December 01, 2004
11-24-04 (Wednesday)I woke at 6:45 a.m. to a long night's sleep and an empty hotel room. John left a note explaining that he would be in the lobby and thus I took my time waking up. I would turn to the local news station to see the time and was careful not to extend my retreat too long. I joined John downstairs as he was writing and we went upstairs together for another wonderful little breakfast. By this time, I felt even more confident about my French and boldly requested my chocolat and John's cafe ole. I did not eat much and decided to return John's silence so I might quietly contemplate my last two days and my ideas of the days to come. Words were not so necessary in a town filled with wide eyed wonders.
We decided to head back to The Louvre first thing that morning and headed up the rue de Rennes. At this street's end, I pondered over the map and quickly wrote down a few basic directions in my little pocket book. We traveled north up rue de Depart, left onto Boulevard Montparnasse which was becoming quite busy with morning traffic and we continued right on a narrow side called rue du Four where the local painters had what we considered either good or bad work in many of the shops before spilling out onto the busy Boulevard of St. Germain. I was in absolute awe at all of the beautiful shops located on this big and bustling sun soaked street. Women stood outside of their stores and breathed in the fresh morning air, men greeted other men with the usual European kiss to each side of the other's cheek, children dashed about unaccompanied by adults and couples walked their dogs without leashes. Everyone ate their breakfast as they walked to work - the women with their hair done up and the men with briefcases in the hand that was free of food. It was impossible to take it all in without nearly running into another pedestrian.
We turned left onto a small street of rue du Marazine which wound around and exposed in an abrupt shock the beauty of The Louvre. Although I had just seen it the day before, it was quite surprising to see the brilliant building after having traveled down this small street which would have promised to lead to nowhere. John threw up his arms in eager enthusiasm and congratulated me on finding the way so well. I gave a little bowed and grinned from ear to ear. I had admired his trust in my directions and let him lead the way to entrance which we were not as easily able to find. Finally, I suggested the pyramids where we had seen the ticket prices the day before and this turned out to be the way to go.
Down the stairs of this great structure lie automatic ticket purchasing machines and John left this up to me. I made my selections of two adult tickets and inserted my Euro paper for eight Euros per person. We separated to use the first large, clean bathrooms we had encountered on our trip and checked our coats for free in the lobby. I picked up a map from the information booth and was astounded at how many different languages these booklets were written in. I wanted to see the Greek, Etruscan and Roman Antiquities first and thus we headed 'up' to the ground floor. We were in the Athena Room where John took a seat and I wandered up and down the marbled floors, intoxicated by the ancient Greek statues. The perfection of their detail and the smooth vacant eyes captured my every sense. * On a side note: If traveling far to get to the Louvre, take a taxi - the walk through the Louvre is walk enough and you'll need your strength for the vastness of this amazing museum! Also, if traveling with company, first plan out your route and choose a meeting spot on one of the floors as there are a lot of rooms to visit and many turns and twists. The last thing you really want to do is scream out someone's name in the midst of such beauty.
John was a perfect gentleman and very determined to get me to the Mona Lisa, which he knows I adore. We went up to the first floor and must have followed a mile of paintings before seeing the massive crowd in front of the Mona Lisa. I stood stoic for a long while without a breath and without a clue of what to do. Tears began to roll down my face as I admired her perfection from my small distance behind the huddled crowd. Here I was, standing directly in front of the Mona Lisa, passing a million works just to reach her. With a bit of disapprobation toward myself, I gently pulled out my camera, stood on my tip toes and quick shot a picture from behind the crowd. I felt a little ashamed as I simply should have admired her rather than taking this picture, but I could not resist the urge to prove my whereabouts and since I was becoming a bit overwhelmed by all of the people, I knew I could last long in her trance. We turned and slowly walked through all of the paintings which hung inside this long wing of The Louvre, taking our time. We stopped to sit behind Venus de Milo and watched as the tour guides huddled the groups of Chinese onlookers into the small space. We contemplated our next move and went into the basement to the Medieval Room to see the 12th to 14th century Moats of the dungeons of Philippe Auguste and of Charles V before exiting the building.
