Final day in Paris and small world-isms

(My capable co-author, Kelley, provides an overview of our relaxing Thursday and who we met on the way to the airport Friday morning…)

One luxury of spending nearly two weeks in a single city, no matter how glorious and fun-filled it may be, is that you can do a bit of extended chilling out and not feel too guilty about it. This is, after all, vacation.

So Thursday morning, with Neil and Nancy out and about, we hung around their place. Lounging around, literally in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, was something we didn’t take for granted and we enjoyed a lazy morning.

It was about 2:00 p.m. before we took a neighborhood stroll, this time to nab the final foodstuffs we planned to take home.

Regular old groceries in France – meat, cheese, butter, milk, eggs come to mind – are much higher-quality than what we so often settle for in Arkansas and in the United States as a whole. The most pedestrian grocery store chocolates, cheese, pre-packaged sliced ham and butter cookies are far superior. I credit their simple, rich ingredients and lack of preservatives (or the other multi-syllabic, chemical sounding things added to our foods).

The metro is faster and more easily navigated than the Parisian bus system, but with one bus line starting a few blocks from us and ending a few blocks from the home of Beth Arnold and her husband Jim Morgan, two Little Rock-turned-Parisian writer friends, we endured an hour of tight turns, crazy traffic and multitudinous stops for our first trip to the 20^th arrondissement (district), in northeastern Paris.

And what an amazing oasis we found in Beth’s and Jim’s pad!

They have 1½ stories of a 2-story house (and you can’t call many Parisian cribs “houses”) with a central courtyard that provides a private outdoor space, a true luxury. The rest of the place is very interestingly appointed and comfortable – and in finest French fashion, upon our arrival these transplanted Arkies quickly brought out two bottles of bubbly, a platter of pastries and some rich hunks of quiche. Add a little music and a whole lot of conversation, including catching them up on mutual Little Rock friends, and it was a dreamy final afternoon in Paris.

The same one-hour bus ride home and a brisk walk along the Seine took us to Al-Mankal, a Lebanese restaurant that is one of Neil’s and Nancy’s favorites. It’s a neighborhood spot they often frequent and where they hosted a big party to celebrate Neil’s 50^th birthday a few years ago. The service from the owner was attentive and personal. Nancy ordered more fabulous food than any of us needed, including the crispest, lightest falafel we’d ever tasted, silky smooth hummus, a mixed grill of chicken and beef, and a huge fresh sole the owner had procured that morning from the local fishmonger and which Neil expertly filleted.

It was a short night’s sleep after packing, but by 8 a.m. Friday morning, Ashli and I were at the curb awaiting our airport shuttle, ready for the return flights home.

Soon after settling into our seats came one of those amazing “small-world syndrome” situations. The mother-daughter pair sitting beside me in the van were from Springfield, Mo., where I worked from 1992-1995 as sports editor of the News-Leader.

Plus they had spent time in Port Aransas, Texas, where one night they were treated to a two-songwriter concert by Larry Joe Taylor and Keith Sykes, which they adored.

This same morning in our home town across the pond, Keith – who I have known for almost 30 years – performed on KATV, Channel 7, to promote the Keith Sykes annual songwriters festival in Hot Springs. He and Larry Joe are two of almost a dozen songwriters we’ll see there next weekend. A portion of the event’s proceeds help fund a scholarship in memory of a son our friends Stacy and Rusty (who spent the first week with us in Paris) tragically lost. And the Springfield mom we’d just met says she might come.

A small world indeed.

______

Thanks a lot, Kelley!

We recommend you visit these sites to learn more about Beth Arnold and Jim Morgan, two very cool and accomplished Arkansans-turned-Parisians. Their sites are full of information about their work and about their travels:

www.chasingmatisse.com

www.betharnold.com

Regarding our lazy Thursday morning: earlier in the week I thought I'd make my trek up the Eiffel Tower on Thursday, but when the morning arrived with gray skies and the temptation of lazing on the couch gazing up at the tower instead, I decided I'd save my tower trek for the next time I'm in Paris. Hopefully I'll get to go again!

Even though the post above brings the blog up to our last day in Paris, there are some final thoughts and conclusions I plan to share in coming days.

Stay tuned!

