Paris: Sept 25 - Oct 1, 2003

Fifteen years
I was eighteen years old the first and only time I have been to Paris, the last time I set foot on the continent in Western Europe. I returned from my first semi-solo adventure with a new perspective on life and the knowledge my French instruction in high school had been a tragic waste of four years. Fifteen years later, at thirty-three, how had things changed?

Tracey and I stepped sleepily off the plane on Thursday morning to a welcome (huh?) 46 degree chill and herded onto a bus taking passengers to the terminal building. We made it through French customs with a "Bon jour" and an implied pat on the butt in about five minutes. Getting into France is far easier today than it was fifteen years ago when I had to apply for a tourist entry Visa.

Our luggage had apparently arrived on an earlier flight, because if it wasn't for our limited ability to mis-communicate with two airport employees in the baggage claim area, we would not have found our bags in the not-yet-claimed section.

I had arranged for a shuttle to take us to our hotel. We arrived at the Comfort Monmartre around the corner from Place de Clichy about an hour and half later, around 11am.

The Flight
We flew Air France. Both of us were looking forward to the hospitality and free drinks of international air travel. Turns out, Delta owns or is partnered with nearly everyone. Ours was an Air France flight operated by Delta. Delta SUCKS. The flight non-attendants were unfriendly and generally pissy. The food was average. AND, AND, the drinks (alcoholic) are not free. $4. FOUR dollars. Christ, United was in the throes of bankruptcy when I flew to London last year and the flight was terrific. Good food, friendly flight attendants, and FREE ALCOHOL. Delta SUCKS. They also seem to own everything. They overcharge and treat passengers like crap and they wonder why their money problems persist. Delta should be paying attention to Southwest Air... maybe they could learn a thing or two about running an airline people enjoy flying.

What did we see? [the short list]
Catacombs de Paris
Musee d' Orsay
Sacre Coeur de Montmarte Basilique
Funicular Montmartre
Pompidou Center - Musee d'Art Moderne
L'arc de Triomphe
Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris
Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore
Cathedrale Notre Dame de Chartres
Jardin du Luxembourg
Giverny - Monet's home and gardens
Tuileries
Champs Elysees
Le Tour Eiffel
Sorbonne
and, much more...

Feet
My dogs were barking ferociously by the end of day two. My feet may as well have been impaled on spikes. Walking is good for you and the lack of mobile lard in the city would attest to that statement. Parisians are a fit people. Despite having utilized the Paris Metro heavily, we must have walked a million miles in six days. Paris is a big big city. In a concerted effort to add to our fatigue and foot weariness, we purposefully climbed approximately a billion steps... to the top Notre Dame de Paris and to the top of Notre Dame de Chartres. Stair after stair after thigh-burning stair. The views, however, were worth the effort.

Americans and the Decline of the American Jean
Americans.. Are fat... Are stupid... Are ignorant of history... Are ignorant of culture. I lost count of how many signs and billboards advertised a random product with a headline or subtext that derided America in some way. It would have been very easy to get the impression the French hate Americans. I was reading a French newspaper article over a man's shoulder while riding the Metro entitled, The Decline of the American Jean. The jist of the story was that Levi's was pulling out of Western Europe due to a serious decline in sales. Funny, I counted 12 people in my immediate vicinity, around the man reading the article, who were wearing Levi's. Didn't look like much of a decline to me. In fact, walking around Paris, there were more Levi's and American brands walking around than you could shake a stick at.

Do the French hate Americans? The French, for all the accusations of being rude, aren't typically rude at all. They are aloof, even disconnected. They don't generally give a rat's ass about anything outside of France. Waiters are not rude, they are always inconvenienced to be waiting on you [read: anyone]. We never had any problems nor any real difficulty in communicating, although, in no way were our efforts flawless. People were usually friendly and helpful and in many cases interested to speak with us. I think the media has railroaded our perceptions of one another. People are people. Make an effort to speak a language, French included, and people generally appreciate it, even if you order a fried cat served in tennis shoes for dinner.

