Paris is What You Eat

We have had some pretty good meals here in Paris. I find that chicken seems to be a dish they do well and I order it often. Once I had veal in a rich sauce, and while I enjoyed it I did not want to think about that little captive calf pining for a better adult life that never came. Besides, at our age (today with Jayne’s birthday we are both officially in our sixties) we really ought to cut back on meat of all kind, especially red.

But enough of that, this essay is about eating out in Paris, and some of the joys and drawbacks. Among the joys have been friendly waiters and waitresses. I know, your prejudices have told you they are all rude and snooty, but we have found that is simply not true. The other day, for example, we had lunch at a nice place near the Bastille and the waiter identified himself as a former temporary resident of Los Angeles. When we praised the mushrooms that came with the chicken, he even brought out another entire bowl of them at no charge.

He said the chef was pleased he had pleased us!


Now for the disadvantages. It is expensive. I do not think you can count on getting a decent lunch for much less than fifteen euros, which translates to nearly twenty bucks, and that does not include the drinks. When you figure that a value added tax (sales tax) is hidden within the menu price and that all of the workers, from chef down to

dishwasher, are making a living wage, I guess it is not a matter to complain about. If I knew that my waiter in the states was making fifteen dollars an hour minimum and there was no tipping, I wouldn’t mind spending twenty bucks for a meal there either. Such an economic arrangement is far overdue in the USA.

The other disadvantage is space. Parisians have a different concept of the space needed for comfortable dining, and you can easily find your chair pushed tight against the diner’s seat behind you. And the tables are all the size of a postage stamp.

I have yet to be seated at a table that was big enough to hold the plates, drinks, and condiments at the same time. No wonder they eat so slowly here; you have to be careful when picking up your fork so as not to tip over your wine glass.

In sum, eating here is one of the main pleasures of visiting, and the food is absolutely delicious. I wish I could enjoy more of their bread. It is heavenly, but the hard crust can tear up your mouth faster than chewing a whole can of Skol. And the wine? Even the cheap stuff is pretty damn good. French beer isn’t bad either. Heck, you just can’t go wrong with any of it!!!!!

Riders on the Storm

The weather has been cool, rainy, and windy here in Paris, but we are not complaining. I would much rather be cold than suffering through hordes of sweaty tourists here in the summertime, which I imagine could be really unpleasant. There are certainly enough tourists here now. However, as cool as it has been, the trees are leafing out like crazy, and flowers are blooming all around us. Every park, every fruit tree, every flowering plant is coming alive in this overcast, cool environment and, in those brief times when the sun comes out, makes this city so utterly beautiful.

Yesterday we took a boat journey along the St. Martin Canal, a man_made supply tributary to the Seine built on the orders of Napoleon himself. The journey was only a couple of kilometers long, but it took two and half hours due to the locks through which the boat had to pass. On our way down to the boat dock, however, we were treated to a sight which was so somber, so heart-wrenching, that it was hard to keep a dry eye. At the Place de Republique there is an impressive monument commemorating the heroes of the Revolution,

with bronze relief vignettes of important scenes of the struggle. It has now been completely defaced with graffiti and hand painted banners, some of which are perhaps of unrelated political events, but the majority are to remember the victims of the terrorist attacks nearby in November, 2015 and the Brussels attack just last March. It was so sad to see a city's grief all on display, and especially touching were the images of one of the youngest victims, a 17 year old girl whose only crime was wanting to go see a rock concert on a night when some murdering sons of bitches decided to strike. I had to take my hat off and observe a moment or two of heartfelt silence.

We went from that somber location past the Bataclan Cafe where other people were killed, and made our way to the boat landing. The canal boat first enters the canal by means of a two kilometer underground passageway that was delightful to cruise through. Seeing the dark, brick lined ceiling

overhead, and the greenish, none too clean water below, made me think of the sewer pursuit in Les Miserables. Totally cool. Once we emerged from the tunnel we went through four double locks that helped raise the boat about twenty feet each time. It was slow going, but the boat was comfortable, the narration by the guide in English, and there was a bar on board. What more can you ask?

Today we had a totally different experience. We started out by taking the Metro to Rue Clar, a market street adjacent to the Eiffel Tower area. We went on the advice of several people, including Rick Steves, but found it underwhelming. Our old neighborhood was near Rue Daguerre, a real lively market street that, unlike this one, was truly a pedestrian zone. We had breakfast in a bistro, but then quickly left with a nice pair of eclairs to go which we ate while sitting in front of the Effiel Tower.