Ashli

Our pilgrimage to Chartres on Wednesday

Europe has public transportation systems completely foreign – pardon the pun - to most Americans. During our time in Paris, we’ve taken advantage of them all. We’ve ridden the Metro (subway) every day, many times a day, taken a 15-minute RER train ride to Versailles, an hour-long bus ride across Paris through thick traffic and Wednesday rode the luxurious SNCF train about an hour to Chartres.

The cityscape soon turned to beautiful French countryside as our train sped along. We even caught a quick glimpse of Versailles and its grand gardens out the window. This and the trip to Versailles gave me a taste of the France surrounding Paris. I really enjoyed seeing the small villages and country homes along our route.

After walking only a few blocks from the train station in Chartres, we soon and easily spotted the non-identical twin steeple spires of the famous Chartres Cathedral over the rooftops of the town. Very near the cathedral was the local tourism office where we picked up a map showing the cathedral and a self-guided walking tour of other local sites of interest. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chartres_Cathedral)

The cathedral was to be our focus for the afternoon. Well, to be honest (and this won’t surprise you) we were going to focus on it right after we found some lunch.

Kelley had visited the town many years ago and remembered a café named Le Serpente that we soon located. The café is literally in the shadow of the cathedral which helped me overlook the fact that it’s name was “The Snake.”

The sun was out and we could tolerate the sporadic breeze, so we chose to sit outside and take in views of the south side of the church. (http://leserpente.com)

As the typical French people we had become (in our minds at least), we ordered more of the classic French fare we’d enjoyed on this trip. For me a slice of goat cheese quiche and salad, for Kelley a “sandwich camembert” which is butter and camembert cheese on a baguette. Oh and of course our customary café au lait (for me) and pression, or draft beer, for him. We both pronounced our lunch delicious and just the fuel we needed for our tour of the church.

Nancy and Neil had suggested we take a guided tour, preferably given by a well-known British expert and author of books about the cathedral, Malcolm Miller, but unfortunately tours in English don’t start until April (more into their tourism season) and Mr. Miller wasn’t there.

Thankfully the cathedral offered audio guides and a map so we had the next best thing to a personal tour. Also, since March isn’t a big month for tourism, we were two of only about 20 visitors, which let us take in the cathedral at our own pace.

On this vacation we had already been inside St. Chapelle and Notre Dame, though we hadn’t had a guided tour of either. Listening to the history of this cathedral, the several times it had been burned or otherwise damaged, how many craftsmen and parishioners had donated time and resources to its construction, reconstruction and maintenance, plus learning it had been the destination of thousands of Christian pilgrims over centuries made this particularly enchanting place of worship very special to us.

The craftsmanship in the stained glass and in the literally thousands of sculptured scenes and figures inside and outside make this cathedral a place every visitor to France should put high on their list.

All cathedrals have sculptures and stained glass, but this one also has an enormous labyrinth. I had read about it but thought it would be in a room by itself or outside. So I was surprised when our audio guide revealed the labyrinth was inlaid into the stonework design in the floor. It wasn’t easy to spot at first because the hundreds of wooden chairs were set in rows on top of it, standing ready for mass. (Many other photos of the Chartres labyrinth are available here: http://tinyurl.com/Chartreslabyrinthpics )

Christians have been walking labyrinths in their cathedrals for centuries. Walking along the maze-like circular pattern simulates a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or is used as a path for meditation and prayer. The Chartres labyrinth is one of the largest Medieval labyrinths still in existence. Feeling its worn stones under my feet offered a tactile link with centuries of Christians and their search for enlightenment and peace.

If a visitor to France tours just one cathedral, this should be it. It’s important to see the famed Notre Dame in Paris from the outside, but spending time in the Chartres cathedral is an experience no one – certainly neither Kelley nor I – will ever forget.

(Friday night note: We’re home! Our flight across the pond was smooth as silk and we’re happily back in The Natural State. I’ll be catching up on lagging blog entries over the next few days. Thanks for following our trip!)

Luxuriating at Luxembourg Gardens and more

Temperate, sunny days are one thing Arkies take for granted, but Parisians don’t. Give the French an excuse to luxuriate and soak up some rays, and they are out en masse. Adopting the “when in Rome” mindset, we joined thousands of others in Jardins du Luxembourg, a spacious park just south of the city’s center.

