you can't afford it. It is also by appointment only. Bummer, I would have loved to have checked it out. The owner was in and was rearranging his windows with the most marvelous dresses. We paltry tourists were ignored with nary a glance. We also went to Marc Jacobs new shop, a few doors down, and I scored a t shirt (ironically it says "London" with an image of a double decker bus on it) and a canvas bag. I figure I'll get a "Paris" t-shirt at Marc Jacobs when I go to London. The people in that shop were very nice and I got teased by the other ladies (ALL ladies) on the tour for my guerilla style of shopping. Hey, years of practice with an impatient husband has made me fast.

• Was that the longest bullet point ever or what?

• On that tour I was recruited to join a ladies expat social group by a British lady in a strange hat. I was flattered, but also mystified. It's a legit and fairly highbrow group, I have no idea what they want with a tattooed, trash talkin', beer swillin' Texan like me. anyhow, she made me SWEAR that if we ever move to Paris (the chance exists) that I look her up.

• After the tour I walked allllll the way from the Palais Royal, past the Louvre, and the Place Concorde up the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe, near which was our hotel. I realized as I finished that it was maybe a bit too much for me, having not walked that far in months, and wearing my cute, comfortable- but- not- for- 7- mile- walks, knee high black leather pirate boots. My feet were KILLING me.

• Rich and I met at a cafe near the hotel after my walk where we proceeded to start an evening of wine drinking that ended in about 6 bottles downed between the two of us. I also had a "when in Rome" moment and bought some smokes. Hell, I was drunk, we both smelled of cigarettes anyhow, and I WAS in Paris. Rich was tolerant of my smoking, something he generally would NEVER be. Must've been all that good wine.

• Every person we dealt with, whether at a restaurant, a shop or wherever, was extremely nice and we were not treated rudely once. I attribute this to the fact that we were both fairly well dressed (no jeans or sneakers for Rich, me all in black all the time and carrying my FAB purse) and we both made sure to bon jour the hell out of everyone we met wherever we went. The French always will greet you and acknowledge your entry into a place, and say "pardon" for every real or imagined infraction of space or etiquette. I found it very refreshing after living for so long in Norway where you might get a "beklager" (sorry) but only if someone knocks into you really hard.

• The first day and a half were relatively warm, the last day and a half were cold, but only because I did not dress warmly enough. Whenever I leave Norway I get this mindset that "I'm not in Norway, it won't be that cold" and then end up freezing my ass off as it IS cold, or at least cold enough to warrant more than the light jackets I bring. It also drizzled alot, but we were both armed with parapluy's.

• Our hotel room was so small that one of us had to sit in the middle of the bed if the other wanted to move around the room. The bed was not very big either. Luckily the front desk girl was extraordinarily sweet and moved us into a junior suite our last night (of three) and that made a huge difference. She would have moved us earlier but the place was fully booked.
  

pictures because words are too tiring

I'm going to write about our trip but I am swamped at work and then when I get home the last thing I wanna do is use a computer, think, write or be awake. I will write soon, but will you maybe put up with pictures instead?

No, je ne regrette rien....view from a tombstone at Pere Lachaise. Someone left a heart made of chestnut seeds on the crypt stone...it was very evocative, both sad and lovely.

Notre Dame at night. Beautiful from every angle.
Me in St Severin church. I think that was my favorite of the churches in Paris. (I saw four on Monday....yes four churches in one half day!) It has a colorfulness (amazing stained glass) mixed with age that I found very comforting. The area around was just twisty with medieval streets and passageways, great to wander and explore.

The courtyard outside St Severin. It was spooky at night. It's looking at the charnel house, a spooky word in itself. Can't you just see a ghost monk flitting through that yellow light?

Ducksembourg palace

In the gardens at Luxembourg Palace...isn't this the most arrogant looking duck?

rosey memories

Me in Paris in the gardens of the Hotel de Sully.

Gay Paree

Ah Paris. The memories....the good times....

Though I must admit, whenever I go to Paris, at some point I end up being really, really drunk. I think it's mostly because the wine is so good, so cheap and so everywhere. Actually, forget mostly. It's just because. I just can't resist good wine.

