French wine gives me false memories

And now we come to the last blog about Paris (for now) and we can all go back to the halcyon days of me having nothing to do or say of any importance whatsoever from the long, long LONGNESS of Long Island.

The day began rather late due to the heavy drinking that went on the night before and I had wanted to do a last minute touristy thing to either the Musee d'Orsay or the Musee Rodin. The day before on our way to the RER train of destiny we saw the Musee d'Orsay and I really feel like if you've seen the front of the building you have seen the museum which is probably why until I just looked at my notes that i realize that we didn't even actually go inside. I've been including it on my list of "stuff I saw" in the retelling of my trip and what can I say about that except that I drank a LOT on this trip so my apologies for my open faced lies.What happened was this: we took the metro to the Musee d'Orsay and had planned to go in when we realized that we had been granted yet another amazing day of clear and bright weather and opted for the Musee Rodin.

But before that, since we got a relatively late start we decided to go for one last salad. I'd like to marry each and every salad I ate there but that would be impossible since I ate them. We picked a place that was right near the metro stop and it was just about lunchtime so it was hopping with businessmen eating gorgeous plates of various meats and drinking quite heavily. Awesome. It being Paris, there was also a fair share of couples swooning and sharing their third courses. I don't actually see how Parisians work. I mean they seem to spend hours drinking coffee and eating and this is why I must live there immediately. But I digress. Salads. Oh salads how I miss them on the very warm and rainy afternoons that have been happening since I returned. Could it have been just one week ago I was a world away?

So after all that eating and observing we went to the Musee Rodin. Upon entering, I knew instantly we had made the right choice. I had only ever been familiar with Rodin's famous works like the "Thinking Man" and the general attributes of his sculptures; the sinewy, sleek marble, the dichotomy of realistic humanity portrayed in marble.

This was my favorite scultpure, called "Dreaming":

 I was glad to be seeing the sculptures for the first time in that setting. It was remarkable. Again we were blessed with perfect, if a bit cloudy, weather and we lingered over the works and on the grounds for hours. It being our last full day in Paris, I think we all accepted the fact that we weren't going to do much else and just decided to relax into the experience of the place we were in. After touring the grounds and the museum (this was Rodin's Paris residence toward the end of his life) we decided to get some glace, relax in the picnic area and while away the hours like proper Parisians.

A couple of observations from that afternoon:
There was an art class touring the museum at the time we were there and they had been given an assignment to sketch a statue of their choice. In fact there was a lot of that going on that day and, I presume, everyday. There was an artist there, a young woman, who was the skinniest person I've ever seen. Her body curved in on itself and took on the shape of a question mark. I thought she was someone Rodin would have loved to sculpt.

I don't lie around in the grass looking up at the blue sky enough back home. I need to do more of that. (And more of walking around everyday and wine drinking. I really believe all of that is good for me.)

This was pointed out by Rowan: a lot of the Asian tourists we saw took souvenir novelty photos and never just one normal one. Either they would be flashing the peace sign, or chanting a little song before the photo was taken or something else equally quirky. This was true at every single touristy place we went. They have fun with their photographs.

We stayed for a few hours and then decided to head back to the Latin Quarter for a drink and then some dinner. On Tuesday we had gotten lost in particular neighborhood and were determined to go back there. Again, I have to credit Rowan with her navigation skillz and soon we were back. We sat on a street bar that advertised happy hour and frankly had the only open seats, it being Friday evening and all. We ordered margaritas and they were gross. Also gross? The sewer smell that would waft up every five minutes or so. The available seating at this place was becoming explainable. When the couple sat next to us began feeling each other up, we decided to walk on. I'm glad we did because not only did we find a shop where I found these amazing red earrings, but we also found a shop that sold nesting dolls. Unfortunately they were so very overpriced that I was not able to add to my collection (and there was nothing overtly French about the selection) but I was happy to see that yet another city had a shop dedicated to them.

We came across a dive bar and went in for a kir and some beer and honestly I could have stayed there all night. There was a young student-y crowd in there and a small but strong selection of extraordinarily good looking people. Why are the French so cool and good looking? I don't get it. But they are. It appears they live in one long Truffaut film. I wanted suddenly to be 10 years younger and just starting out. Bastards.

