To continue yesterday's post...
So we were in Paris. At first I found our hotel there—the Hotel Milan, in Invalides—mildly sketchy, but excused that on the basis of how relatively cheap it was. I now know that continental European hotel standards are vastly different than American expectations. As in, Super 8 is an improvement over your average French hotel room. The bathroom in Paris Hotel was tiny with an oddly shaped tub that made it dangerous to shower, and a toilet that was so close to the wall you had to sit on it sideways because your knees wouldn’t fit in front of it. But hey, at least we had a bathroom! Oh yes, and our toilet had an endless array of problems, partially because Chandler couldn’t stop accidentally droppings things into it—soap, rolls of toilet paper, etc…
Our first night in Paris we had dinner a charming little Italian restaurant we found, where I finally got to practice practical French! With real French people! Who were much nicer than we commonly think!
The next day we hopped a train to Reims, which was a beautiful and clean city, in the Champagne region of France. There Chandler and I toured the Taittinger champagne caves, where we received an extensive education in the production of authentic champagne. I will now be setting up a bootleg pseudo-champagne business in my apartment. And an interesting factoid: any wine actually labeled “Champagne,” rather than sparkling wine or something similar, has been made in the Champagne region of France—they guard the name fiercely. Many a Californian sparkling wine manufacturer have “fallen” off castle walls for trying to pass off their inferior nectar-for-the-masses as champagne.
That was also the day we discovered that it is all-but-impossible to find dinner in France before 7:00 pm (or 19:00, in European time). But we finally came upon a little brasserie in Reims and managed to eat before taking a train back to Paris.
On Day 2 in France (Wednesday, Nov. 22) we took a train to Bayeux, where we intended to visit the D-Day Beaches, but unfortunately that did not work out due to the tour bus schedules. However, we did get to pay 8 euro for a bowl of soup and see the Bayeux tapestry (which was cheaper than the soup)! The tapestry has a very good exhibit with it explaining its historical significance. It wasn’t crowded that day, which was nice, because we could just take our time seeing it all. Though it was disappointing that we didn’t make it up to the Normandy coast, it was still a good day. We sought out dinner in another little Italian place close to our hotel. I think the French eat more Italian food than French food.
Thanksgiving day we stayed in Paris, seeing the sights soaked in rain, which prevented my getting a single decent photograph. Highlights of the day included the Centre Pompidou (modern art), the Musee d’Orsay (the amazing museum that accepted the Impressionist paintings that the Louvre rejected—Monet, Degas, Manet—it was Art Heaven for me, since Impressionism is my favorite movement in visual art), the original Sephora store on the Champs-Elysees (Art Heaven and Cosmetics Mecca in one day!), and getting to see the Eiffel Tower live and in person, even though I have no decent pictures of it, because God decided Paris needed rain on the one day Kristen needed photos of Paris.
That night Chandler and I celebrated Thanksgiving with a special meal at a charming little restaurant called L’Affriolé, which serves authentic French cuisine. However, because it was marked wrong on the map I was using, we had a difficult time finding the place. And because we were having a difficult time finding the place, I had out my large guidebook so we could figure out where we were, which I can only assume was how we were targeted by a Parisian pickpocketer/mugger/serial killer. Luckily I don’t know which of those amenable categories he fit in, because I successfully identified him as a criminal and spoiled his intentions. He had walked past us, and thankfully I was used to checking behind myself by that point, and when I did I saw him turning around to follow us. But when I looked him in the eye he turned back around and continued in his original direction. And that’s when I took a deep breath and put up the guidebook, because we looked enough like tourists anyway without that. In any event, dinner was splendid. My main course (plat) was a chicken dish with creamy sauce, while Chandler the Vegetarian Crime Magnet enjoyed a main course of vegetable side dishes, as Europe is not as vegetarian-friendly as the USA.
That was our last night in sorta-sketchy Paris hotel, where our toilet was finally working. The next day it was a 6 hour train ride to Nice. And as it is again late, I will end this now, and finish up later with Nice (warm and beautiful) and Glasgow (cold and nasty)
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