Paris, Day 7: Sunshine and Shopping and Walking: Shopwalking?
After yesterday's grand disappointments and frustrations, we decided to take it easy today. We woke a little later, ate a nice egg and cheese breakfast, and followed a Rick Steves walking tour from the Place de la Bastille through the Marais to the Pompidou Center. We had perfect, clear weather (which we've had since Friday morning--Wednesday and Thursday it rained hard at one point or another) and felt refreshed and ready for the day.
Of course, the Bastille is no more. In its place is a tall column with golden, winged Mercury at the top, heralding freedom for the French people. It stands in the center of an enormous traffic circle and near the rounded glass facade of an opera house, shining in the morning sun, a nice marker for the start of our walk. And this walk was full of small pleasures, like the tiny gas station we passed--simply a pump at the curb near a parking garage--a random merry-go-round filled not with animals but rocket ships, flying saucers, airplanes and helicopters, and architectural details on buildings ranging from cherubs straining under the weight of columns to griffins fiercely protecting doorways.
We strolled down Rue d'Antoine and followed the guidebook toward the Place des Vosges. On our way, we stopped into a jewelry shop filled with beautiful stuff where I purchased a pendant with a tiny lion's head that, oddly, sported a lightning bolt across its face a la David Bowie's Alladin Sane; I couldn't resist it. It was wee and fierce, like me. :-)
The Place des Vosges is a lovely square, partly for its surrounding architecture and partly for its well-manicured lawns. The gallery shopping around it is quite nice with shops and artists showing their wares. Elizabeth found a great handbag/overnight bag: a sort of dark gray and green with black straps that's just sharp as hell. We engaged in a chat with an artist named Didier Lespagnol who was selling lovely watercolors of Place Des Vosges and the Pont Neuf, which we've already crossed a number of times. He showed us the magazine in which he'd been featured. We each purchased a print from him, discussed American politics a bit, and were completely charmed.
We left the square and continued to stroll down Rue des Francs Bourgeois, poking in and out of shops and past the Carnavalet museum. We considered going in, but were enjoying the walking so much that we decided to continue, and had lunch at a place called Camille. Our waitress was a young blond girl who wanted to practice her English and who was polite and accommodating. At the table next to us, a senior woman sat by herself impeccably dressed in a yellow cardigan and yellow slacks daintily eating a creme brulee. We watched her surreptitiously as she finished her dessert and ordered a glass of champagne, quietly watching the crowd as she sipped. I had a moment of wanting to engage her, but she clearly didn't wish to be engaged, so we kept to ourselves and enjoyed our lunch.
One of the things no one tells you about Paris, not friends, not guidebooks, is that every meal in France is at least a two-hour affair. In the states we seem to spend about an hour at lunch and maybe 90 minutes at dinner when we go out. In France, every meal out is an extended engagement, aided and abetted by wait staff very politely leaving you in peace. It's not neglect; it seems to be a respect for the patrons' leisurely repast. On the one hand it's a rather lovely thing. On the other hand, there are times when one just wants to eat and be done. I've felt impatient to move on only once or twice this trip when it's felt a little like an inconvenience--but not often.
After lunch we continued our stroll through the Marais. I found a great pair of earrings at a remarkably reasonable price (oval hoops that stand out well from my hair). We passed a Camp shoe store, where Elizabeth found a pair of adorable flats. I saw a pair of shoes I fell in love with, but which they didn't have in my size. Just as well.
And then we were in the heart of the Jewish quarter, where men and boys wearing kippot stood behind long tables selling etrogs and lulavs in preparation for Sukkot. The crowd picked its way around these tables, where people haggled for the prettiest fruit. We poked into a couple of great Judaica shops. I was interested in finding myself a chai, but though we saw a couple of great chais in the windows, we couldn't actually find them in stock, which was a disappointment. We also saw a beautiful synagogue whose Art Nouveau facade desperately needed power-washing.
We made a last stop in a shop selling beautiful ethnic scarves and each bought one. Mine is black, white, and gray with shirred effects and swaths of paisley patterns, made of 100% wool. It's warm and pretty.
The closer we got to the Pompidou Center, the more the crowd intensified. Soon enough we were practically cheek-by-jowl, jostling our way toward Notre Dame. It seemed to be a parade, a march, a party; we weren't sure, but the atmosphere was convivial, almost celebratory. The crowd was mostly young people, many sharing bottles of wine or smoking, some with painted faces. It was an incredible scene. It turned out to be a protest against the austerity measures that President Francois Hollande wants to institute in response to the financial crisis. It was a peaceful march, and we survived chagrinned and entertained.
We came back to the apartment, dropped off our things, had a little wine and chocolate (one must enjoy bonbons regularly in Paris!), and then grabbed a quick dinner at what amounts to a local dinner just down the street--nothing to write home about.
A couple of other quick notes:
--There's a movie theater on our street that, among other things, shows Rocky Horror regularly. I was tickled to see the posters for the showings upon our arrival here.