We needed to get some food and began wander the streets of Paris at our leisure. I know not the name of this particular cafe that we stopped at, but it was on a very crowded little street run by a very nice older woman who attended to our every need. We requested one of the tables outside and ordered our beer and I asked for la carte. We really did not know what we were reading on that menu and so when the woman came back outside, we inquired as to her recommendation and John joked with her about being the cook. She shook her head and stated she was not the cook, but that he would make us some great food and recommended us to the lasagna bollanaisse. I nodded with eager enthusiasm having recognized the sauce that my mother has so often made and we prepared ourselves for wonderful meal. I sopped up the juices with that perfection of bread that could only be compared to my mother's and felt fully satisfied. I quickly ducked inside to order another round of beer and requested le decion, s'il vous plait. The simple woman smiled from ear to ear and replied that I had done 'very good with my French!' 'Merci,' returned I and she began to ask many a question. I explained that we were on holiday, as that seemed to be best word for 'vacation,' and that were only to be here for one more half day before heading back to Amsterdam. We smiled and spoke and worried over the bill and she hugged me before we left. I could not have been more happy.
At that point, John and I were both in the best of spirits and feeling most convivial. Our main goal was to enjoy the simple facts of life within Paris and find a wonderful cafe or eight to do it at. The sun shone down on every street and beckoned our hearts to its every outside seat. We headed further north up to the Opera on Lafayette, wandered inside to see the prices of the tour, rejected the idea and sat upon the steps. The pigeons gathered round our feet and this always seemed to be a sure sign of many tourists as well. We were ready to go within minutes as I fumbled over the map and picked out the street of rue Saint - Honore where we found a large and fancy spot called Cafe Ruc. We waited outside for quite sometime at a comfortable table and finally a waiter took John's order of two beers. I walked to down the street to acquire a bottle of water at an ice cream shop and convinced John to partake in its refreshing crispness. He had not had a drop of water, as far as I could tell, during the past few days and was in desperate need considering all of our walking. The cafe held a wonderful vantage point to see the city and a million people as at least five streets intersected into this one circle.
John spotted a couple of Monks dressed in bright orange robes passing on the street and taking pictures. He waved to them to join us and I listened on as John asked question after question of the visiting Monks. I could not pronounce the one Monk's name when I met him, much less remember it now, but he and John exchanged email addresses and before he left, he blessed a small Buddha charm for the both of us. He also gave me a post card from his home in London which portrayed a beautiful picture of a castle surrounded by fine greenery. He hopped into a car filled with others of his group and waved before sailing away into the busy trafficked street. We laughed and pondered over such an experience until we received the bill. Eight Euro for ONE glass of beer! I remarked that this was, indeed, a place filled with tourists and likely to be so expensive. In seconds, we paid the bill and quietly moved on.
John picked out the perfect cafe for our next round of beer which was called the Cafe Palais and true to its name, faced the Palais Royal one side and The Louvre on the other. We settled in outside and found ourselves in a absolute heaven. The waiter was a most charming man with a quick step and tons of energy. He laughed with us and dance amongst his patrons which were mostly seated inside. We repeated to one another the fact that we were sitting outside on a perfect day in Paris, across from The Louvre and watching the children roller skate and play frisbee in the square. We also wondered at the traffic on the street that not one accident had occurred in this entire time that we had been sitting. The small economic cars toiled through the streets with ease and insight; completely unlike American drivers. John ordered a couple of Comparis and introduced me to this strange new ap�ritif. He instructed me on the proper way to drink it and admired my ambition to try new things. A couple with a camera stood opposite of us on the street and began to take our picture as we still sat outside enjoying each other's company. John beckoned to them, of course, and wanted to see the picture. They, too, were American's visiting the city of Paris and per John's request, took a few more pictures and exchanged addresses.
I wandered across the street to The Louvre square to watch the young men playing an absolute perfection of professional frisbee throwing. I have not a better description than to say that they threw the damned thing over and under the myriad of persons walking through, they spun the disc upon their fingers and flipped it off of the street with ease and conciseness. The show dazzled me so much that I had not expected the frisbee to come crashing into my shin with a dull 'thud.' I was more sure that it would suddenly lift or take a new trajectory at any moment and thus I stood, stupefied and in a slight amount of pain as they apologized empathetically several times over. The recipient quite far away from me bowed and smiled to display his regret for having hit me and I smiled back without a care in the world. I took their picture and the picture of small boy on roller blades who was having the time of his life showing off to me. I turned around to capture John in his comfortable spot at the cafe when I felt a slight tapping on my shoulder. A small Chinese couple inquired as to the direction of The Louvre Hotel and pointed my finger straight in front of me to where the building protruded in full sight. The couple laughed and thanked me and I was ever so proud to have been asked directions in such a foreign land. I rejoined John and recounted these events for him in eager enthusiasm as he listened with a charmed grin to my every word.