Every one of the green metal chairs available for visitors was occupied when we arrived about 1 p.m., so we sat on the concrete rim that rings the large pond that is the central focal point of the park. Competition to nab departers’ chairs was intense, but in 20 or 30 minutes we had two and began serious sun soakage-uppage. We felt just a wee bit guilty that our friends Stacy and Rusty (aka Team Racy) didn’t get to enjoy the warm-and-fuzzy Paris during their week here.

As we basked and chatted, chatted and basked, a woman nearby heard our English and came over to chat. She and her husband and darling 18-month-old boy were visiting from Argentina, staying with her brother, who is on a six-month work assignment here. She was friendly and talked about how much she admired the United States and its role as the world’s do-good guardians. We acknowledged the kind words while assuring her we weren’t personally responsible for any good our country had done.

It was hard to tear ourselves away, but our next stop was almost equally as sun-splashed, tranquil and beautiful. When an elevated train line was shut down in 1969, the city of Paris turned the 2-mile stretch into Parc Promenade Plante, a park custom-made for walkers, joggers and just hanger-outers. It offers fabulous views of the adjacent, seemingly swanky apartment buildings and itself is an architectural marvel. Here’s the link to a rather weak collection of still photos some Paris visitors turned into a YouTube video, but it does give you a feel for the place: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdItpFo7yCI. We walked more than half the route, then retraced ourselves, caught the metro and headed back for one of the Janins’ famed dinner parties.

Of the 10 of us, eight had spent at least some time in Little Rock, including Beth Arnold and her husband Jim Morgan, writers who have lived and worked in Paris for almost nine years. They came to France so Jim could do the research that resulted in “Chasing Matisse,” a fabulous book that finds the Morgans following in painter Henri Matisse’s footsteps. (Much more at www.chasingmatisse.com.)

Neil, who spent much of his youth in Beirut, cooked the Lebanese-influenced main dish, a very flavorful chicken and rice concoction. The wine, and conversation, flowed until well after midnight, after which we wrangled the first load of dishes and silverware (three pates, three glasses, three forks, one knife and one spoon per person) and hit the hay.

Today … a road trip (via SNCF train, the only way to fly/ride) to Chartres, a quaint town that is home to one of the world’s most famous cathedral. It’s sunny with highs around 60 today, the best weather yet!

The Paris flea market and another fab lunch

Kelley summarizes our Monday with occasional comments from me…

Unlike many American cities, including Little Rock, the suburbs of Paris are where the rougher neighborhoods are found. It’s terribly costly to live in the historic center of the city, so the lower-income – and (sorry to stereotype) higher-crime – areas are outside the “peripherique,” the freeway that rings the city.

Just beyond the Peripherique on the northern edge of the city is also where the famed Les Puces “flea market” is found. (Ashli note: I’ve read in decorating magazines my entire life about the fantastic treasures available there. So I was not going to be in Paris and not visit it.)

The market is open every Saturday, Sunday and Monday. We decided to go on Monday hoping it would be less crowded.

We took the metro’s No. 4 line to its final stop at Port Clingincourt, and walked a short hike to the market. Realize that crime in Paris, particularly violent crime, is far less prevalent than in Little Rock (and most American cities), and we didn’t feel the least bit threatened. But there was definitely a different feel to this neighborhood, and the people packing the sidewalks, than in the neighborhoods we had been exploring.

Les Puces is a sprawling collection of permanent buildings with stalls merchants rent – similar to American antique malls of flea markets. Based on the number of pulled-down, locked metal doors, it was clear that Monday is the lightest day. It’s organized into six named markets, exploring each alone could occupy the better part of a day. Furniture and decorative items are the predominant offering, with one dealer specializing in doors, others in mirrors, rugs, sculptures, lamps and clock parts. (Ashli note: I loved the spectacle of clock dealer’s boxes containing thousands of clock hands, faces, etc. See picture.)

The long “allees” that run through these glass-roofed market buildings were relatively deserted, in stark contrast to the hordes thronging the areas surrounding the official market. There, on the streets, were more temporary markets selling jeans, shirts, CDs, electronics, etc. And on the outskirts of these were even more fly-by-night operators. We saw some with piles of clothes poured from trash bags. One guy had a collection of seemingly worthless remote controls. (Ashli note: Only “worthless” unless you’re the owner of a 1980s Magnavox whose remote has taken permanent refuge in the sofa.)

