Giant backpack: check. Running shoes: check. Unfashionable but practical outfit: check. Determination to visit sites overrun by tourists: check. Rudimentary understanding of French: Nope. Here I am, one American tourist among the swarms of Americans from all over the country here in Paris, except that I speak French like an expert compared to these amateurs.* Paris is threatening thunderstorms every afternoon that I’m here, and every other conversation I hear is in English… ah, just like home.
On Monday morning, I walk to the Eiffel Tower and ride the elevator to the top. The views are magnificent. What all am I looking at? I’m not really sure – I’m too lazy to fight the other tourists to reach the informational sign that will tell me what I can see – but it looks great, right?
Is that a shirt tied over my shoulders like a pretentious New England tennis-playing snob you ask? Why yes. Yes it is. I have to put it somewhere, and somehow this seems less touristy than tying it around my waist. I will admit this does not make sense, at all. But does the universe make sense? Exactly.
I get some lunch and then walk to the Arc de Triomph, also the end of the Champs-Elysees. The Arc and the tree-lined boulevard are impressive, even surrounded by people.
I’m approaching mid-afternoon when I get tired of walking all day, so I head to the Luxembourg Gardens to relax for a bit. I think it miraculous that I’m able to find a chair. I’ve blown through four books already on this trip (the Crazy Rich Asians trilogy, which has left me wanting more) and pick out one more from my kindle’s collection. Baby ducks quack around me while a fountain dribbles water in front of me and a group of students sketch the fountain’s sculpture.
On Tuesday, I go to the Musee d’Orsay, one of my favorite museums in the world. The setting is an old train station decorated as Art Nouveau, and it has an Art Nouveau collection. It turns out the only art I really love comes from the 1850’s to WWI, with an emphasis on Art Nouveau and Impressionist-like paintings. And sculptures. This is the Musee d’Orsay. They also have incredible hot chocolate to sustain you through six hours of museum time.
Of course, I continue to eat as if I am eating for a whole French family. I had dinner Monday night at a place called Le Radis Beurre, where I was greeted with top-notch butter, bread, and small radishes sticking out of a “raised bed”-looking platter of bread crumbs. Beautiful. I finished with a rice pudding with salted caramel sauce on top, savoring every bite long after my stomach says it can’t handle ant more inputs. On Tuesday I ate razor clams (for the first time) and grilled octopus with peas and some kind of lightly herbal (pea?) mousse. I don’t even have room for dessert, which is tragic.
For my last day in Europe, I get tickets to Versailles, which I’ve somehow never visited in several trips through Paris. It is gorgeous, and also makes you understand why the French Revolution happened. In any case, I expected to be kind of sickened by excess the way I’ve been at similar castles built to show off a king’s money, but I have to admit I’m just impressed.
After walking through the palace, I step out to the gardens. I’m even more impressed. Lauren, I have a vision for our back yard…
Also, you may think those swans are beautiful- I’m here to tell you they are aggressive and bigger than you would think. While you’re admiring their beauty, they may try to eat you. Just ask the girls who were sitting in front of them with a bag of potato chips.
I’m now back at home in Denver, where summer has descended while I’ve been away. I have to admit, I’m happy to be home. I can go wherever I want, whenever I want, and I know how to get from one place to another. I can talk to almost everyone! I have a partner in crime in my roommate, I have friends, and I can call whoever I want, whenever I want. I love traveling, but I love even more that I am excited to come home.
*I may have been one of these amateurs just two days ago in Spain. The tables turn quickly.
Sara's 40th Birthday 