The hours we spent at the Cafe Palais began to grow long and after paying le decion and purchasing an ashtray from the establishment, we started on our way back in the direction of the Montparnasse. John and I turned down a familiar street before the river and found ourselves in the door of an old run down, yet well lit, cafe called Bernard's. Inside sat one young patron at the corner table near the window and the owner of the place behind the bar, Bernard. He was an older big, black fellow with a smile that seemed to be waiting our arrival. I exchanged bonsoirs and John ordered two anisettes named Ricard plus one for our compatriot seated alone. The young man turned to us and said in slow, precise English,
"I was just thinking that I have not had a Ricard in a very long time and would like to join you in this drink."
John was all over it and requested his company with us the bar. Bernard poured three glassed and set down a small pitcher of water to dilute the drink. I watched as the young man took hold of this custom and followed suit. He introduced himself as Francis and I introduced Misseur John and Bernard and John introduced me as 'Fromage.' The three men laughed.
"No, no,' I said, "je mapel Laura."
And I went on to try to explain the reasoning for Misseur John calling me Fromage. John stated that he had a better idea and requested a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something and handed the piece of paper to Francis who was instructed to place it in his pocket for later. He was unable to keep to this track and took out the piece of paper to read. He held it to himself, blocking it from my view and laughed as he read. He explained the contents in French to Bernard who smiled and laughed and now everyone but myself was in on the joke. I turned to John.
"It must be really bad or really good"
"Yeah, well..." was all he replied.
I finally was allowed to read the note and began to blush as I looked up.
It read, "Because fromage is in my heart."
We went on talking and laughing and Francis went on to translate Bernard to us and us to Bernard. He explained that he had been in the midst of writing a letter to person with whom he had 'much conflict with,' but was not very into the letter and thus was very glad that he instead joined us. He taught me the word 'ane' which means 'ass' in French and John and I passed around the word with laughing joy. Francis gave us his address and I gave to him my own while we sat and conversed. It was only just after 7:00 p.m. before we began our elongated good byes and exited the cafe while Francis threw his head out of the door and waved. "Au revoir!" I called from the middle of street as I skipped down the uneven cobblestone.
We crossed the river Seine and joined up with the St. Germain before turning down another small side street and entered the Cafe Mazet on rue Saint Andre des Arts. By this time, we had already had plenty to drink and thus, when John ordered us a beer and a cider, I commenced quite slowly. I looked around this Americanized cafe and noted the variety of drinks I recognized sitting upon the shelves of the walls. Almost immediately, John began speaking to the woman on his right and we soon found out that her name was Kimberly and that she was originally from Oklahoma. She was attended the American University of Paris for the past four years and John quickly exchanged seats with me in order that we might exchange words regarding college. She was a loud, boisterous girl who always had a lot to say (and this coming from the queen of talk...) with a humorous, cocky nature. She sat straight backed upon her stool with a pretty face and a French accent to her every English word (of which every other one was 'fuck'). I enjoyed her company immensely and John interjected only now and then. I wanted to thank him for being so kind in coupling us as he did, but I was beginning to grow somewhat quiet and more eager to simply take in our experience at Bernard's Cafe.
John requested that Kim show us around and perhaps take us to one of her favorite hangouts and we soon found ourselves in the door of a posh little bar called Fubar. I followed Kim and John to the steps and quietly said bonsoir to the woman behind the bar. I was entirely impressed when she returned my whisper of a greeting and we headed up a small flight of dark stairs to an area with low tables and equally low chairs. I faced John and Kim and let them lead the way through conversation on many a topic; President Bush (whom everyone in Europe detests), college, war, Paris living and more. I sipped the apple Martini that Kim ordered me and remained somewhat silent as the two of them carried out their views on these overwhelming topics. I found myself more interested in Paris living and thus inquired about everything I could think of. Kim explained the laid back aura of European living, how jobs weren't really 'work' here and how expensive the taxes were.
"But you do not pay tax on food and such, though," I boldly stated.
