France in 17 Pictures, Part 2
On the third day, we took off to see the Eiffel Tower. I felt this was terribly touristy, but over time I grew comfortable with the fact that we were tourists and didn't mind thinking that people noticed. The metro was quite understandable; they all have a certain sameness, and if you've been in metros, subways, BARTs and so on all over, you'll be able to figure out a new one easily.
We got off the train at Ecole Militaire.
I should take a moment to describe how Toby and I operate in this, and many other, situations. We have complementary geniuses for getting around; I am extremely decisive and good with planning, but I can't read maps or orient myself in space. Toby is great at maps, charts and navigation, but he's indecisive and doesn't like to commit to a plan. So I say, Hey, let's do the Eiffel Tower and the Musee d'Orsay, and he gets out the guide book and the metro map and figures out how to make it happen. I depend on him totally to do things as simple as figure out which exit of the train station to use or to get the rental car out of the garage - things I can't do. It lowers the stress for each of us to use the other's gifts.
So, when we got out of the metro station, we walked for a while, then I said, "Uh, if we are going to the Eiffel Tower, shouldn't we see it by now? I mean, isn't it big?"
"Look to your right," he said. Holy Moly! There it was, looming on the horizon. It's big!
Something else happened on the way; a young woman passed us, bent down and picked something up in the dust. She turned and showed it to us and asked "Is real gold?" It was a man's gold wedding ring.
"Yes," I said, "it's real. This is your lucky day!"
She tried it on her finger - didn't fit.
"You take it," she said, and handed it to me. "But give me change? For sandwich."
Then I knew what it was, and I said, "No. You keep it." She kept trying to press it on me, but I didn't want to be involved in this scammy begging. When we arrived at the tower, there were about seven women begging there, all dressed in a certain way - long skirts with long sweaters and head scarves. I thought they might be Turkish, because I know a lot of Turks emigrate to France, but they turned out to be Gypsies. They would come up to someone and say, "Speak English?" and if you said yes, they'd show you a sheet of paper with a plea for assistance on it. Later, I gave one some money when she wasn't asking me. I don't like to feel manipulated, but I suppose they do this because they must. Several days later we saw more of them, or maybe the same group, begging on the Champs-Elysee in the saddest way - each crouched on the ground with her forehead touching the sidewalk and a paper cup in front of her praying hands.
The Eiffel Tower line was two hours long. As part of our no-stress plan, we decided to skip it and come back some day in the evening. But wow, is that thing big, and graceful. I didn't realize that besides being iconic and all that stuff, it's beautiful.
The Batobus is a sort of cruise-ferry along the Seine; a ticket allows you to get on and off all day (lots of attractions are near the river, of course), or just ride up and around the Isle de Cite and sightsee. We took it to the Musee d'Orsay to look at the Impressionists.
I'm not going to talk about paintings. I like the Impressionists a lot, and wow, a Van Gogh in person is much, much, more impressive than a print or a calendar. The colors - you can't reproduce the incredible colors in a print.
At one point, I sat down to look at a painting I'd never seen before. The bench was comfy...I was tired...I closed my eyes for a moment, and fell asleep. My clever husband saw this visual joke. I swear to you, this was not posed.