The first time I went to Paris, I went with my friend Julia, whom I have known since I was five. We were 17 that time. We went with a busload of German tourists from Hamburg. (I spoke neither French nor German, so relied on Julia to translate German when I needed it, which taught me to never trust your German best friend when climbing mountains, but that is another story altogether. ) I discovered rose' wine and drank alot of it one night. Pink wine! Cool! I was rather fond of the new (to me) idea that wine could be bought by the liter in these cute carafes and they would just refill them whenever you wanted. And it was cheap! And I was 17! And the waiter was cute! Woo!

That night I ended up quite wasted. I vaguely remember falling out of the elevator at our hotel when it got to our floor. The elevator landed an inch or so below floor level, I tripped over the height difference and did a face plant, landing giggling on the floor of the hall. Julia gamely picked me up by my armpits and dragged a laughing me back to our room. That night a windstorm blew through Paris and I distinctly remember being woken by the sounds of windows slamming and doors rattling and an American voice ringing out "Auntie Em! Auntie Em! It's a twister!" I giggled, then groaned at the discovery that 17 is not too young to have your first hangover, and went back to sleep.

The second time I went to Paris was in February 2005. You'd think I would be smarter after 18 years, wouldn't you? Hell no.

This time I went with my friend Karen. We went for a long weekend. It was cold and wet and rather bleak, but still, Paris worked its charm on me. I was a bit apprehensive to go, I will admit. I had some wierd experiences there that first time I went that I did not want to repeat. But, the people were nice, the food excellent and, as would be expected, Karla got drunk.

This time Karen and I went to this restaurant that was all inclusive, one price, including all the wine you could drink. ALL THE WINE YOU COULD DRINK. To someone living in Norway, this is not an offer, this is a dare. This is a life goal. This is nirvana.


So I drank. And drank. And drank. I vaguely remember the meal, something meat based. And then I drank some more. Sitting next to us at the restaurant were two nice guys, a little older than us (two years maybe, ok, but I still feel 23, so any guy who looks 40 to me is an older guy, I know I KNOW I'll grow up some day). They genially watched us drink our way through carafes and carafes of red wine. We chatted with them and found out they were pilots for Fedex. Nice guys. All of us were married except Karen, so it was not a pick up sort of situation, more like some Americans just saying hi in a foreign place. I got a definite "nice guy" vibe from them.

Anyhow, they said they knew a bar around the corner that was nice and would we care to join them for a drink. Yeah, like I hadn't heard THAT line before, but being drunk, and there being two of us, so we felt a bit safe, we said "Yeah, sure". So we went to a bar to have some more wine. I had an inkling that maybe I was three sheets to the wind when, on the way, I totally racked myself on one of those iron posts that they imbed in the sidewalks to keep cars off them? I learned that a) those things are exactly crotch height when you are almost 6 feet tall and b) girls can, in fact, nut themselves severely in the jumblies. OW.

Anyhow, drunk as I was I realized fairly soon that maybe it was time to get back to the hotel. I was shutting down and losing the ability to be charming (if I ever had it). I was a bit worried, also, about how to get the guys to not follow us or whatever. I mean, they had a very polite vibe but you never know.

Turns out, my impressions of people are pretty right on. And that my belief in the inherent goodness of people is always reinforced.

The two guys from FedEx were, in fact, born again Christians and were only walking us back to the hotel to make sure we were ok! There was brief talk of soul saving, but I think even they realized that might be a discussion wasted on two women who, at that point, were high-fiving each other for managing to get one foot in front of the other and snorting in laughter when one said the word "tree" and the other thought she said "pee".

We made it home safe and sound. The hangover the next morning, however, was definitely punishment from whatever God we had refused to have save us the night before, and his vengeance was severe.

That next day was also memorable because when we were walking around Montmartre and the Sacre Couer, a freak thunderstorm occurred and I saw a huge bolt of lightning hit the church steeple. Then there was a fierce hailstorm and everyone ran for cover under awnings and whatever we could find. The hail was marble sized and larger. And it was COLD. And WINDY. I was expecting frogs at any minute.

So, twice I've been to Paris, twice I've gotten way to drunk for my own good and twice freak wind storms have hit while I was there.

I really wonder if I should warn them before I come this time? Seems prudent.