Pictures - Amsterdam day 1

Amsterdam - Day 1

Monday, December 10th 2012

            I woke up and was surprised to see our street alive and blossoming.  The shuttered storefronts opened to reveal pharmacies, restaurants and bakeries that had been concealed beneath banal protective shells.  I walked from our flat in search of a bakery.  I got a mini croissant and double espresso and retired back to the flat to do some writing.  I wrote for two hours.  Mena woke up and we walked to the same bakery I bought a pastry from earlier.  Then we walked to another place near our apartment and got coffee.  We sat there eating pastries and drinking cafe au lait and just enjoying being alive.

            Mena and I have elected to walk everywhere we travel in Paris.  We chose to walk the city (as opposed to taking the subway, bus, regional train…etcetera) because you get a good amount of exercise and you see all the wonderful sights of Paris.  To simply get on a subway and shuttle underneath the city in darkened tunnels is to miss what makes Paris so wonderful. The smells. The sounds.  We calculated we are averaging between seven to nine miles a day.

            Even knowing where you want to walk it’s still hard.  Walking around the city and it's hard because there is so much.  It's actually overbearing.  I feel like you could spend a week on one block, much less a whole city.  You have to be very selective.  Today we selected the Saint Chapelle we didn't see yesterday.  Then to the Eiffel Tower and then to Bar Hemingway.

            The Saint Chapelle was consecrated in 1248 and is a prime example of Gothic architecture style called “Rayonnant” marked by its sense of weightless and strong vertical emphasis.  This was at once discernible as the upper echelons of the church reached into the sky and the space underneath was filled with the most beautiful stained glass windows I have ever seen.  The windows captured different scenes from the Old and New Testament and had I the attention span to read about all the colorful representations I am sure I would have been even more astounded.  Alas, we did not and after soaking in the bright colors we set off for the Eiffel Tower.

            We set out walking for the Eiffel Tower.  I checked on Google maps and the distance between the Chapelle Church and the Eiffel tower is almost four miles…yeesh.  We spent the next hour or two walking there.  We stopped at a café for tea along the way…we watched as the French adolescents smoked hand-rolled cigarettes while conversing with a waiter in suede oxfords and skinny jeans who was hanging Christmas garlands on the outside of the café.  The people here smoke and drink.  And drink and smoke.  Its more than a cultural phenomenon…its seems to be a rite of passage.  Smoking to them seems to be as natural as breathing air is to me.  Often times I watched people with a cigarette hanging limply from their mouth as they went about their business.  They didn’t even smoke it – they just let the cherry on the cigarette grow until it crumbled on their jacket or their boot.

            The Eiffel Tower was much bigger than I expected.  I was expecting some old rickety frame that had become outsized because of its prominence in movies and pictures.  It is a truly monolithic piece of architecture and it was surreal to actually see it up close.  Not on a postcard.  Not in a movie.  With my own eyes.

            Mena and I rode to the observation deck in a rickety funicular that clung to the forty-five degree base of the tower.  We changed to an elevator that brought us to the top of the tower.  As the elevator climbed there were very audible clicks, as if clicking you back into reality and reminding you that you were indeed climbing to the top of one of the world’s most recognized structure.  The view from the top was incredible.  The city is very flat and large and white.  It stretched all the way into the distance until it blended with the grey clouds circling around us.  The city looked very much like Tel Aviv, where every building is built out of white Jerusalem stone.  The effect in Tel Aviv is stunning and the view of Paris was equally amazing.

            Afterwards we took the RER back to Musée d'Orsay, got baguettes and hot chocolate and wandered over to the Louvre.  We took pictures of the iconic glass pyramid hanging over the Louvre and walked down to the information desk.

            “What time is the LouvRe open till?”

            “It’s already closed.”

            Sweet.  We took a few more pictures and then headed to Bar Hemingway.

            Bar Hemingway, located in arrondisement 1 was the favorite bar of Ernest Hemingway who vowed to, “drink there once a week as long as he was in Paris.”  The bar has been featured in Ernest Hemingway’s novel The Sun Also Rises and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel Tender is the Night.  We walked to the spot the bar was located.  It was in a very ritzy area.  In fact, we discovered, the bar was located in the Ritz Paris!  I was disappointed.  I thought Ernest would have been hanging out in a dive bar with grizzled men that caught fish in the Seine River…but apparently he was hanging in the Ritz.  Regardless of what I thought…the bar was closed for renovations…bummer.

             We walked back to our flat, relaxed and then decided to head to La Cantoche to say goodbye to the waitress / bartended that welcomed us our first day.  Tara welcomed us warmly and introduced us to another bartender, Thomas, that had been in Paris for fourteen months.  They were both nice, almost to the point of officious, in making sure Mena and I were taken care of.  We got the best table, they waited on us hand and foot.  They were both really sweet.

            After we’d eaten and drank a little I asked Tara if she’s ever going back to America.

            “Oh f*** yeah.  I’d kill myself if I had to stay in Paris forever.”

