Speaking of France, which I was a couple of posts ago, I believe that Paris is always a good idea. We arrived in Paris via the underground Chunnel from London. Chunnel being short for English Channel Tunnel. I actually don’t recall when we were actually under the water as they were serving complimentary champagne on the train and I think it went to my head. When in Paris….
Feeling a little tipsy, I think I took a nap and the next thing I knew we had arrived at Gare du Nord train station in Paris. It was a hub of activity and we grabbed our luggage and bags and held onto them for dear life. Thankfully, our hotel was right across the street so we didn’t have the fuss of finding a taxi or train to anywhere that evening.
I shall never forget our quaint little Paris hotel. In London we had stayed at the Hilton, because my sister works with IBM and she managed to get us a corporate rate for the 6 nights we spent there. But in Paris life was different. We entered our hotel and checked in at the cubby hole that was the front desk and proceeded to get our bags up to our floors. The elevator was so small we could either put a person on it or some baggage but not both. We decided to send our baggage up the elevator and then ran up the spiral staircase to greet it on the floor we were staying on. I believe Lexie sent her luggage to the wrong floor and had to run up another flight to send it back down. We could hear her laughing and talking to us from the 3rd floor because the staircase was open all the way up and positioned in the middle of the lobby. Once we arrived in our postage stamp room we noticed that there was an NH embossed on the head board of the bed. We wondered what that meant and Lexie chirped out..its means “Not the Hilton”. We howled. Out of the mouths of babes, well she was 17. I might mention that our rooms actually had private tiny bathrooms in each. So that was a luxury. Very often, in Paris, the entire floor will share a water closet.
We (and by we, I mean my sister, her husband, Lexie and I) settled in to our rooms and decided to go find something to eat in the cafe at the base of our hotel. Two of us squeezed into the elevator and the other two ran down the spiral staircase to see who would get their first. The elevator was one of those rattly precarious old elevators that you could see through with a wrought iron crisscross frame. I don’t remember what we ate but there was french music playing on the street corners and it was dusk by then, setting a perfect backdrop for the many twinkling lights everywhere. Basically I just sat there and breathed deeply and reminded myself that, yes, I was indeed in Paris. PARIS!
We arose early the next morning and made our way to the tour bus that was taking us to the town of Versailles to spend the day at the Palace. A glorious Sunday morning to be in Paris. It was a beautiful bus ride and a beautiful morning but I think I dozed a little bit on the way. At this point you’re probably wondering if I slept my way through France. I assure you I didn’t. I was wide awake when we entered the village of Versailles and very soon our bus rolled up to the Palace surrounded by a golden iron fence with magnificent gates. At the risk of over using the word ‘magnificent’ lets just assume that everything that caught our eyes this day was, indeed, magnificent. We toured the palace with its opulent architecture and decor making our way to Marie Antoinette’s’ boudoir. Lets just say she was high maintenance. We wanted to eat cake but there was none to be found. Then it was explained to us that the Louvre was an exact replica of the POV (Palace of Versailles) because Marie wanted to live in the city and have the exact same luxuries at her fingertips. The Hall of Mirrors – breathtaking. Marie was known for her extravagant
lifestyle and tastes.
We made our way out onto the grounds with green grass cut in shapes and patterns as far as the eye could see. The grass really was greener on the other side of the Palace. The POV is famous for its fountains and my brother-in-law made sure he booked our tour for Sunday since that was the only day of the week that the fountains are on. They still use all the ancient and historic (could I call it technology?) that they used in Marie Antoinette’s day and each one is turned on manually so its a lot of work and I suppose that is why they only run on Sunday’s. We lollygagged around the grounds for hours. Many of the fountains were actually statues of famous historic people and horses. We wandered into a covered garden off the beaten path and found a lovely little kiosk selling baguette, ham and swiss cheese sandwiches. They were being served up by a very cute young frenchman that Lexie couldn’t take her eyes off. We savored every mouthful of that amazing sandwich and bought an extra to eat under the covers in our hotel that night. We rode back on the top level of the double decker bus, right above the driver. Best seat in the house. Or should I say bus? On our way back into the city we got our first glimpse of the Eiffel tower – just before we entered the tunnel where Princess Dianna was killed. Sad moment. Lexie was playing “Viva la Vida” by Coldplay on her phone and it has turned into a wonderful memory.
