July 27, 2008 , Paris Journal Part II

Ok, so you surprise your wife for her 40th birthday by taking her to Paris. Be sure you keep it a secret- only telling her two weeks before you go. Swear the kids to secrecy and watch amazed as they both actually keep it secret! Make all the arrangements… flight, a private car from the airport, coach class sure, but the airline club during layover through work so you can have wine and cheese, oh, and Paris, did you mention Paris? It’s Paris on her 40th. You got an apartment. Not some little hotel box, but an apartment with a bedroom, washer, living room. Nothing grand, but an apartment. Then, tired, but happy you head off in the private car and enjoy the early Sunday morning drive in to Paris.

And, as the streets become more narrow and the houses become steadily older, the driver says, “oh, rue St. Denis, it’s just up ahead. But, this was (is?) the street of hooores.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is all hoores.”

“Whores?”

“Yes, whole street.”

“Red light district?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Oh. My. Well, it looks nice. It is early Sunday morning, but it’s very nice. Sure, there are a couple of peep shows and sex shops, but what street in Paris doesn’t have those? It turns out most don’t, but rue St. Denis has four every block, along with an afternoon show of women over 40 parading in front of doorways selling their bodies. C’est la vie. The only saving grace, the only thing that didn’t kill me off right away, was that Phyllis was tired and also couldn’t care less- we were in Paris!

From Paris 2008

Someone will be angry that I posted this picture here!

We managed a shower in the odd little flood stall shower that was in the apartment we rented. How the French or any young person can think a one inch pan, no wall and then a drop off into the bathroom then apartment proper is a decent shower, I have no idea. I traded time in a “corporate” apartment in dc with a, ahem, poo and spit shower arrangement and also did time in Navy housing and they were never as wacky or useless as this. But we managed to get and stay clean. And, frankly, it wasn’t bad, just very weird.

I can’t recall completely now in what order we did these things, but we got out, got lunch, saw the madness that is the Tour de France coming to Paris, then got back for a nice nap. Paris late afternoon in July usually has incredible light and large edible looking clouds, and this evening was no exception. We wandered on down to the river and crossed over to the Ile St. Louis. It was neither hot nor humid and we were still a little punchy after our nap, but so happy to be in Paris.

Then, finally, to a café. A café just on the left bank, looking back across the Seine to Notre Dame. This is where we could really get into Paris, away from the circus crowd that was the Tour. Here all the chairs face the sidewalk and tight intersection. We order a carafe of rose and sit back to steak frites and quiche- too much food! Our eyes and nose overcome sane ordering, but that’s the point. We’re in Paris. Enjoy. Over-enjoy.

From Paris 2008

So, it’s hard to sit down and write what is so great about a French café. The service is impeccable and it is hard to tell if you pay more for that or the good quality of food. Ah, who cares, both are outstanding. Just a simple steak, pounded out and cooked in a pan, is fantastic. With the crowds to watch, the light coming down in front of use streaking through the clouds and rose, we couldn’t be happier.

Our return from the café has us wander over three hours, maybe more, the 9 blocks back to our apartment. Into the pietone zone, we stop café by café, enjoying small drinks as we go (too many, I think) and arrive at the English pub the Frog and Rosbif that we saw on the travel channel. Our final stop is the tiny café just outside the apartment.

From Paris 2008

Silly French Cafes...

Top ways you know you are in Paris:

• Constant scooter noise
• Business men bustling down streets with the mandatory two baguettes
• Soldes!
• Almost everything is in French