Saturday, May 31, 2014

50 Shades of Beige

Some people visiting Paris go to museums, palaces and monuments.
All these colors and sizes ARE IN STOCK!!!!!
Not the Wasserweasels, we go to hardware stores. In fact, Harvey has been lamenting the fact of not buying a specific Phillips Head screwdriver in Arles, 5 years ago. Even I can't believe that this screwdriver was so great, but there you have it, who am I to argue?

While in the square next to Pompidou Center, we spied a really nice garden store, free to enter whereas the Pompidou Center is 25 Euros. Yep, we decided on the garden center but we were wrong; in fact it was a 5 story home store. Imagine if you will, Home Depot marries IKEA. The baby would be this store!
Glass Blocks in 10 colors, IN STOCK!


Every home item came in at least 5 colors.
Purple Kitchen sinks, IN STOCK (also red, black and yellow)
Now anyone who knows me, knows that I think there is way too much beige in the USA. I even made a plea on the radio in February for the Vero-nese to put more color in their bathrooms because I am having a hard time buying leftover tile for my mosaics.
I yearn for colored pulls!

It is time to rise up and demand color!

PS -  Harvey found his Dexter Phillips head screwdriver. Viva la France!

Friday, May 30, 2014

Big City Life



The sun came out to visit today. She said “bonjour” at the same time we were stepping out of the #8 Metro onto the Avenue de l’Opera, in central Paris. In the time it had taken for us to traverse the courtyard of St. Roche Cathedral and enter the splendid gardens of Tuileries, it seemed as though the rest of Paris came outside and waved “bonjour” right back at her.
Joan d'Arc in the sun
 The gardens, which begin at the feet of the Louvre, were alive with the vibrant colors of spring flowers, still damp from gentle rains. The lawns were fresh, green carpets spotted with tiny daisies which no feet are allowed to spoil. Parisians were out by the droves, occupying chairs that surround the many fountains throughout the park. The smells of the flowers were only overcome by the faint wafts of cannabis. 
All sorts of smells in the Tuileries, Louvre in the background
 We head toward the Seine, to finish the second part of our walk: onto the Quai des Tuileries, past the golden statues of Pont Alexandre III, downward to the cobblestone waterfront of the Seine. The lower path is fractured along the shore and upward again we pressed on steps galore and ascended to Pont d l’Alma.
At the bridge a woman was bent over, picking something off the ground, her young son holding her hand as we pass by.

Pont Alexandre III, Tour Eiffel
“Look.” She said in her French accent, holding something in her hand.
 We stop and note that in her hand is a thick, gold wedding band.
“Is yours?” She asks, while her young son holds onto her hand.
“No. Not ours,” Harvey replies.
“Sure?”
“Nope, not ours,” I confirm.
“I lucky, I guess,” she shrugs her shoulders and smiles at us.
We confirm her luck and begin our walking along the tree lined avenue.
Moments later she is beside us again.
“Lady, no fit,” she demonstrates how the band will not fit any of her fingers. “You take, you lucky.”
I decline, but she presses it into my hand and closes my fingers around the heavy band.
“You take. No fit.”
Whatever lady, I want to get to the Eiffel Tower so we leave and once again say,
“bu-bye.”
No more than 4 or 5 steps away and she’s back.
“Maybe you give me some money for a coke for my boy?”
Perfect!
I take her hand and place the ring inside her palm, closing her fingers around it like she did mine. Smiling I say,
“Acheter de l’or,”
which is on the front of all the French pawn shops I have seen in our not so touristy neighborhood.
The local PFC in my Paris Neighborhood
I imagine she has pocketful of these rings. One thing I have learned on my travels is that the con goes much better with a child in tow.

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Had to Blog this morning, to much wine last night!



Night before last, we had a wonderful late dinner in the Marais district after a short walkabout Rue des Rosiers. Pick a direction in Paris, it doesn’t really matter. Whether you explore the 3rd arrondissement or the 19th, the streets are alive with outdoor cafes’, bars and shops.
Pleeeeese, can I take it home with me?