What we couldn’t find was an ATM, believe it or not, so while Ashli perused one slightly junked-up corner I wandered the maze to the edge of the market area, where – while a woman implored in French that I put coins in her cup, an urge I resisted – I finally secured some cash.

The good thing, from my point of view at least, was that we needed none, at least not for flea market purchases. Ashli bought one fabulous necklace, a chunky brown piece. As I watched her hold and admire it I was thinking, “30 Euros,” but in fact it was 5, and she had a 5 Euro note in her billfold. (Ashli note: SCORE!)

I’m not a big shopper, but soaking up this scene -- $10,000 armoires available in well-appointed merchant stalls just a 2-minute walk from where would-be buyers dug through piles of others’ cast-off clothes that couldn’t fetch more than centimes (pennies) apiece – was quite a visual and sociological experience.

The best part of the visit, as it often is, was our lunch at Café Voltaire, right in the heart of the upscale section of the market. But the meal was downscale in price – 13 Euros (about $17.50) and included two courses.

I had an endive salad with Roquefort and a huge plate of cassoulet, what we Southerners would consider vintage ham and white beans, only in this version also featuring a big chunk of kielbasa style sausage and a duck leg. Sopped with crusty bread, it was filling and delicious.

Ashli was in a salad mood and started with “salade club,” a small chef’s salad studded with chunks of cheese and ham, followed by the richest yet soufflé-light wedge of broccoli quiche you can imagine, the rest of the plate filled with a crisp green salad.

With Nancy and Neil both out for the evening – she at Paris Choral Society rehearsal and he at a business dinner – we hit Picard, a store that sells higher-end frozen goods only. Interesting, as only wealthier Parisians have freezers. Most French don’t have or need a freezer; they stop at the market each day, cook what they bring home and store leftovers in the refrigerator. We stocked up on “haricot verts tres fine” (really skinny green beans) and “alligot,” a mashed potato/cheese mixture that comes out smooth but almost elastic in its consistency. So very tasty!

The weather has really improved this week and it was a lovely day to be outside. Today looks to be even better, so we’re off to the Luxembourg Gardens and other glorious outside sights. Tonight Neal and Nancy are hosting a dinner party in our honor – sure to be filled with fabulous food and stimulating conversation.

Soaking up Parisian Life – Weekend Summary

A city’s greatness and popularity is defined by all the fabulous things there are to do there. Paris easily meets that criterion, with more museums and other attractions than a tourist could experience in a hard-charging month. But Paris’ appeal goes beyond the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe and the Seine. It is a dreamily awesome experience just being in Paris. And that’s what we spent this weekend doing, just being here – walking the neighborhoods, soaking up the ambience, stopping in cafes to have a coffee, a beer and a bite to eat. We strolled, gazed, listened and enjoyed the feel of a variety of Parisian neighborhoods.