            “Really?  Why?”

            “Have you seen the people here?  They are all miserable.  Every single Parisian hates Paris.  In New York City everyone is excited and full of life.  In Paris they are draining and vapid.”

            “See that’s the thing people don’t know.”  Thomas added.  “Paris is beautiful, it’s the city of love but it’s because of the tourists that visit and bring all those good feelings.  The people that live here are miserable.”  He mimicked shooting himself in the head with a gun.

            I shook my head in amazement.  “Do you have any idea how bizarre this sounds to me?”  I asked them.  “You are living the fantasy that countless American’s have had.  To drop everything, learn to speak French and become a bartender in Paris just living a carefree, epicurean life?”

            “Yes, its good as a fantasy.”  Tara said.  “But fantasy is just that – a fantasy.  It should remain a fantasy.  You shouldn’t ruin it by coming here.”

            The rest of the night Mena and I drank a little more and watched as a group of French women celebrated a birthday party.  They requested American songs and we watched as they danced to Michael Jackson, Wham, Madonna and Cyndi Lauper.  We laughed when they confused Thriller’s dance moves with the dance moves from Saturday Night Fever.  They were having fun and that’s all that mattered.

            I leaned over to Mena, “This band of women will have a wonderful Monday night but a horrible Tuesday morning.”

            She chuckled.

            When we signed our check I turned to Thomas.

            “So if you are so miserable here why don’t you leave?”

            He handed me the credit card back and smiled.  “What else - a woman.”

Pictures - Monday, December 10th 2012

Paris - Day 3

Sunday, December 9th 2012

            Our first night in the flat at 37 Rue des Jeuneurs was interesting to say the least.  There was a lot of noise.  Women who sounded like caricatures of 1940's French girls getting drunk for the first time, giggling and squealing as they struggled to climb the circular staircase.  A man outside our window revving his engine and yelling, "Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!"  Over and over.  Later – a loud crash right underneath our window.  When I heard the noise I got out of bed and poked my head out of the window.  A motorcycle was strewn across the street.  Two men were laughing.  Another man, on the other side of the street, was urinating into a corner.  This was all underlined by the heavy bass drums of a bar down the street.  Ahh…Paris at night!

            We woke at noon.  What?!  We never sleep that late.  But when in Paris do as the Parisians do, right?  :)

            We went back to La Cantoche since we still owed our waitress a tip from the previous day’s meal (we didn’t know you can only tip in cash and we didn’t have any Euros the first time we went in).  After we finished brunch we tipped our waitress from the prior day.  She was so touched that she gave me a shot.  That woke me up real quick!

            After brunch we walked to Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris.  The Cathedral was completed in 1345 and is widely considered one of the most prominent examples of French Gothic architecture in the world.  It was staggeringly ornate, beautiful and large.  It reminded me of the Sagrada Familia Chapel in Barcelona, Spain.  It’s almost hard to comprehend the amount of work that it took to erect such a massive structure…back at a time when an abacus was a mind-blowing emergence of technology.

            Inside Mena and I lit candles…her hair caught on fire while taking a picture of me lighting my candle.  We caught the fire quickly so it only got a few strands…phew.  Could have turned out a lot worse.

            After the Cathedral we were going to see the La Sainte-Chapelle church but it was getting dark and we decided to set out for the Champs Elysees with our ultimate destination being the Arc de Triomphe.  We walked along the Port des Tuileries, Paris – the narrow walkway that lines the Seine River.  We watched as huge barges navigated between the many bridges connecting Paris.  We took pictures of graffiti and landscape shots of all the beautiful architecture and bridges.  I carved our initials into a tree.  We walked past the Louvre, through the Jardin des Tuileries and down Champs-Elysees towards the Arc de Triomphe.

            As we walked down the Champs-Elysees Mena said her stomach was bothering her.  I got her a Sprite to help calm her stomach.  I could tell she wasn’t feeling well because she had been excitable and talkative all day and suddenly was quiet and withdrawn.  The further we walked the worse she seemed. 

            By the time we got to the Arc de Triomphe she had to sit down.  We were supposed to walk back to our flat and stop at Bar Hemingway on the way back, but she wasn’t feeling up to it.  We ended up at, of all places, Starbucks.  We sat there for five minutes and Mena drank tea.  All of a sudden she told me she had to go outside.  I collected all our stuff and found her vomiting in the street.

            Food poisoning.  Oh no.

            I flagged a cab, which took us in the wrong direction for ten minutes, but whatever.  At one point Mena said she had to throw up.  She leaned over me, stuck her head out the door and vomited again.  And again.  The cab driver naturally assumed we were drunk and rolled his eyes.  After another ten minutes I walked Mena up to our flat.  She jumped in the shower and I went out in search of soda, crackers and bread.  I brought her the soda and bread but she immediately threw up everything she ate and drank.  I was worried about her and assumed she was going to be out of commission for the rest of the night and probably all of the following day.  After an hour she had settled down and seemed alright.  I told her I was going to grab a quick bite to eat since I’d only had one meal that day.

