6/7/2017
Paris
Walking Tour (Paris)
This was a mega-day in Paris. Leo, the VRBO rep, brought us through an entry day, through an outdoor vestibule, and past a large steel door, thick enough to protect Napoleon’s crown jewels, and a door which would almost bring me and Molly to a desperation and collapse, a mere one day into the trip. At the end of our massive walk Molly and I inadvertently double-locked the door and couldn’t get in after a 6 mile jaunt on foot around the streets of Paris. More on that later. Luckily my Samsung/T-Mobile phone and its International Plan sprung to life and we were able to reach the VRBO people. A staffer arrived by bus around 15 minutes after we called and explained the double-locked issue and got us in the sprawling apartment. Lest we sound like nervous nellies… here’s the deal. We were jet lagged, Paris totally new to me—and our housemates were asleep (recovering from jet lag) as we banged on the mighty steel door, worthy of a Fort Knox safe. Dana and Reed had been napping while Molly and I tried desperately to get into the place. The employee arrived and we were home safe. Exhale.
The Rue de Rivoli apartment has a swell location near the majestic City Hall and the incomparable Notre Dame. To give you an idea how grand this City Hall actually is—the secret, by invitation only White Party of Paris, the “Diner en Blanc en Paris” happened in front of City Hall during our stay in the apartment!
Notre Dame was our first stop on Molly and my jaunt. We have photos to prove it. There may have been an attacker, hammer in hand, subdued by police that very day. By the time we passed by Notre Dame had resumed operations and the plaza in front had the usual lines of visitors. I feel the majesty of Notre Dame benefits from its location on an island in the Seine. Somehow the commerce and flow of traffic and people in near proximity to the cathedral adds an element of modern relevance to the grand old building. New and old, flying buttresses and nearby bridges with cars, pedestrians and river traffic below combine for a feeling of freshness, Middle Ages meet 21st century.
Our stroll continued. Molly knows Paris and wanted to revisit the one-time apartment of a good friend she had visited years earlier. She was on a mission nto find the place. We located the apartment. Molly noted the apartment building had been converted to a medical facility.
We moved further along the busy streets to the neighboring historical cafes, Les Deux Magots and Café De Flor, battling for literary primacy across the street from each other. I mentioned these in yesterday’s blog entry. Molly pointed out the symbol of the Deux Magots on the café’s awning. It showed two Magi—and turns out that Magot is French for Magi, you know like the kings who arrived at the birth of Christ. That visit involved three Magi and so one must wonder, did the third Magi cross the street and go to Café de Flor for his cup of coffee? Molly announced “we’re in Saint Germaine, in the 6th arrondissement. Arrondissement is “a subdivision of a French administrative district” of “area of French city.” Looked like we were in a nice part of town—a pretty good arrondissement from the looks of things.
We pushed further west through some more beautiful neighborhood streets and past the Swiss embassy. We encountered an open are with the grand Napoleon Tomb and Museum of Armaments, or Armee, within view. I forgot to mention our mission—we wanted to locate the “Reed” restaurant. Molly had made reservations at the Reed, in honor of Reed a member of our foursome. Reed deserves credit for getting this whole trip organized, planning the itinerary, and he likes quality dining! And at the Reed restaurant you get dinner prepared by a single gourmet chef, a French Canadian lady from Quebec, while you sit just a few feet away. We wanted to locate this place in advance, maybe a little OCD of us, especially considering the walking involved. We found the street—Amelie—and turns out that street felt like a quiet refuge from the big city.
Rue Amelie had a small fan-making business in its bosom. How is that for a throwback industry—the earliest form of air-conditioning. I’m talking about the hand-held fans, the kind that veiled Spanish senoritas whoosh back and forth. Fans seem something of an oddity now, but still being manufactured on Amelie Street and we heard the whir of sewing machines as seamstresses sewed the fabric into place. We had reached the westernmost end of our walk and now planned a way back, navigate towards the Seine and the Place de la Concorde.
Molly walks incredibly fast and darts between and around slower pedestrians and sometimes automobiles with great grace and skill.About 4-5 miles into our walk and working on very little sleep—I found myself glad when we approached the Foreign Ministry building, facing the Seine from the south bank. We noticed a formal reception in full swing, the welcoming of a foreign dignity perhaps, was happening, with two line of soldiers standing on a stone staircase entryway, swords drawn and extended towards the ground. A little breather… We joined the crowds observing from a distance and felt some cool air from the river. I exhaled.
We crossed the river to our side, the Marais side, the Right Bank—on the north side of the river. We found our way to a Metro stop—maybe Place de la Concorde. I bought 10 tickets with the helpful English language instructions built it to the kiosk. We hopped on our subway car and a couple of inebriated men sat side-by-side with the look and timing of vaudeville performers playing drunks. But these guys, street people, were the real thing. Red-faced and clothes spattered with dirt, they mumbled and grunted in what sounded like an East European tongue, but for all I know it was French with some weird dialect and drunken inflections.
Molly and I made it back to the Hotel Del Ville stop and the final few feet to our Rue de Rivoli apartment. Feeling confident in having used the Metro and made a significant circle of our Paris environs, we stopped in the local mini-market/grocery attached to our building and bought a few items. But now the locked steel door loomed a few feet and seconds away, ready to burst our bubble on our Paris mastery. We got through the first locked entryway and into the fresh air vestibule and arrived at the massive steel vault door, the one obstacle we could not hurdle successfully. Even Napoleon had his Waterloo. We turned and turned, pushed and prodded the key and made no progress. My jet-lagged mind and body, further weakened by a 6-mile walk, no matter how triumphant, started to crumble. It’s called a meltdown. We lingered in the vestibule. I pulled out my phone. Would it work? I could hear ringing on the other end and an English accent answered my plea for help. I thanked the Techno-Gods. The phone worked to make a local call in Paris. The blonde-haired VRBO lady, the same person with the English accent, got us in our place close to dinner-time. Our refreshed housemates awoke to observe Molly and me crawl up the stairs, tired but relieved. Molly and I had completed our odyssey. A great day for learning about the city.