Next we took the city bus number 69 through the heart of the city to the Père Lachaise Cemetery, a labyrinth of stone monuments and crypts, home to about seventy thousand dead people including a few famous ones. We saw Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein, and of course, Jim Morrison. However the most touching of them all was the fairly recent gravesite of cartoonist Bernard Verlhac,

known as Tignous,. Bernard was shot in January 2015 by some other lunatics for nothing more than the crime of drawing a cartoon of Muhammad in the magazine Charlie Hebdo. His grave was covered with tributes, including a jar full of pencils and pens, and no doubt the tears of the people who live in this great city.

Start the Revolution Without Me

Yesterday we took the long train ride to Versailles to reflect on the excesses of past French royalty. Our guidebook guru, Rick Steves, told us to avoid Saturdays and to go early, but we had little choice. Today was the last valid day on our four day museum passes and we opted to go anyway. The RER suburban trains are not as fast as the Metro, even though they make fewer stops, and it took about an hour total to get to the palace. By then the train was pretty full, and it even took a while for the crowd to just exit the station. We found a tourist information office nearby and asked if it was possible to just tour the Trianon palaces, and we were glad to learn they were accessed by a separate entrance.

The walk to the "little palaces" was beautiful, first through some city streets, past a Waldorf hotel that had a Gordon Ramsey restaurant (Foie Gras 55 euros) and then, once through security at the "Queen's gate," along a beautiful rural lane lined with trees and running along side a vast sheep paddock. It took a full 45 minutes to reach Maria's crib and we really enjoyed the walk.

Marie's little place turned out to be a fairly impressive two story villa with the bottom floor mostly unfurnished, (even this groovy little kitchen that looked like it was ready for Mrs. Patmore was bare except for the copper pots) but upstairs elegantly decorated with period furniture and portraits of the ill-fated queen. You could just imagine her hanging out here kicking back while people in nearby Paris were getting ready to do away with the whole concept of monarchy.

The next thing to do was tour the little private world she built herself outside, complete with a fake village (presumably staffed by fake peasants) and a real working farm with plenty of chickens, rabbits, goats and sheep.

There were miles of pathways through what appeared to be untended woods and fields. Along this walk Jayne saw a creature that resembled a giant rat, or maybe Ted Cruz, but was likely a muskrat.

Then it was time to tour the bigger little palace where the king had his hideout. We went through an amazing stretch of sculpted hedges and arbors to reach the place,

but it was overwhelmed by a crush of tourists who all seemed to have arrived at once in their rented golf carts. (I didn't really resent that; I wanted to drive one of those puppies around myself.) However, they made a slow moving line of shutter snappers once we got inside and it was hardly worth it to view the eighteenth century version of the Trump Tower. Outside, however, was the most beautiful garden that stretched on for acres and acres, lined with classical Greek statues, ponds, fountains, ect. And this wasn't even the MAIN gardens, which cover the two kilometers between the little palaces and the main show!

And we did get to see the main gardens. Little shuttle trains run tourists from the Grand Trianon to the main palace and we caught one of these, stopping along the way for a glass of wine and a snack at a beautiful cafe situated along the grand canal that quarters the grounds. Once we arrived at the main palace, we saw all the fountains in play,

with beautiful classical music issuing from hidden speakers all around the place. It was a great way to end our visit. No, we did not go see the hall of mirrors, but I think we got a pretty good idea how the one percenters were living at the time of the Revolution anyway!

Paris Rapid Transit

I would like to think that we have some experience of the world, having used public transport in several European and Australian cities, and even a few places in America, so what I am about to express should have some authority The Paris metro system has to rank among the best public transport options in the world. We have yet to wait any longer than five minutes for a train, and the connections have been so easy, so smooth, that it seems like you can get anywhere in this city of 2.4 million people within minutes. You are never more than a few hundred yards from a stop, too, so once you master the line numbers and colors the maps are easy for anyone to use even if you do not speak a word of French. We have been buying Metro tickets in batches of ten for the discount price of fourteen Euros (about eighteen to twenty bucks American) making each ride super cheap. I am really impressed with this Paris system, and while you miss a few sightseeing opportunities by being underground, the convenience and speed more than makes up for it.

I was not as impressed today with my solo outing to see Napoleon's tomb and the army museum. I saw where the emperor lies in his red stone crypt surrounded by marble engravings that commemorate his victories (and defeats; Moscow was on there). After reflecting on this world dictator wannabe, I went into the army museum to look at relics dating from damn near the stone age to WWII. I get a little dazed looking at all that armor, all those swords, and all those firearms, and there is something almost antiseptically offensive to consider nothing seems to denote the carnage they caused. This can't be said for the modern war exhibits, though. From the Franco-Prussian war of the 1870s to the end of World War II there are an astounding number of exhibits devoted to the objects and the horror they participated in. In fact, the very first thing you see when you enter the early part of this modern war section of the museum are a series of paintings that show dead French soldiers in various poses from the Franco-Prussian war. The WWI section really gets the message across with vintage film clips, models of trench layouts, and even an overcoat that is still stained with the mud from the trenches. I guess the most unsettling thing I saw in the WWII section, aside from the documentation of the German death camps and the French people who were shipped to them, was a large photograph of Hitler and some general with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Like some sort of vile "selfie" from the worst human who ever lived, it made me somewhat nauseous.

