Traveler’s Tip #8: definitely take sleeping pills on any overseas trips. Thanks to those little blue pills I was able to ignore the noises of clicking heels, nicotine-soaked French voices, and garbage trucks and give in to overwhelming fatigue by sleeping it off. Woke up this morning almost refreshed and ready to start the day.
The ladies seemed to sleep better as well since they were still conked out when I woke up. I got dressed and slipped out the door so as not to disturb them. It’s yet another beautiful morning when I go on walkabout. Nothing major, just walking up the streets near our hotel. Few of the stores were open at this hour so I just window-shopped. There was a lot of construction along the streets which I really don’t understand. These streets are already so narrow. To have them cut off by scaffolding and machinery makes the congestion look impossible. I can fully understand why Paris is such a big city for walking. After about a half hour, I figure I’d better get back. I didn’t leave a note and I didn’t want the ladies to wonder where I’d gone.
When I get back, the ladies are negotiating getting dressed in the tiny room and formulating our game plan. Since we’d already hit the Eiffel Tower, the Arc d’Triompe and Notre Dame, we decide to play it by ear; shopping and then a little tour of the Latin Quarter, ending with a visit to a chapel. But first, breakfast. Stopping at yet another little café, Joy, Aletha and I manage to get a smoke-free meal. I had an excellent ham and cheese omelet and some tea. Joy had ordered French fries with her meal which I thought was unusual in that it was breakfast time and because the café actually served it that early. But … they sure were looking good. The serving was enormous so when Joy started to slow down, she let me take over. Let me tell you, I craved that breakfast for weeks afterwards. Nothing says French like a ham and cheese omelet, tea, and French fries :-).
Paris is full of little streets lined with shops. We decided to take a tour of the places we could actually afford. Checked out a bunch of jewelry places that sold both finished pieces and loose stones, then we hit a pashmina place, a book/game store, and some others. One of those stores was the French version of Lecter’s, my dearly departed favorite kitchen supply place. The store had lots of funky decorations and souvenirs for kitchen and bath located on two floors that were filled with tourists and natives alike.
We shopped for our last souvenirs of Paris in the many stores geared for just this purpose. Lots of t-shirts from the cute to the profane, nick knacks like pens and magnets, and the Eiffel Tower in more forms than you could possibly imagine. There was also, I was amused to note, quite a bit of items with naked people on them to be purchased. I got a set of playing cards with some rather happy nekkid mens on them and this interesting little wooden dice for the adventuresome couple to play with. So, okay, I’m not part of a couple but that doesn’t mean I can’t plan ahead. Where better to do this than in the city of love?
Joy leads us into one or two luggage stores as well. She’s in the market for a new purse so Aletha and I get sucked into the fun. Joy bought two bags in one store while I found myself tempted by a neat brown leather-like backpack thingy that will nicely replace my disintegrating bag from Target. Aletha decides she’ll be good and not spend any money.
As we leave one of these souvenir stores, I pass a display filled with weapons of wicked destruction. I’ve always wanted to start a knife and sword collection (not necessarily for their protective qualities but just because they look cool) so I take a good look at some throwing stars. Before I can even figure out how to pack them and take them on the plane, Joy physically moves me out the door. “But I need a throwing star! Ninja! Ninja!” I protest. Joy says something to the effect of friends don’t let friends buy edged weapons and we’re back out on the street.
I still want my Parisian throwing star.
Joy makes a stop at a cyber café while Aletha and I wander around (the café is tiny and way too crowded for us). It has started to drizzle a little bit, our only bad weather in Paris. In trying to avoid the flux of umbrellas bumping into each other to the narrow street, we dodge into more stores. Somehow, Aletha keeps leading us back to the purse stores. She debates a cute, relatively cheap purse and I remind her of the cool Parisian bragging rights she’ll have if anyone asks her where she got it. Still, she decides to keep her money in her pocket. “Okay,” I say, “you’re missing an opportunity but oh well.”
With the rain slackening a bit, we hook up with Joy again and head off to the Latin Quarter. One of the guidebooks suggests a visit to Saint Chapelle to see its stained glass windows. With Aletha once again leading the way, we start walking.
Half an hour later and we’re still walking. Where the hell is this place? We’ve followed the Seine past historic church after church but still haven’t found the one we’re looking for. Insisting that we’re on the right track according to the map, Aletha leads us to what looks like a government complex. The buildings all seem to be set up in a rough circle with some parts closed off for construction. We walk through a small entryway and then back outside before we realize that we are indeed on the right track. There is a line of people waiting to go through security before buying their tickets. We get in line.
Saint Chapelle, oddly enough, is in the middle of this complex. You can barely see it from where we entered but it is a large, ornately carved church with those oh-so-European narrow winding stairs. Inside, there are only a few areas that are opened to tourists. We joined others in gaping at the very detailed windows. These pictures aren’t the best but you get the idea. Each of the windows and the panels in the church tells a story and we spent some time trying to follow them before heading back out.
Now my order of events gets a little fuzzy (that’s what happens when I take so long to write these installments). At some point, we’d passed one too many windows with yummy pastries in them to keep resisting. We bypassed the little carts selling ice cream and crepes with Nutella (hazelnut butter) and slipped into a famous shop with a name I can’t remember. Joy insisted that she must have a chocolate croissant. I also get one as well as a regular croissant and we go upstairs to sit and eat. My intent was to eat one of the treats and save the other for the next morning but it didn’t turn out that way. The bakery more than earned its reputation. We sat and looked out on the crowded streets while we ate.
After more walking, we stopped again so Joy could get a cup of tea. While they sat on a patio, I went across the street to mail some postcards. After waiting in a very long line (it seems post offices are the same all over the world) I was shocked that it cost 90 euros to mail a postcard. But they were going overseas. I finished my errand and rejoined the ladies.
Joy has yet another friend is Paris, a woman who works for her company. We’ve arranged to meet her at a fountain near our hotel. We find Anne, a Frenchwoman, and walk to an Italian place that someone recommended to her. Once again, we use the opportunity to ask a native all about everyday life in the city. Anne says that Paris is pretty expensive to live in but that’s offset by the fact that you don’t need a car. The job market is iffy at best and there are a lot of strikes in different areas of government that can make things hard.
Have I mentioned that the French have a very interesting relationship with eggs? On any menu, at any time, you can order an omelet or an egg with mayo. At this restaurant you can even order a pizza with egg on it. That’s how mine came; a cheese pizza with ground beef and a nearly raw egg right in the middle of it. The heat of the pizza slowly cooks the egg but it was a little too slow for me. I ate around it and tried to avoid the egg white as it ran over the cheese.
Joy returned the phone she’d gotten in London to Anne as we walked her back to the Metro station. We parted ways and walked the 2 short blocks to our hotel. Joy makes arrangements for a cab the next morning, telling us not to worry about the expense as she will be on the company dime. Then we headed upstairs. It was time for Aletha and me to pack up and prepare for that long plane ride back to our own country while Joy braced herself for another trip to India.
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