La Marais is unusual for its pre-revolutionary architecture and the city’s oldest square, Place des Vosges. As aside in most tour books, there will be mention that Rue des Rosiers is home of the original Jewish section. Last we visited it was a loud, active street with the bustle of many orthodox Jews, kosher grocers, restaurants and art shops. Found there also, Saul Goldbergs famous deli (home of the best bagel I ever ate!) All that remains today are designer shops: Micheal Kors, Tom Ford, Kate Spade…..did I say yuck? In fact, gentrification has turned the most lovely area into a picturesque albeit, bland mall of consumerism. Goldbergs façade remains, with it’s plaque to a bombing there in 1982, where 6 died and 22 were wounded, inside a high end jean store.
Where Canal St Martin slides under the city
Yesterday, though we arose late (yea!) and headed toward the upper end of Canal Martin. After the disappointment of the Marais, I can only wonder why more is not written of this area. Yes, it is the suburbs and for the most part the buildings are post 1950 but the parks surrounding the canal are not to be missed. We walked all the way to the 19th Arr., almost to the Peripheries (the circular expressway surrounding Paris) to La Villette, the largest park in Paris.

Around 2pm, we headed back home for a wonderful experience at Marrakech Hammam. We steamed until we could barely crawl and then had an invigorating Gommage.  A woman with a large loofa, soaps you up and then exfoliates every inch of your body, until you feel like your skin is burning. There are not words to describe how silky, smooth this makes your skin feel or how much it makes you want to take a nap.

Resting after the Hammam
Night took us to Gare d’Austerlitz, where Harvey heard tale of dancing along the Seine. Of course, this is the only time where it has actually rained in Paris; therefore, no dance. We consoled ourselves with a wonderful Assiette de Formage in the Latin Quarter and then Charcouterie (sp) a cured meat plate served in a bar, down a narrow street in St Germain.

The road less traveled
A delightful walk home we had in the rain, traversing Ile d Cite to the courtyard of Norte Dame across the bridge to Hotel DeVille. 
Pont Sully, Notre Dame in the background

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Have a Seat, Sir



The most horrible thing imaginable happened today right off the bat, at the Stalingrad Metro Station. There had been a wonderful, leisurely morning with a stop at the local patisserie for café and croissants. We bought our 5 day transit tickets without a hitch and were off to Musee’de l’Orangerie located next to the Obelisque de la Concorde on the banks of the Seine. The train pulled up and we entered an almost full compartment. I slid into the only available seat next to a handsome, young hipster. He glanced quickly at me and then to Harvey, whereupon the young Parisian stood up and gave Harvey his seat. Balefully Harvey looked at me and said, “Oh my god, he gave the old man a seat!”



At Pont de la Concorde we spied our first glance of Tour Eiffel. The Square was circus of tourists, buses, police and local traffic. Harvey saved a Chinese man from being run over while he was taking pictures. (The French actually do get points for hitting tourists!) The Chinese couple followed us to the next light while we laughed in broken English and shook hands upon departing; the Chinese toward the Arc de Triomphe and we to the walk east along the Seine.





The Musee de l’Orangerie, which holds several of Monet’s giant water lily series, was closed on Tuesdays. Not to be discouraged we wandered across the Seine to Musee d’Orsay which had ONE MILLION people in line to get in. Not wanting to spend our day in line, it was time for a bathroom break. Now if you’ve never been to Paris, you don’t know how hard it is to find facilities. Even if you find a toilet, you still don’t know if what you will find is a hole in the floor with a string to hold onto. 50-50 chance. Best bet is to find a nice bar and order something. This we did, only to discover that they did not take credit. Having not yet found a credit exchange, we had 6 euros between us. The bill was 5.40
Fashion shoot near Musee d'Orsay

Rue de Lille runs parallel to the Seine and Musee d’Orsay. My last trip to Paris, we stayed in an apartment on this street, which at that time part of the Ambassador to Pakistan’s residence. It is now a Luxury hotel

Rue de Lille


Having struck out with 2 Museums we turned back to the Seine, strolling along the waterfront past Ile de la Cite and Ile St-Louis admiring the opulent barges that were moored to the sides. Each barge was decorated differently, all with gardens on top and lavish patios. We continued to stroll until we reached Quai de Rapee’, where the St Martin canal empties into the Seine. In the distance we could see the giant monument of the Bastille, the Colonne de Juillet. By this time our dogs were barking, so across the bridge we scampered toward the metro and a quick ride home for an afternoon nap, with the hope of an evening out in St Germain des Pres.


On the Seine across from Canal St Martin



Monday, May 26, 2014

Travel Day



We have been looking forward to France, but not the 8 hour flight and 3 hours pre-boarding at Miami International. XL Air was an unknown to us; no seat assignments until check in, no frills, just the promise of $700.00 RT, what could go wrong I ask you?