All in all, I must say that Jayne and I felt more emotional impact from the deportation memorial that stands behind Notre Dame than from visiting the entire army museum. Still, I am glad I went. Jayne was feeling under the weather today and I knew this was something that I would find more interesting than her.

City of Lights (if you can stay up late enough to see them)

"The life of the tourist is hard' said our landlord in Madrid, and he was not kidding. It takes a lot of effort to explore a city this big, even if you knew the language all the maps and signs are printed in. I would estimate we have put in over five or six miles every day since we have been here, and when you figure we are officially senior citizens (at least I am; Jayne must wait another week) the effort is Herculean. We have tried to rent bicycles to take some of the stress off our feet, but the stress of the traffic more than makes up for it. Yesterday we found a huge park on the city's southeast section which had miles of bike trails. There we had the leisure of peddling around without worrying about becoming a hood ornament. That evening, after we got home and had dinner, we went out again AFTER DARK!!!!!

A very big concession for us, I can assure you. We saw the Eiffel tower all lit up, with sparkling lights alternating with a nice yellow outline. Today we went to see a free museum at the Petit Palice, art which Rick Steves says is second tier. It looked pretty first rate to me, and the price was right. The Louvre and the other big museums are not open until tomorrow, so that is why we went to this place today.

A Box of Chocolates

Forrest Gump was not talking about Airbnb when he made his observation regarding the role chance plays when making one's decisions, but it would be entirely appropriate for today's move. We left an apartment that was cramped, none too clean, and with a shower drain that moved slower than Mitch McConnell scheduling a Supreme Court nominee hearing. Now we are in a lovely little artist's studio with great decorating touches, a comfortable "murphy bed" where Jayne is currently spending some quality time this afternoon, and a bathroom that is cleaner than the one I use at home. The neighborhood, while only about a mile from the other place, is near a charming pedestrian market street with green grocers, butchers, and wine merchants. We are across the street from one of the city's largest cemeteries (not the one with Jim Morrison) so I imagine the neighbors will be quiet. Also, there is a bicycle rental rack not twenty feet from our doorstep and tomorrow (Sunday) is a no auto traffic day for the streets in this area, especially established so people can peddle around. I am going to try to snag us a couple of velocipedes as soon as I can in the morning.

Yesterday we took the metro to a tourist information center on the other side of the city to pick up some museum passes. You can get a pass that will let you into the Louvre, Versailles, and a bunch of other places for four consecutive days once you activate it. That is the trick, of course. Knowing that the museums are mostly closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, we will wait until Wednesday before activating it. When we returned from buying the passes, we went through a very nice park which has the Natural History museum, an old zoo with old animals, and these super cool greenhouses.

Luxembourg Gardens Gambol

With conference duties about completed, it was time to explore a bit of the city. Today we walked from our apartment to the Luxembourg Gardens, a lovely sixty acre spot in the middle of the city. I guess the French Senate meets there, and Rick Steeves told us that the French CIA has their headquarters underneath the greenery. There were very friendly heavily armed soldiers and police at various points and they all seemed like they were intent on doing their job but not freaking anyone out. One little boy was asking a soldier for directions near the corner of the palace and I do not think I saw a friendlier smile today than the one that graced the machine gun-wielding guardian. I like 'em! We also passed by a huge indoor greenhouse sort of building where they keep huge potted orange trees, etc., and bring them out with fork lifts when winter is over. It was all very impressive.

We also saw a great little Statue of Liberty, the second one we have seen in our overseas trips (the first one was at Cadeques, Spain.) We walked home from the park, stopped for a late lunch of pork for me and rabbit for Jayne, and then discovered there were more that CIA operatives underneath our feet. We passed by a huge line of people and when we investigated discovered they were waiting to see the catacombs; centuries of bones piled deep beneath the surface of the pleasant street we were on. We agreed that we would pass on that attraction.

We have been shopping at little markets that specialize in wine, cheese, and of course, bread. Its all good.

Arrival in the City of Lights

We left Bozeman on Saturday morning and it is now Sunday evening in Paris. We had a rather grueling flight, although the crew did everything possible to make us comfortable. It is simply hard to sleep sitting up. Now we are comfortably situated in an little apartment just a few blocks from the conference where I will speak tomorrow morning. We have been to the market, bought some small food items, and will stay awake an hour or two more before we go back to bed and try to sleep off this jet lag. No pictures yet, but the adventure is just starting. Stay tuned.