There literally is something to behold on every block – the stylish flourishes that mark the no-compromise approach the French have to architecture, décor, and the way they prepare and display pastries, fresh meats and even department store windows. It’s easy to walk miles and miles in Paris, because there is so much to see. Only Manhattan in our experience rivals Paris in that way, and there it is more the density and dynamic feel of the streets that holds the attention, not just the artistic details, beauty and interesting storefronts on every Parisian block. We began Saturday with a long walk along Canal St. Martin in the northeast section of the city. The canal was built in 1845 as a primary channel to distribute goods into and out of Paris. It has an intricate lock-and-dam system, as well as canal-side parks and playgrounds. It seemed to be popular with dog walkers, and despite the chilly day, a man was navigating his remote-control boat along one section of the canal. Popping into a café in this non-touristy area also high-contrast proof of the differences in café prices based on neighborhood. On our way to the metro we’d stopped at the swanky Le Tourville brasserie for a break. Our break turned out to be a 9-Euro, half-liter draft beer and 5-Euro café au lait. That’s a $19 tab, which included a small bowl of smoky almonds and gratuity (always added to the bill in France). But in the friendly spot near the canal, the same two items, minus the almonds, were exactly half the price, 4.5 Euros for the big beer, 2.5 for the coffee. At $9.50 that’s still not cheap by Little Rock standards, but it sure beat the earlier bill. Next we entered the massive Gare du Nord (aka North Train Station), which is one of the large regional rail hubs and the arrival point for the Eurostar from London. There we hopped on the subway and returned to Montmartre, the highest piece of ground in Paris. We get a daily dose of what I call our “stair-stepper workout” while using the metro (Paris’ subway) and that’s a good thing. But at the Montmartre stop, we walked up144 steps (Kelley has a habit of counting) to reach street level and another 300-plus steps to the site of the Sacre Couer cathedral. After that were more than ready to plop down on a bench and admire the panoramic view of Paris below. (Side note: the spiral stairwells along that 144-step trek were beautifully painted in Parisian themes or styles. See picture.) We next wandered a bit east from the base of the cathedral and found ourselves in the city’s wholesale fabric district, narrow streets rendered even tighter by the huge bolts of fabric lining both sidewalks. The area was teeming with fabric buyers – it made me wish for sewing skills. As the sun was setting, we returned to our home base by the tower and enjoyed one of the simple to-go meals that Parisian restaurants do so well – rotisserie chicken, joined by crisp potatoes. A little wine and a lot of dinner-table conversation with Neal, Kelley’s charming and interesting brother-in-law, provided the perfect accompaniment and end to our day. Off to church we go! There are more than 50,000 Americans living in Paris, and the American Cathedral is one place to which some of them gravitate. Built on the swanky Avenue George V in 1886, the cathedral is stunning in its size and beauty.

We attended the Episcopalian cathedral’s service at 11 a.m. Sunday and were awed by the quality of the choir, the sermon and the surroundings. We stopped by the post-service coffee hour and met several Americans, some Parisian transplants and some just passing through, like us. After a change of clothes we headed to the Jardins des Tuileries, the long, rectangular park that stretches from the Louvre to Place de la Concorde. It was another chilly day, with just hints of sun occasionally peaking through the clouds, but that didn’t deter hundreds of Parisians from strolling and relaxing around the two large pools that highlight each end of the park. We stopped next at the famed Angelina for one of its legendary hot chocolates (almost $9.50 for a cup), but the line queued outside the door appeared about 75 deep, so we just kept on walking down the shop-filled Rue de Rivoli. I picked up a souvenir I’d been seeking and at a reasonable price – a silver Eiffel Tower charm for my charm bracelet. Nancy arrived from New York about 4 p.m., and when we got home at 6ish, she was still unpacking. Neil whipped up a scrumptious impromptu dinner cooked of flaky, white fish fillets, a flavorful ratatouille-type vegetable combination and minestrone – all plucked from the Janins’ crowded freezer. The four of us lingered at the table and enjoyed hours of post-dinner chat. At last – some serious shopping! Today, we’re off to do something I’ve read about in my decorating magazines for years. I’m so excited! We’re going to the famed Les Puces “Paris flea market,” a sprawling collection of dealers featuring furniture, linens, art and way more. Kelley is being a patient and long-suffering companion and has agreed to accompany me. We’re seeking a cool French souvenir for use as wall art or to otherwise decorate our home. Whether we’ll find anything that fits the criteria – affordable and fits in the overhead compartment – we aren’t sure. But I know I’ll (and hopefully he’ll) have an absolute blast! Bye for now!

Feasts for the eyes and stomach

Kelley is again at the keyboard to describe our fun Friday, March 12

It is difficult to explain the wonder that is La Grande Epicerie, especially for foodies. Ostensibly a grocery store, but so much more, this mammoth market is a combination of shelves and serving stations that has beckoned us three times in a week. (http://www.lagrandeepicerie.fr/#en-GB/home)

For Rusty’s and Stacy’s final Parisian lunch we chose quiche, Panini, and a baguette Rusty and I split and then overloaded with bricks of paté, likely 6-8 servings each (and more fat grams than a sumo wrestler consumes), topped with cheese and white-hot mustard. It was American gross excess at its best, but our coats sure are shiny!

Stuffed, we hopped the metro for Musee D’Orsay, where anyone’s gluttony for French impressionist art would be sated. It’s an almost unbelievable collection, a “greatest hits of art” lineup: Monet, Van Gogh, Renoir, Toulouse Lautrec, Manet, Rodin, Degas, Cezanne.

