Paris, France. 1997

Paris, 1997

Ahh, Paris in the spring. The smell of springtime flowers and fresh baked croissants. Sunny days brimming with hope of a new season. Spring is the most romantic time of year in one of the most romantic cities in the world. But November is the off season for Paris, and in keeping with my frugal nature, the best time of year to visit. Anybody can go in the Spring. And besides, it was our thirteenth wedding anniversary and I wanted to do something special so I arranged a surprise trip for us.

I had booked the trip to Paris but had told the Light Of My Life that we were going to Atlanta to visit friends for the weekend. She fell for it and never suspected a thing, even when our tickets arrived via the FedEx pouch from British Airways, right up until we checked in at the British Airways counter. The desk clerk gave us two boarding passes each, one for that afternoon’s flight to London and one for the next morning’s flight to Paris. My wife, still thinking we were going to Atlanta, told the clerk we weren’t flying anywhere in the morning and to fix the problem. I showed her the boarding passes and just floored her. We got all the way through security before she could even talk. The first words out of her mouth were “But I’m not packed to go to Paris”.

Paris in the off season can be quite pleasant. The weather was brisk with sunny skies and a bit of a nip in the air at night. The hotels weren’t booked solid and you could get a seat in the restaurants. The locals aren’t quite as busy and stressed as they are during the summer so they are friendlier to deal with. My French is atrocious, despite my Canadian schooling, and I kept lapsing into Spanish but we still managed to communicate with the Parisites. The Apple Of My Eye (Pomme de Terre) tried out her French and got about as far as I did speaking Spanish.

The hotel was part of a small chain. Our room was so small that we had to move the bed to open the bathroom door. The good news was that the plumbing was all there and it worked. We tried a variety of restrooms during our visit including coin operated outhouses and unisex bathrooms in restaurant basements. The public restrooms in a city give an insight into the local population and customs that is often overlooked.

We only had a few days so we hit all the high lights. We grabbed a cab at the hotel and made our first stop at the Eiffel Tower. The Gypsies were out in full force, cruising the line-ups for the Tower, thrusting their grimy babies into out faces as the begged their way through the crowds. We paid for our tickets and boarded the elevator. The glass elevators afforded a great climbing view of the city and a good look at the mechanisms that drove the elevator up to the middle level. From there another elevator took us to the top for a great view of the entire city. We walked around the platform taking in the views of the city before heading off on a marathon walk through the city.

After the Tower we walked along the river and headed toward the Arc De Triomphe. We walked past the expensive shops with me pointing out distractions on the other side of the road. We strolled along the Champs Elysees and got caught up in a wedding group getting their pictures taken at a fountain. They were all guys, including the bride. He wore white. He wore a white dress.

After the first cab ride to the Eiffel Tower we stuck to walking or taking the subway. There were more beggars in the subway trains. When the train doors closed they would stand up at the front of the car and tell their tale of woe, speaking quickly and looking at the floor. Then they would walk down the car, hat in hand accepting donations and get off at the next station. At least I think it was a tale of woe. It sounded sad but it was in French so who knows? It could have been a recipe for cheese fondue. The Metro subway system was easy to use (we only got lost once) but mostly we walked. Paris is a fairly easy city to walk and the most of the things we wanted to see are all grouped along the river.

Most days we just strolled through the city, following the river. We would do some light sight seeing in the mornings and stop in a sidewalk café for lunch. The Beaujolais Nouveaux had just come out and we usually had a carafe of the wine along with a plate of cheese and bread for lunch. Maybe even another carafe of wine depending on the mood. Sidewalk cafes are plentiful in Paris and we had no shortage of places to stop along our walks. And, apparently, no shortage of the Beaujolais.

The graveyards of Paris are quite crowded. There is no grass, just little stone houses that look like outhouses crammed together. The tombs are packed next to each other and many were in bad repair. Broken stones exposed gaping holes under them. We couldn’t see any bones, though. I imaging the rats or tourists carried them away. Some of the stones were large and quite elaborate. Oscar Wilde’s stone is a large cat with wings, very reminiscent of something you might see in Egypt. But we weren’t looking for Oscar Wilde, despite his great contribution to European wit. We were looking for Jim Morrison.

Jim wasn’t hard to find. Arrows with the name “Jim” were spray painted by the Doors faithful on the little stone crypts at regular intervals so there was no getting lost. His grave was a simple one. Just a headstone, part of which was missing, and a low stone railing around a small gravel plot. Offerings left on the grave included a pack of cigarettes and some peas in a baggy. Not sure what the significance of the peas was but there they were.

We did all the touristy things we could think of. We toured Notre Dame Cathedral and climbed the steps to the top of the bell tower. The close up views of the carved gargoyles and other architectural details that we saw on the climb were well worth the effort. We walked through the Louvre and spent a drizzly morning looking at the works of art that have captured imaginations for hundreds of years. The weather outside had driven all of the tourists into the museum and we saw the Mona Lisa over a sea of Japanese tourist’s heads. The Venus De Milo was radiant but still without arms. Sculptors have a hard time with arms apparently.

We rode on a boat down the Seine River. By then the sun was shining and we basked in the warmth as we slowly cruised. The rooftop seating on the barge gave an excellent view of the numerous bridges over the river. The most interesting view of a bridge to me is usually from underneath and a boat gives a great platform for seeing the interesting bits.

We took a day to tour some of the smaller galleries. I mapped out a walking tour through one of the districts north of the river and away we went. We hit a few galleries but mostly just walked the autumn streets. We stopped for lunch at Bastille Plaza and enjoyed the last day of autumn weather while we had lunch in a sidewalk café.

It turned cold with snow flurries on our last day. The snow was enough to screw up the roads and the flights but we made it out of the city, to London and on to home. C’est frommage!