We decided to go for Indian food, it was a whim we followed and it was the right choice. We had an amazing dinner with more wine and laughter and the bittersweetness of a vacation coming to a close. After dinner we walked along the Seine and saw all the couples sat along the banks drinking wine and kissing and it was all so very romantic and just exactly what I wanted from Paris. I wanted to run into Owen Wilson. But I settled for the amazing everything that was this trip. Nothing seemed ordinary in Paris and I will be returning.

We went back to the apartment to drink our last bottle of wine and reflect on the trip that was. I hate how quickly everything good ends.
The shuttle came to collect Lorraine and I in the morning and Rowan hopped a train to visit her friend in the south of France. On the way to the airport the shuttle driver, a very handsome French man who looked a bit Jesus-y asked if we had a good time. I wanted to tell him everything and then ask if I could come home with him and marry him and stay forever. Instead I just said "Paris is beautiful. You are so lucky to live here." He said "I know."

Pressing every button you can find will land you in Versailles

Okay yes I know I'm incredibly late with this post but I promised I would blog about the whole trip and I've taken copious, studious and thorough notes on the rest of the time and what we did (if, by "copious, studious and thorough notes" you mean "drunken scribblings in a notepad on the floor after copiously,studiously and thoroughly finishing the wine before our last night in Paris") and will update accordingly.

Alors, on Thursday we headed for Versailles. I usually have mixed feelings about visiting the grand homes of the past, especially the caliber of Versailles simply because no matter how beautiful they are, there is always that sense of "man, were these people assholes or what?" that pervades my brain and does not let me simply enjoy prettiness. But I immediately digress. I've admired photos and documentaries and silly portrayals of King Louis(es) and Marie Antoinette and am always intrigued by the hot sweltering mess that is royalty and so Versailles was a must for me.

I know in my last post I praised the efficiency and honesty of the Paris metro. I stand by that...with one very glaring exception. The RER trains. There is a very distinct lack of/confusion inherent in the signs that populate those railways. We took the metro to a stop that said "RER C" train connection which is what one needs to get to Versailles. Ok, so usually, and I'm just going by my 10 years worth of experience with connecting trains in the tangled spaghetti of the NYC subway system, when the map says there is a connection it is usually through a tunnel of some kind or up or down some stairs. And in keeping with the infinite branching of the city, we followed a series of hallways and stairs expecting that at the end of each would be the RER station. Instead we were lead to the street level. I'm sorry, I'm just laughing out loud at how confused we must have appeared to passerby. I had the sensation one gets when one is on an elevator expecting the doors to open to a familiar floor and finding that the elevator has not moved. To make a long walk a short story, the RER train is connected, via about three blocks on the street with an entirely different ticket needed. Not that you'd know that. I can't tell you how we found out where to buy tickets or how to get there but I can relate to you the following anecdote:
     Sometimes when a DVD player or television speaker system is on the fritz at my folks' house my mother will often just press every single button on every remote and device she can find until something changes or works. That is essentially what we did. We visited each kiosk and pressed buttons. Eventually we ended up with tickets.

While all THAT was going on Rowan befriended an elderly New Zealander travelling alone and shaking. I'm exaggerating but seriously, this man was 90 million years old. He was very sweet and just as lost as we were so he was watching as we pressed every button in the room and then asked for tickets from some dude, two levels below the entrance to the RER. So he waited with us on the platform we assumed was the correct one (turns out we were wrong on that count as well) and the platform started to fill up with more and more tourists looking beleagured and confused. I tried to make sense of the posted train schedule but it simply looked like a physics equation and I figured we could just follow the group that looked the most confused. Barring that, we could find more buttons to press.

The train arrived on the wrong platform, there were no signs nor annoucements in French or any other languages and this resulted in all of the tourists crowding on the train, some with one foot on and one foot off just shouting over and over again "VERSAILLES? VERSAILLES? VERSAILLES?" Imagine that said over and over WITH increasing panic. We all assumed it was the correct train though why, I have no clue and took our seats.

Then I looked over at the set of seats next to us and I saw this woman:



aka the Madame Bijou that Jack Dawson, the dude that couldn't figure out that if he laid down sideways next to Rose Dewitt Bucatur on that huge door that he could have lived too. No but seriously, this woman was sat next to us on the train to Versailles only on this day she wore these blue cat eye, bejeweled glasses. So that was entertaining.