"Oh no, it's much better than the States for that - everywhere you go, you know what the price will be. No tax."
"And ya'll get like 25 days paid vacation, right? There a vacation day for everything, right?"
"Oh yes! And when there is a day off on a Thursday, you know you'll have the rest of the week off - that's just understood."
"And you take something of an extended lunch everyday, correct?"
"Yup. Two hours."
"So sign me up."
"For what?"
"Paris. I'm moving."
Kim began to grin from ear to ear and conveyed her dislike for her current roommate, commenting that if I should decide to go to the American University of Paris, I would have a roomy. She had written down her address, email and phone number and I gave her my own. I had already made more friends in Paris than I have really ever had here in Waukesha; a comment which John backed up thoroughly. I glanced over at him and he was becoming more and more tired with eyelids drooping and insisted that we all get going. Kim promised to show us the way to a taxi and thus we parted as John gently kissed Kim on the cheek and I scolded him afterward for not having done it the 'European way.' I walked up to a taxi driver and gave him the directions back to our hotel, paid him the ten Euro and there we stood in front of little home. John looked up and then down the street, suggesting we head down the Au Metro for a night cap.
This night cap ended up being a party in the Cafe Au Metro as we crashed into a huge group of patrons singing and drinking at one of the tables. We ordered a couple of white wine spritzers to which I exclaimed as one of my mother's drinks and we toasted the fine day we'd had. The crowd at the table behind us began to grow in number and vivacity; each of them standing up to sing and sway to the French music blaring over the jukebox. I smiled and laughed and was requested several times to join them, but passed with consideration to my partner and to my overly buzzed head. I began to calm down a bit with the easy drinks and promotion of adding a bit of water to each glass. I turned around to find John had joined the group of people himself and had begun dancing with a jovial older woman with a great grin spread ever across her face. The gentleman to my right introduced himself in English as Benoir and warned me that my friend was dancing with the owner's wife. I let the warning pass as John seemed to have been doing little harm and conversed with Bonoir for a great extent of time before being pulled away by another patron with gripping tenacity. He twirled me to the left of the cafe and we began to dance. He spoke not a word of English and there was no need to talk and so we got along just fine until I needed to pull away for a break. He insisted I stay and I insisted I not. I rejoined my more calm friend at the bar and he told me that I had a perfection of pronunciation of French. I thanked him and remarked that I had such a difficulty with it as I was much more used to speaking Spanish. I explained my version of the difference just before he pulled the cook out of the back and encouraged me to speak to her in Spanish.
"Hola! Me llamo Laura, y tu?"
"Ooooh! Hola, Laura! Me llamo Maria! Mucho gusto!"
Thus we bantered back and forth and I somehow managed to switch from French with Bensoir to Spanish with Maria and down back down to English when necessary and sign language when it came to my dancing partner. Bensoir informed me that he is the vice president of an all girls rugby team and gave me all of his personal information so that I could come back to Paris and play on their team. He introduced me to one of their newest members, Emily, and by that point, I had managed to find a school, a hobby and all that lacked was a half assed job to promote to former two. * Side note: Please visit www.rcp15.com for details on how you, too, can join this up and coming all girls rugby team.
I headed in the toilette and noted that there was merely a hole in the middle of the floor and gingerly retreated, pretending that I just washed my hands instead of attempting to squat behind that unlock able door to relieve myself. I informed John of this dilemma and this only made him more adamant that I at least try. I insisted that he check out the facilities himself and upon his exit, he admitted that it was not a place that I could possibly do anything but make a mess. I informed him that I would be back as soon as I used our hotel bathroom just up the street and he agreed. Just in case I would not return, I handed out my "au revoirs" to each person I had met and a few that I was rather sure I had not and ambled down the boulevard. It was still too early for the front doors to be locked and so I sailed through the lobby with only a slight imbalance and waved to the man behind the front desk.
Done with my business, I skipped out onto the street to make my way back to the bar only to find that John had found a seat just outside on a sidewalk bench. We took a short walk before clambering up the stairs to our room and John passed out easily this night in his small bed in our small hotel room. I poured him a bottle of cool tap water which I set beside his bed and smiled at his finally tranquil slumber. I took one step over to my bed, donned the pink satin pajamas my mother had lent to me, opened the doors to our balcony, walked out and said good-bye to our last night in Paris...
*** To be Continued...