For a while in Miami, it didn’t look promising. We arrived 30 minutes before check in time, to find a long line and the desks already open. Well, it’s a big plane so I guess that’s alright. Check in was smooth and the desk agent was able to accommodate our sitting together. Our luggage was under the limit, so no additional fees were added.
Our Courtyard

Then we were sent to concourse F. I am sure that the F stands for filthy and funky cause that’s what it was. The carpet was nasty, worn and the air-conditioning almost non-existent. Miami should be ashamed!

But we boarded on time and to our delight and surprise the plane half full. For you intrepid travelers, you know what this means: more leg room, more elbow room, more room to twist and wiggle about for the ensuing 8 hours. Both the Monkey and I slept a solid 6, waking up an hour out or Charles De Gaulle.
The first Locke

Not too tired, we navigated the RER train to Gare du Nord, thru the “distastefulness of the suburbs” as a fellow traveler described it to us.  Found our way out thru the correct exit (it’s a really big station, ya’ll) and to the post office where we retrieved our key for the apartment. Less than 1 kilometer away, we just continued and hoofed it to Rue de Chaudron.

The apartment is a delight on a quiet residential street. Across the way is the Vespa repair shop. It’s a middle class neighborhood and just right for us. After a short exploration of the tiny abode, we change to our comfortable shoes and race to the Saint Martin Canal.

What a great spot in Paris, is the Canal! Very reminiscent of the canals of Amsterdam. The old locks still work, and parks flank either bank. Every so often there are arched bridges across. Old warehouses slowly turn into the fine apartments which one associates with Paris. We strolled, and strolled and strolled until the canal disappeared under a lush park which ends in the Seine.
Isn't this the cutest bridge, evah?

Enough sightseeing for our first day, we return home; buying supplies at the corner grocer. We then stop for a traditional Parisian dinner of Hallal Doner Kabobs and the owner introduces us to the owner of the neighborhood Hamman (Turkish Baths). That is where I will be Wednesday!
A beautiful stroll


Sunday, May 25, 2014

Life is the Journey




Tomorrow I return to France, avec mon Doux Singe.

This being my 3rd trip to Paris, how could one not feel lucky and blessed to have had the means to return to the City of Lights? But no journey is the same, which is the wonder of travel. This journey will be different – bittersweet, because this will be the 1st time I have visited Paris without my brother. The first Paris of my youth doesn’t even exist as a stamp on my current passport but it holds for me, some of my favorite and most precious memories.

May 10th, 1996
It was springtime in Paris and my hair still had its original color. We were an enthusiastic, loud, southern family full of ourselves, our fortune and our love; my brother, my sister and I. Every day at early morning light, up and attum – we can rest when we get home. It was Tourist Stigmata for us! Thus one fine evening, we found ourselves at the gay tapas bar, full of champagne and ambition parting that friendly place to begin a haphazard wandering thru the streets toward Tour Eiffel. We need no map. “There it is! That way, between the buildings,” we cried.

Slightly inebriated, everything seemed like a good idea that evening in Paris. We spied a Champagne and Caviar shop. Never seen one before, never seen one since! The well lit interior was cool and sparse like the clerks that waited on the very thin and proper patrons. We entered like the Beverly Hillbillies – Wee Doggies! Of course we were ignored. It became apparent that we were not going to leave, one of the staff grudgingly, yet politely asked if they could “help us.” 

I can’t say what kind of champagne we bought, but I remember the caviar. Real Russian Beluga residing in tiny tins. In retrospect, I imagine our hotel room rate per night was similar in dollar amount to those ubiquitous tins of caviar. Chilled champagne and a tin of beluga later, we were given directions to Tour Eiffel, just blocks away.

On the far side of the park, furthest from Tour Eiffel which resides on the edge of the Seine, we found a hillside with a full view of the twinkling lights on the Eiffel. Then, because we could and because we owned the night, the champagne cork was “popped”.

Have you ever drunk champagne from the bottle? Have you ever eaten beluga caviar with your fingers? Or licked the can clean, whilst lolling in the lush grounds of a public park in Paris; lovers and creatures of the night parading around you? Where do you pee, mon petite formage, where do you pee?

Things become really quite hazy from this point, but the feeling of joi de vivre, the love of the family I was with, the place we were all “at” mentally, spiritual and physically together in that particular moment in time, I have always and will always keep in my heart. Mikey, thank you thank you thank you, for memories of Paris twice in your lifetime and I still believe that tree you peed on was never the same.

Mikey with l'homme Singe,
who owed him money. 2nd trip to Paris