            “I’ll come.”  She said.

            “Really?”

            She nodded.  What a tough girl!

            We went to a fancy-pants restaurant in our neighborhood called Le Grand Colbert.  Our waiter was nasty and he openly mocked us when we didn’t order wine with dinner (I had a beer, Mena had water).  The people next to us kept staring at us.  One guy in particular kept staring at Mena.

            “Each time he looks at you tap my leg underneath the table and I’ll turn around and stare at him.”

            She tapped my leg, I turned and stared at him. 

            She tapped my leg again, again I turned and stared.

            I was pissed off.

            Eventually I just started staring at him, so when he looked up I was already looking at him.  When his dinner party was done he walked away with his tail between his legs.

            The food at Le Grand Colbert was delicious but it was also the first place we noticed the snobbery and elitism that some denizens of Paris are famous for.  Regardless, I was really happy Mena was able to eat.  After dinner she declared she was '94%' healthy again!  Pretty good, eh?!  We walked back to our flat and passed out.

Pictures - Sunday, December 9th 2012

Paris - Day 2

Saturday, December 8th 2012

            Not a ton to write about today since our time has been spent mostly commuting to Paris…but here it goes anyway!

            The wait at JFK was uneventful and so was our first flight to Reykjavik, Iceland.  The flight was five hours long.  Mena and I were unlucky enough to get stuck in the last row before an exit row so our chairs did not recline.  I woke up intermittently throughout the ‘night’ and chuckled when I saw Mena twisting her body in various, creative contortions so she could get comfortable.  Try as we did, sleep still managed to evade both of us.

            We landed in Iceland.  We were only flying through Iceland (we’re stopping here for three nights on the way back) but it was my first glimpse of the strange country to the north.  And…while…not much to say!  Because it's so far north there is only 3-4 hours of light per day this time of year.  As the plane descended I saw orange, industrial lights and glistening, ice covered streets below and coal-black stretches of sea in the distance.

            After an hour layover the plane took off for Paris.  I found it ironic that we were flying from a place that has only four hours of daylight to the ‘city of lights.’  Ahh – maybe I just look into things too much.

            The second plane trip was pretty miserable too.  Neither of us slept.  When we landed in Charles De Gaulle Airport we were bother borderline delirious.  We got our bags and took a shuttle to the Charles De Gaulle subway station.

            We were waiting for the train standing next to a very nicely dressed man reading a book.  When the train came he took his earpiece out, looked at me and said, underneath his breath, “Be very careful. There are very dangerous men on this train."

            ? 

            I know that pick pocketing is rampant in most parts of southern Europe…but was it really necessary for a complete stranger to warn me?  I thanked the man for his tip.  Mena and I got into the subway and he followed us and sat in our section.

            I have to admit, I am a very cynical person.  Maybe it’s the New Yorker in me but I couldn’t just take this helpful hint from a stranger at face value.  Especially since he elected to sit next to us on an empty train.  For the remainder of the trip I watched his hands very carefully.  I watched to make sure he was actually reading the book in his lap.  I watched to see if he communicated with anyone else on the train.  

            (Now some of you may think this is overkill, but I've seen some pretty elaborate robbery schemes in my travels.  I was nearly robbed by a very well dressed man on a subway in Barcelona.  His scheme involved a 'muscle man', a flirtatious woman, a knife and two fake arms.  True story.)

            But I digress…we got off the train without incident at Gare Du Nord.  We walked in the direction of our flat, all the time looking for a café that had Wi-Fi.  We knew the address of the flat, but we had no way to get in touch with the owner!  We stopped at a café in arrondissement 2, La Cantoche, to eat lunch and use their free Wi-Fi.   The waitresses’ name was Tara.  She spoke fluent French but greeted us in English.  She was really sweet and helpful.  Very welcoming after traveling for twenty-four hours.

            I turned to Mena after she walked away, “I bet you that woman is from America.”

            “Why do you say that?”

            “Her English is too perfect.”

            We ate lunch and as we were leaving we had a conversation with the waitress.  Turns out she is from Larchmont, New York.  Small world!

            Our flat is nice, but incredibly small.  I can literally barely fit in the kitchen, or bathroom, or bed – or really anywhere – but the guy we are renting from is cool and the place is clean so we're happy.  After a power nap we headed out on the town.  We walked through Arrondissement 1,2, 6 and 7 and along the Seine River.  The city is every bit as breathtaking as I had always heard.  It reminded me of Prague with its large and ornate French gothic buildings and urban layout.  It reminded me of Madrid, Barcelona and even Ho Chi Minh with its vibrant people – eating, drinking, smoking and laughing well into the night.  

            After walking for two hours we decided to eat dinner.  We stopped at a place near our flat.  We shared fried foie gras.  I had steak tartare with a raw egg yolk on top.  Mena had steak and pom frites.  We shared a cream brulee and then walked back to our flat.

Pictures - Saturday, December 8th 2012

Paris Day 1