Day 8: April In Paris ... Is Freaking Cold

Wow. Paris. What can one say? It is a city that is literally overwhelming with potential experience.

First, some observations. The music on the radio, in cabs, and in shops – if it is typical of French music – is truly bad. They play a lot of American pop music; they require 40% French language content during prime hours [daytime], so the deejays at night take liberal advantage of the lack of restrictions by playing a lot of American music. I heard Credence, Sheryl Crow, Bill Haley & the Comets, Frank Sinatra …

Second, the people were almost uniformly friendly, helpful and pleasant to deal with. And contrary to what my friend S. says, the women do not have “stinky dog breath.”

Third, this confirms the cliché: People here dress so much better than Americans. Women tend towards skirts, dark colors, boots, and always dark hose. Lots of coats, gloves and scarves here as it is still very cold. Both men and women tend to wear their clothes more tightly here. But as they are thin, they can get away with it.

I bought some shirts from a wonderful shop on Rue Vielle du Temple. The shopkeeper, an officious women of certain-age, showed me what shirts would fit me [size 42] and I was nosing around looking for interesting patterns when she firmly stated: “Non, monsieur, those are not for you! Those are slim cut.” Thank you very much. The fat boy from America buys shirts!

We had some great crepes, poulet avec Norman crème, soup a l’oignen [exceptional – much less reduced than in the US], entrecout [ribeye] aux fines herbes, and the wonderful bread and pastries. So good.

One thing I can’t get over is the lack of a protein based breakfast. They eat sugar and carbs for breakfast, and don’t seem to mind. Zut alors! We actually ate at a McDonald’s on Rue Beaubourg this morning! We did it just to satisfy our perverse curiosity and it was fun. Their egg mcmuffin has American style bacon, and tastes much less rubbery. The breakfast came with orange juice, strong coffee [they called it espresso, but it wasn’t], a yogurt with fresh fruit [delicious], the egg mcmuffin, and a choice of pancakes sucre [which tasted like the old Aunt Jemima pancakes my father made for us as children], brioches or pastries [a small croissant, and two other similar items, one with a chocolate filling, the other with raisins]. All in all, it was similar to the US experience, but better.

The Hotel Beaubourg was located right next to the Georges Pompideau. Literally. But the little street we were on [Rue De Simon LeClerc in the 4th Arrondisement] was quiet and easy to find, but close to many major landmarks. We were right next to the Notre Dame and the City Hall, and very close to the Seine. The Seine was much larger than I expected it to be, and very green and not a placid river by a stretch. If one leaps into the Seine, one can call it a day. It is cold and treacherous.

Saturday, we arrived mid-day. We had a great lunch, and took a boat tour of the Seine. That night, we crashed early.

On Sunday, we took a bicycle tour [Fat Tire Bikes] that was wonderful. We rode from the southeast corner of the Eiffel Tower throughout central Paris, lunching at the Tivoli Gardens near the Louvre. The tour guide, Crystal - a young, attractive girl from Texas, - was formerly a Starbuck's barista. She did a great job of telling us informative stuff about Paris, from the story of Gustave Eiffel having to finance the construction the Eiffel Tower, to the story of Napolean’s tomb [one has to lean over – bow, that is – to see Napolean in his crypt. One final act of arrogance.]

After the bike tour, we met up with a woman named Kelly from the tour who joined us for a trip up the Eiffel Tower. We unknowingly bought tickets to walk up to the second level [4 Euros!] and it is about 670 steps. Way too many. I was exhausted going up to that level. So it was a welcome relief to take the time to take the elevator to the top – some 81 stories above Paris. The view is magnificent. And as I was telling D., three things have conspired to make Paris the exceptional city that it is: central planning – the hub and spoke design of the city, the fact that the city was more or less completely built up by the 1920s, and the fact that zoning prohibits buildings of more than seven stories in height [although there are a couple of very notable exceptions.] The location on the Seine doesn’t hurt either. Sunday night, D. wanted to find a certain restaurant in the Latin Quarter, and it was another comedy of errors for us trying to find the place. It was cold and rainy, so we were both pretty miserable. But we did find the place and it was charming, with a pianist with espresso-fueled fingers playing bouncy standard after standard, entertaining the crowd. A group of convivial old men were seated next to us. A pair of hormone-supercharged young couples playfully occupied the table against the wall. It was a good time, though the main course was underwhelming. I think the place was called Les Trois Maillets. Great salad, and nice pommes frites [which are everywhere].

We got up and had breakfast at the Hotel yesterday, and it was very similar to all the other European breakfasts that I have had. No surprises. Yogurt, bread and coffee. We did see Montmartre yesterday afternoon. It does provide some of the most stunning view of the city, and the neighborhood is charming. But it is a bit on the touristy side. After that, we actually went into the George Pompidou. They had an exhibit of Louise Bourgious’ work, but it did not run to my tastes, so we headed for the permanent collection. The permanent collection, understandably, has a ton of Picasso, Miro, Bracques, Dali, and Man Ray. They have some fine Jackson Pollacks, but none of the Ashcan artists, no Diego Rivera, no Thomas Hart Benton, no Warhol or Hockney … in short, I would give the collection a B-. Not enough variety to show the impressive scope of the modern art movement. But I’m glad I went nonetheless. Being inside the Pompedieu reminds one of what Guy de Maupassant said about the Eiffel Tower. De Maupassant hated the tower, yet ate lunch there every day. When asked why, he said “Because it is the only place in Paris where I cannot see it.” The Pompedieu is a hideous structure but not from the inside.

We were to do a double decker bus tour late last night, but I was so very completely wiped that I had to call it a night.

So now onto Brussels and Amsterdam this fine Tuesday morning. We leave for America on Thursday, which will be sad. But I will return.