Then, after waiting on a short line to get tickets and me getting my cafe noir to go we made it to Versailles. A few of Lorraine's photos from the iPhone:

Yeah, so those beautiful photos only vaguely capture the grandeur and ornateness and the size and shape of the palace. And again might I point out the blueness of the sky? Yet another postcard perfect day.

Sharing the experience of Versailles with about 4.5 million other tourists was annoying in the same way that visiting the Met in NYC is annoying; there is tons of shit you really, really want to see everywhere but the sweaty, adoring public is obnoxious enough to distract you from the fact that you are surrounded by all of this beauty. Also, I think three of us were famished, having had our pre-packed lunch of salads and sandwiches confiscated at the gate (which I understand completely as I'm certain there are people who exist at this moment just waiting for the next time they can leave their refuse behind on a pristine manicured lawn that is 500 years old). So we swiftly walked through the rooms, never really lingering anywhere but the hall of mirrors and I truly defy anyone to not linger there.

We finished the tour, reclaimed our lunches and sat out in the courtyard and ate salads (the French make salad an art form, even in the prepackaged incarnations) under a very, very hot sun and headed back to Paris.On our walk back to the train we heard an honest to goodness, stereotypical French laugh. I won't insult anyone here by typing it out but YOU know what I'm talking about. It was on my list of things that absolutely had to happen while I was in France and so I ticked it off the list. Brilliant.
Rowan then had an utterly amazing idea to get out of the RER at the Eiffel Tower and go and lounge in its shadow.

Here's a photo of her, soaking up the sun:

Lovely photo, yes?

Not pictured in this photo are the couple seated to our right and the couple seated to our left. The couple to our right seemed to be platonic friends drinking wine and laughing over a packed snack of French stuff. The couple to our left sat silently while she chain smoked and he looked on at the passerby, mutely. Neither of them looked like they were having any fun whatsoever. They will be important later.

So Rowan napped and Lorraine and I sat up people watching and being stupid and we saw this young girl in a very long skirt accompanied by a person in a gorilla suit. They were walking around from blanket to blanket and person to person just putting out their hands. Some people would give them change or some food, utterly nonchalant (apparently this happens often). Lorraine observed a group of Asian tourists taking a novelty shot (sir) and the gorilla suit person jumped and scared the ever loving shit out of them. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if one of them later discovered their wallet/phone/camera missing.

A short while later the couple to our right had laid back and were soaking up the sun quietly when they were approached by three pre-teen looking girls. They exchanged a few words with the three girls surrounding the guy who was shirtless and relaxed on his side. I can only surmise by his tone that he told them nicely to fuck off. So fuck off they did. The chain smoking woman to our left shouted something to the guy and he suddenly began looking for something in his pockets. Turns out those teenage girls stole his phone. I really don't know how they did it because I watched them all throughout the conversation. He immediately got up and ran after them and I watched him as he yelled and demanded his phone back. They were calm and not at all surprised and threw his phone back at him casually as he flipped them off. He walked back to his friend and they walked off in a different direction and the whole scene ended as quickly as it began. Who knew such dark grey deeds took place at the base of the Eiffel Tower? Well they do. Also, the lawn smells vaguely of poo. But that can't be blamed on thieving teenagers. Or can it?

After patting ourselves down and accounting for all items of significance, we decided to head home, freshen up and then go out to dinner. Only when we got home, we were so full of vitamin D and maybe a few glasses of wine that we decided to cook dinner at the apartment and save our energies for the next day. What followed was a lovely dinner with many, many glasses of wine and the drunkest night of the trip. I'd post photos of the antics that followed except we didn't take any and I'd kind of like to keep those memories undocumented.

I've got enough notes for a few more posts and those are sure to happen as I long for the fresh air of Paris from inside my windowless Long Island office. First world longing.

Loose Meat

Sunday in Paris. I sound so pretentious. But that's what's up.