We made it back to our hotel in time to change and make our way via ‘the Metro’ to the Eiffel Tower. Well we weren’t exactly under it but we were viewing it from a distant stone wall and the tower was twinkling with blue lights around a wreath of yellow stars. It was magical. Lexie, thought we needed music for this moment, so she dug up Viva La Vida again (our Europeon theme song), this time on my phone and while I still had my phone in my hand, it rang. It was Mike, who was back home, calling to wish me a happy 27th anniversary. I’d almost forgotten it was our anniversary that day. It was just the most romantic moment. I still cannot believe that he called me when I was taking in the Eiffel Tower for the very first time. I believe it was a God moment. I shall never forget. We sauntered down closer to the Eiffel Tower past the carousel and close to the banks of the River Seine and just imprinted these memories in our hearts and souls. We were taking pictures to last a lifetime – to relive these moments – as a witness that we were really there. My brother -in-law led us to a street cafe close to the tower where we sat and enjoyed a french meal while watching the lights on the Eiffel tower flicker through the trees.
We spend the next few days doing all the typical touristy things and seeing all the typical touristy landmarks even though they didn’t feel typical to us at all. We took the Metro everywhere. We stopped at Paul’s (an every street corner bakery) and had croissants every morning. We walked through St. Chappelle with its stained glass windows and walls and navy ceilings covered with gold fleur-de-lis. We tip toed through the halls of Notre Dame so as to not disturb the hunchback. I bought a candle there. It currently sits on my nightstand as a reminder I was there. We gazed upon Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa in the Louvre as well as the Winged Victory of Samothrace (google it, you’ll recognize it). The Rembrants, the Raphaels, and Delacroix. Spent hours there, followed by walking through the tulleries down to the Champs Elysees. We spotted a Starbucks and naturally had to go in and order a beverage. Zara – right there on the Champs- we went in. We passed Chanel and Louis Vitton and Laduree (and didn’t even know it because we had no clue what macarons were at that time). We’d seen these strange little spongy cookies, that looked like colourful hamburgers, at all the street corner bakeries but had no idea of their popularity and prestige. We made our way to the Arch de Triumphe with its insane traffic circle at the base. From the top of the Arch we could see the Eiffel Tower and the streets fanning out in a spoked wheel pattern. We could see the Basilica du Sacre-Coeur in the distance. We spend an afternoon strolling through the Latin Quarter stopping in lovely little shops looking for souvenirs to take home, eating rose shaped ice cream. We ate a late lunch at a perfect little street cafe before we made our way back to our hotel. We dropped our jaws at the Musee D’orsay with its recognizable statues and paintings. Its Monets and Renoirs. Cezanne’s and Degas’. Lexie and I split up from my sister and BIL and strolled down the River Seine and made our way back to the Champs Elysee. We took our time, we took pictures, we ate baguettes our of white paper bags.
One of my favorite memories was the afternoon we basked in the sun on the benches of Luxembourg Park. We settled in by a vine enclosed pond and read. Took pictures, watched the children with their remote control sail boats on the larger pond in the middle of the park. The park was complete with stone walls and fences, sculptures and a palace. It was unlike any park I’ve ever been to. It’s what I expected to find in Paris. That evening we decided to make our way to Montmartre to eat outside and watch all the local artists painting pictures of passersby. Several artists wanted to paint Lexie’s picture and of course would charge her to take the picture home with her. But Lexie’s uncle said, no – you will have to pay her if you want to paint her. He was very protective. After supper we walked down the cobblestone streets of this historic district and descended the stairs – where many pictures of the Eiffel tower are taken and painted – and Lexie and my sister walked arm and arm back to our hotel. It was an enchanted evening. Paris did not disappoint.
The following morning, my sister and her husband were leaving for home. After our sombre goodbyes and waving them off in their taxi, I booked Lexie and I a water taxi from the train station in Venice to our hotel by St. Marco Polo Square. We were booked on the overnight train through France to Venice. We arrived quite early at the Paris train station (I wanted to make sure we didn’t miss any connections now that we were on our own) and Lexie played with the pigeons. She felt sorry for their lameness, many were missing limbs and she insisted on feeding them. She reminded me of the bird lady from Mary Poppins. I explained to her that they were the rats of Europe but she still felt sorry for them. Those were our last images of Paris…the lame pigeons. It was exciting as we sped through Frances countryside. We finally gave ourselves up to sleep after it was too dark to see anything. (Maybe I did sleep my way through France, but surely not Paris). Next stop…Venice.
The Red Plaid Apron 
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