Parisians
The people of Paris wear severe expressions. In six days of walking and riding the Metro, I think I saw one, maybe two smiles. Parisians don't look like they are having fun.

Men tended to be more friendly, even jovial. More interested in speaking with Americans. More helpful. More willing to help us correct our pronunciation. Men spoke much better English. On the other hand, French women were generally rude. Snobbish. Spoke poor English, or didn't even try to make an effort when we were struggling with French. French women are god's gift to the world and they acted like it with everyone, regardless of nationality.

The most interesting thing about Paris, the French, is how homogenous they are as a people. How odd is it to listen to an Asian speak French or a group of blacks speak a fluid romance language? There seemed to be very little hint of racism of any sort, although, a palpable classism replaced any ism based on skin color.

Club Sandwich
My little tummy was rumbling on our walk to the d' Orsay. We stopped at a brasserie near the museum, in a walking district close enough to be frequented by tourists. I stepped up to the window and in near perfect French, ordered a Club Maisson. The woman behind the counter looked at me as if I had called her a whore. I repeated, "un club maisson s' il vous plait." She looked at me stupidly then said in blistering French, "something something something croque maisson?". I said, "no. CLUB". She said clearly agitated, "croque?" I pointed, "club". She said, "oh, CLOOBUH maisson!" Then sold me the sandwich.

How in the world can you misunderstand a one-syllable word? Let alone one clearly spelled C-L-U-B on her own menu! No, she simply didn't want to make any effort at all to understand. We ran into this a few times... always with women.

Fashion
The French, particularly, Parisians, for all their sophistication and worldliness and culture, dress like shit. I was surprised by the shear number of people sporting jeans, Levi's in particular. The lack of color sense or style was almost shocking. Londoners dressed better. This was not the Paris I remembered.

Metro Performers
As always, riding the subways of any city will bring you into contact with some kind of musical performer, person looking for donations, or proselytizer. Paris is a hotbed of subway musical talent. There was the guy who set up a 250 pound 100 key xylophone with amplifier at the bottom of one staircase. The trio of guys playing American folk songs who jumped from car to car. The black woman who sang classic French children's songs. French Reggae. And, my personal favorite, the highlight of the subway performances, a twenty-something white French home-boy rapping to his accordion (amplified, of course).

Giverny
Monet's home and famous garden are located about an hour outside of Paris by train. I've read about his gardens many many times and anyone who has seen one of his Water Lily paintings is familiar with it. I was not prepared for how extensive his gardens truly were/are. Giverny is a marvelous sleepy little hamlet the locals protect from development in an effort to retain the charm responsible for luring thousands of tourists each year. The house Monet lived in for 40 some years of his life was big and colorful and housed one of the most impressive collections of Japanese prints I have ever seen. Oddly missing, were original paintings by Monet himself. The gardens are magnificent. The water lily pond is much bigger than I ever imagined. The color, shapes, and happily chirping birdies made this one of the most tranquil and inspiring places I have experienced. Tranquil, except for the local motor roadway bisecting his garden. Can't quite figure that one out...

Food
We ate well. Very very well. The French don't eat food, they experience food. Food is one big reason to travel. I will skimp on accommodations before I skimp on food. The highlight of the Tour de Cuisine was eating dinner at Altitude 95. I have no idea where on the list of Paris's best restaurants this establishment placed, but my VISA will testify it was no slouch. Paris is a gourmand's heaven. The food was terrific. We started the meal off with the traditional glass of Kir Royale, then popped the cork on a fabulous Bordeaux from the vineyard of Baron Philippe de Rothschild. I ate the most scrumptious appetizer of shitake mushrooms, itty bitty tomatoes, mini onions, and snails ever to glide over my taste buds. Dinner was a marvelous sea bass followed by a fabulous chocolate brownie cake smothered with vanilla and chocolate sauce. The food was terrific, but it was the location of Altitude 95 that made it such a memorable experience. I can now say I have eaten dinner ON the Eiffel Tower. Great view.