As a quick side note, all photos that appear in this post are courtesy of my sister Lorraine, who has a domain name and the skeleton of a website for her photography but it is not yet complete otherwise I'd link it here.
As a second side note before I begin, a brief word on why I'm here, when I'm here: the anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001 is today. For me and more importantly for my sister the events of September 11 were not a 2 hour documentary or a years long news sound bite or a selling point for why America is #1. My sister narrowly escaped the towers (she was in the building when the plane hit) and lost a lot of friends in the aftermath and we both, along with a very good friend walked across the 59th street bridge with hundreds of thousands of other New Yorkers in the shadow of the actual physical towers. September 11 is very, very personal to both of us, more so my sister. Last year as the 10th anniversary approached, my sister expressed the deep seated need to not be present for the inevitable daily reminders of that terrible time. And when I say daily reminders, I mean hourly reminders. The stories retold and retold again, the 911 calls, the images over and over again. I was in full agreement and we made a pact to be out of the country on that date and taking part in all the things that make us happy, that make our lives enjoyable and worth being around. Is that understandable? Is that reasonable? Are we being callous? I guess that depends on who you are and what you believe but the fact is, I'm here in a place I've always wanted to be, celebrating life because if I learned anything on that day, it was that life does many things but the most important thing it does is that it goes on.

Enough of that....

I apologize for the above photo if any of you reading this are allergic/don't like seafood/are anti-taking photos of your meals but good LORD that right there? One of life's many pleasures. Moules accompanied with frites. (aka Freedom fries, lmfao)

Yes that was part of our first meal here, that is to say what Rowan and Lorraine ordered and what I now desperately wish I had ordered. Not pictured is what I ordered. What I ordered was called, rather innocently andouillete, which as a born and raised Louisianian, I had confused with the American version of Andouille sausage. Andouille sausage is something I have enjoyed on many, many occassions and so I ordered it. What I got was what has come to be known over the last two days as "loose meat". I'd venture to describe the texture and visuals as "entrails" or "gross" or "nastiness in a casing". In fairness to the top notch brasserie we were eating in, I'm only a fake, part time meat eater. I have only temporarily suspended my nascent vegetarianism for France, land of meat. Also, why I would order sausage right out of the gate with no regard to how gross sausage can really be in a land of meat, well that's on me. In the end, when accompanied with me picking up several of my dining companions' moules and the top notch bottle of rose we got, all was well and the andouillete made for a good anecdote and inside joke and really, who doesn't like that?

And we returned home last night, and I posted yesterday's drunkenness and I began this post vaguely sober and as the hours tick by, that changes. I simply cannot stress enough the quality of wine that exists in this country. If you arrive in Paris as a non wine drinker, you will not leave without being a wine enthusiast. That's the Allison guarantee.

Moving even further on, the apartment in Paris that I am staying in is kind of totally incredible. It is small, it is Parisian and it is perfect. Apart from the tiny detail that it is directly on a busy street and I am a light sleeper but some auditory protection in a box that I purchased earlier today should correct that.  Also, jet lag jet lag jet lag. It is a very real, very first world problem.

Today we visited the Louvre, the mother of all museums. I saw everything famous about the museum: the pyramid out front:

The Mona Lisa (not pictured because you know what that looks like), Venus de Milo, Psyche and Cupid and lots and lots of art in a ginormous building that is a work of art in itself. 

Our visit to the Louvre was well timed as it was pissing rain the entire time we were in there and well into the hour or so after we left. As a result we decided to sit in a cafe and while away the hours eating and drinking and laughing. I wouldn't be me if I didn't mention what I ate so I'll just mention part of it: cheese. Cheese from the gods. Cheese as there has never been. I can still taste it, like the scent of an old lover on a pillow. Did I just compare food to a lover? I reveal more of myself through these posts than I wanted...

By the time we ended our meal the sun had come out and we wandered for hours back past the Louvre, through the Jardin de Tuileries and the Jardin de Carrousel and unforgettably we walked along the Seine for aways, my shoes ravaging my heels and then we got this close to the Eiffel Tower and then went "meh, let's get the bus and go home and drink wine."--Rowan Campbell. The Eiffel Tower is on the schedule for the coming week....the coming WEEK of which I still have several days left!

Currently it is 10:30pm. I'm seated at a table, watching Rowan trying to drunkenly paint her nails and Lorraine grooving to Busta Rhymes and I'm trying to get her to play Basement Jaxx. Oh and drinking wine. More a demain....