Hundreds of paintings organized in a very doable, two-story gallery framework in a converted train station. It continued our “gross excess” theme in a non-caloric, art appreciation direction. But still, it was no less an unprecedented feast.

If you spent as much time pondering each canvas and sculpture as it deserved, you could spend as much time here as you might at the Louvre, though you wouldn’t walk so far. Musee D’Orsay is an absolute must on any tourist’s trip to Paris. (http://www.musee-orsay.fr/en/home.html)

Neil, one half of our host couple, returned from New York on Friday, and we met him back at our home base in the evening. This was the first chance for Rusty, Stacy and Ashli to meet this immensely charming and interesting man who has worked hard to create such an amazing existence for his family in Paris. And although we had negotiated our way pretty well through the cafes and brasseries – I can identify enough words on the menu to make good selections – we all enjoyed kicking back and letting Neil take control as we dined at Erawan, a Michelin award winning Thai restaurant in the neighborhood. (http://erawanthairestaurant.com)

Neil ordered for us with input about our favorite Thai dishes. Every bite as we noshed our way, family style, through three appetizers and three entrees was excellent. Neil explained that the Thai restaurants in Paris have toned down the spiciness to please the French palate, but there was accompanying chili sauce to reinstall the zing, which Rusty and I definitely did.

When we emerged about 10 p.m. we realized the weather had warmed up, and we enjoyed a less bundled up stroll to the Hotel Duquesne, where we sat at café tables out front and enjoyed a drink while Rusty burned through his final cigar in Paris, this one a Cuban.

We bid adieu to our friends, whom we’ll miss during our second week here. We were fortunate to find a couple whose ideas of what was fun, how much was enough, and what the general pace of the days should be, were all right in tune with ours!

Au revoir, mes amis!

Kelley

Thanks, Kelley! For those of you who are Facebook friends with me, please look at my Paris album for many more pictures of the art at Muse D'Orsay today. Ashli

Lunch and Louvre

I met Mona, Venus and Victory today and had my first Nutella crepe to boot!

My three travel companions and I haven’t been getting very early starts to our days in Paris. (I know that comes as no surprise to those of you who know me and my aversion to early rising.) By the time we have a few cups of coffee from our hosts’ swank espresso automaton and get ourselves presentable for the outside world, it is usually near 11 o’clock.

None of us mind this leisurely start to our days; after all, we’re on vacation. Even so, we’re in PARIS, and there’s no excuse for not seeing all we can see. We’ve typically hit it hard from 11:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. and today was no exception.

Thursday’s sightseeing and culinary adventures included:

• A superb lunch at a quaint boulangerie (bakery), more details below

• A couple hours on a sight-seeing bus (open air, top deck, chilly) that took us by many major Paris sights

• Two hours at the Louvre, details to follow.

• Dessert and drinks at a very quaint corner café, table on the patio (heaters)

The Boulangerie

Rusty and Stacy have now moved to a hotel because our hosts are returning home and their space will not comfortably accommodate six adults. Understandable and no issue. In fact, them moving to a hotel has given us reason to explore a new neighborhood, though the hotel is not too far from where we’re staying.

We helped them transfer their luggage to the hotel and by then it was time for lunch. We happened upon a boulangerie – or bakery – very near their hotel and decided it looked perfect. Turns out we were right. This bakery not only offered sandwiches but also a daily plate lunch option, quiche and salad choices. Heaven.

As in most restaurants we’ve experienced, this one served our lunch on actual plates with real metal utensils and glass glasses. And I’m not talking just the table-clothed restaurants. These are lunch-time time restaurants where the food is prepared quickly behind the counter and handed over. What a nice change from the American standard of paper and plastic everything.

Rusty chose the daily special which was sausage and lintels, Stacy and I chose quiche and salad (hers Florentine and mine Lorraine) and Kelley had the classic Croque Monsieur, a toasted ham and cheese sandwich.

We all tried a bite of one another’s choice, as is our custom, and everything was top notch. The lintels tasted as if they’d been cooked with a ham bone and the sausage was a high-quality kielbasa type.

Kelley’s sandwich was entirely better than the version Stacy had had on Wednesday

at the Versailles café. His was built with thin, rustic, focaccia and France’s typically superior ham and cheese. The signature feature of the Croque Monsieur is the sandwich has cheese broiled to a bubbly yellow-brown on the top. Fork-tender and delicious.