Sans Bubbles
The first time I was asked if I would like water with my meal the waiter asked, "Avec gaz, sans gaz?" I was perplexed. Turned out, he was asking whether I wanted bottled water or carbonated water. So, each time thereafter, when asked what I would prefer, I would answer, "Sans bubbles!" This response was usually received with humor and even managed to illicit a smile out of a very hard-working rather annoyed waitress at another fabulous foodery (the name escapes me) at the base of Montmartre.

Scarves
Oh, the French and their scarves... The scarf is to the French as baseball caps are to Americans. Scarves are statements. Scarves have nothing to do with warmth. Scarves are worn with anything no matter how hot it is outside. 80 degree days with a blazing sun and we saw dozens and dozens of Parisians dressed in down jackets wearing thick scarves around their necks (the word 'fragrant' comes to mind). Women wore scarves lazily around their neck with a perfectly placed one loop knot hanging about six inches underneath their chin. Men wore massive scarves wrapped around their necks as if to prop up their heads.

L'Endroite
Our guide book recommended this chic eatery for their 4-course Sunday brunch. The brunch consisted of a choice of scrambled eggs and bacon or chicken, served with potatoes, toast, coleslaw, cottage cheese, orange juice, and coffee or tea. Chicken? Coleslaw? (sour) Cottage cheese?

Hair
The hair style of choice among most French men is a very short do plastered into various slick stylish shapes by obscene amounts of shiny gel. I discovered the answer to my observation after my second shower. I have a massive frock growing on my melon. Within minutes of stepping out of the shower my hair was bone dry... without the aid of a blow dryer. No matter how much gel I used (and, I used plenty), I could not tame the beast on my head. I wore a wafro for six days. France is very very very dry. Dry hair is poofy and French men don't like to look ridiculous. I, on the other hand, am an ass and an American... so, I wore a big camera around my neck to offset the fro...

Chartres
Our second day-trip outside of the city found us in Chartres. We had come to see the largest Gothic (and Romanesque) cathedral in France and one of the biggest and best preserved in Europe (the Cathedral in Cologne Germany may be the only one bigger). This building represents the high art of Middle Ages Gothic style and is consistently taught in every Art History class in every art program everywhere. The cathedral at Chartres miraculously escaped damage during both world wars and to this day still houses original stained glass from the 13th Century. It is a magnificent building. We climbed the billion and two steps to the top of the Romanesque style tower. Notice in the pictures the towers do not match. The tower on the left was built 300 years after the tower on the right (which is the Gothic style tower) after a fire destroyed most of the building.

Speaking Fraanch
I need to relearn French. I felt like a dolt. I was reading fairly well and could understand enough speech every now and then to get by, but my speaking skills leave much to be desired. My pronunciation is pretty good, however.

Growing up in a culture that does not require, whether by education or by geographic proximity to other cultures, to speak at least one other language is a handicap. Period. Should everyone know how to speak English? No. Should everyone be able to converse in at least one other language? I believe so. The remarkable thing about Europe is how in such a small geographic area so many distinct languages developed. The remarkable thing about the United States is how in such a large and diverse country we have managed to standardize our language. Learn another language. You will learn a lot more than simply how to speak to an aloof Frenchman (for example).

In Conclusion
Had anything changed in fifteen years? Not a bit. It was like taking a walk down memory lane (with more cash to spend on food). Wonderful trip. Long long long long long flight home. Nine and half hours in a cramped chair next to the crapper. My neck was not happy. Back at home, I woke up the next morning in my own bed, strained to look at the clock, and felt the muscle in my neck stretch, then snap. Four days later I can hardly move. Every movement is excruciating, sleep is next to impossible... god help me if I sneeze.