--I took a little time yesterday to plan our trip back to the airport, only to discover that the cab company billed me three times for the service; I must call them today to straighten it out. ::grumble::
Chocolates: chocolate-covered almonds and a dark-chocolate covered creme with Madagascar vanilla
Steps for the day: 12,746
Of course, the Bastille is no more. In its place is a tall column with golden, winged Mercury at the top, heralding freedom for the French people. It stands in the center of an enormous traffic circle and near the rounded glass facade of an opera house, shining in the morning sun, a nice marker for the start of our walk. And this walk was full of small pleasures, like the tiny gas station we passed--simply a pump at the curb near a parking garage--a random merry-go-round filled not with animals but rocket ships, flying saucers, airplanes and helicopters, and architectural details on buildings ranging from cherubs straining under the weight of columns to griffins fiercely protecting doorways.
We strolled down Rue d'Antoine and followed the guidebook toward the Place des Vosges. On our way, we stopped into a jewelry shop filled with beautiful stuff where I purchased a pendant with a tiny lion's head that, oddly, sported a lightning bolt across its face a la David Bowie's Alladin Sane; I couldn't resist it. It was wee and fierce, like me. :-)
The Place des Vosges is a lovely square, partly for its surrounding architecture and partly for its well-manicured lawns. The gallery shopping around it is quite nice with shops and artists showing their wares. Elizabeth found a great handbag/overnight bag: a sort of dark gray and green with black straps that's just sharp as hell. We engaged in a chat with an artist named Didier Lespagnol who was selling lovely watercolors of Place Des Vosges and the Pont Neuf, which we've already crossed a number of times. He showed us the magazine in which he'd been featured. We each purchased a print from him, discussed American politics a bit, and were completely charmed.
We left the square and continued to stroll down Rue des Francs Bourgeois, poking in and out of shops and past the Carnavalet museum. We considered going in, but were enjoying the walking so much that we decided to continue, and had lunch at a place called Camille. Our waitress was a young blond girl who wanted to practice her English and who was polite and accommodating. At the table next to us, a senior woman sat by herself impeccably dressed in a yellow cardigan and yellow slacks daintily eating a creme brulee. We watched her surreptitiously as she finished her dessert and ordered a glass of champagne, quietly watching the crowd as she sipped. I had a moment of wanting to engage her, but she clearly didn't wish to be engaged, so we kept to ourselves and enjoyed our lunch.
One of the things no one tells you about Paris, not friends, not guidebooks, is that every meal in France is at least a two-hour affair. In the states we seem to spend about an hour at lunch and maybe 90 minutes at dinner when we go out. In France, every meal out is an extended engagement, aided and abetted by wait staff very politely leaving you in peace. It's not neglect; it seems to be a respect for the patrons' leisurely repast. On the one hand it's a rather lovely thing. On the other hand, there are times when one just wants to eat and be done. I've felt impatient to move on only once or twice this trip when it's felt a little like an inconvenience--but not often.
After lunch we continued our stroll through the Marais. I found a great pair of earrings at a remarkably reasonable price (oval hoops that stand out well from my hair). We passed a Camp shoe store, where Elizabeth found a pair of adorable flats. I saw a pair of shoes I fell in love with, but which they didn't have in my size. Just as well.
And then we were in the heart of the Jewish quarter, where men and boys wearing kippot stood behind long tables selling etrogs and lulavs in preparation for Sukkot. The crowd picked its way around these tables, where people haggled for the prettiest fruit. We poked into a couple of great Judaica shops. I was interested in finding myself a chai, but though we saw a couple of great chais in the windows, we couldn't actually find them in stock, which was a disappointment. We also saw a beautiful synagogue whose Art Nouveau facade desperately needed power-washing.
We made a last stop in a shop selling beautiful ethnic scarves and each bought one. Mine is black, white, and gray with shirred effects and swaths of paisley patterns, made of 100% wool. It's warm and pretty.
The closer we got to the Pompidou Center, the more the crowd intensified. Soon enough we were practically cheek-by-jowl, jostling our way toward Notre Dame. It seemed to be a parade, a march, a party; we weren't sure, but the atmosphere was convivial, almost celebratory. The crowd was mostly young people, many sharing bottles of wine or smoking, some with painted faces. It was an incredible scene. It turned out to be a protest against the austerity measures that President Francois Hollande wants to institute in response to the financial crisis. It was a peaceful march, and we survived chagrinned and entertained.
We came back to the apartment, dropped off our things, had a little wine and chocolate (one must enjoy bonbons regularly in Paris!), and then grabbed a quick dinner at what amounts to a local dinner just down the street--nothing to write home about.
A couple of other quick notes:
--There's a movie theater on our street that, among other things, shows Rocky Horror regularly. I was tickled to see the posters for the showings upon our arrival here.
--I took a little time yesterday to plan our trip back to the airport, only to discover that the cab company billed me three times for the service; I must call them today to straighten it out. ::grumble::
Chocolates: chocolate-covered almonds and a dark-chocolate covered creme with Madagascar vanilla
Steps for the day: 12,746