Stacy noted correctly that our quiche didn’t have an overpowering “eggy” taste but was well balanced between the egg and cheese plus ham and in her case, spinach and other veggies. The side salad was a loose mound of green-leaf lettuce drizzled with simple vinaigrette. Perfect.

In France there is no Diet Coke but instead its cousin, Coca-Cola Light. There is a slight difference in their tastes but I’ve easily converted.

The Louvre

After lunch we hopped on a tour bus Rusty had arranged in advance. It’s the type of tour where you can either stay on for the duration or hop on and off. We stayed on for five or six stops – until we reached the Louvre.

I know you’ve seen pictures of the Louvre and its famous glass pyramid entrance, or perhaps you’ve even visited. I’ll tell you, I was amazed at how enormous the walled Louvre compound is!

The genius design of the pyramid entry into the underground maze (OMG – what a MAZE!) that connects all the buildings was something to admire. Kelley and I said more than once that we must get a book on the Louvre just to learn how it morphed from a military compound to a palace to the world’s most important art museum, and how it came to be accessed and organized the way it is.

We knew there was no way to see even half the exhibits. It might take eight hours a day for a month to cover it all. We did what many do: head straight for the three biggies: the Mona Lisa and two important sculptures, Venus di Milo and Winged Victory. Along the path through what my mother would call a “rabbit’s warren” of rooms and levels, we saw an overwhelming variety of other paintings, sculptures and artifacts.

The Louvre is intimidating and confusing, to be honest, and therefore frustrating. Two hours was enough for us to gawk at the big attractions, glance at some gorgeous paintings and gain an appreciation for the scope of the collection. Plus the ceiling décor of the rooms eclipses those at Versailles. If there was no art in the Louvre and all there was to see were the friezes and paintings on the ceilings, it would still be worth the 9.5 Euro admission fee.

Ah...the crepe

I had my first French crepe – filled with Nutella – while sitting on the patio at a sidewalk café on a bustling corner, sipping espresso and watching the Parisians stride quickly by. It will be an indelible memory for me, just as much as visiting the Louvre, Versailles or seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Hemmingway about Paris, shared with me by my beloved professor, Dr. Randall Wight, who along with another beloved professor, Dr. Johnny Wink, is quite enamored with the City of Light:

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”

(VIDEO below: see the Mona Lisa for yourself!)

Those French sure know how to gild a mirror

Wow! I’m still in golden-glam overload from visiting Versailles today. I’ll tell you first about our train trip, our lunch (of course) and then about the little “chateau” that helped spawn the French Revolution.

First of all, Versailles is a city in and of itself, not just another name for the famous – or infamous - center of French royalty’s opulence.

Our party of four Parisian wanderers boarded the train from a station within steps of our home base. The ride to Versailles was no more than 20 minutes, even with several stops, so the city seems to be and is a suburb of Paris.

The train ride offered view of the more modern outskirts of Paris including multi-story office buildings and more modern apartment houses. It also afforded us an along-side view of the Seine for a few miles. We spotted what Stacy had known was here, but not where it was, a small replica of the Statue of Liberty. We saw it briefly from the train and a check of Wikipedia (the internet information source for all that’s right and true) and found this location description:

“The second Statue of Liberty is near the Grenelle Bridge on the Île des Cygnes, a man-made island in the river Seine.”

The reference to it being the “second” isn’t to its big sister in New York, but rather to a smaller, life-sized version in the famous Luxembourg Garden in Paris (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jardin_du_Luxembourg).

We hope to visit the one in the river before the end of the week. It looks to be within walking distance or an easy metro ride from away.

But I digress…

We were hungry when we disembarked the train and found ourselves in the quaint but bustling city of Versailles. We walked a few blocks from the train station, a bit puzzled by the map we had consulted, but eventually found a charming pedestrian-friendly street and selected a corner brasserie (café) named Le Saint Claire (www.saintclaire-versailles.com). We chose it over some other eateries that seemed either empty or not as attractive to the locals. Plus the menu promised one of Kelley’s favorite French dishes, cassoulet.

Side note: In France, all restaurants are required by law to post their menus so they’re visible to passersby. This is a tremendous benefit to travelers.

We were seated around 12:30 p.m. and soon Le Saint Claire filled with local businessmen, blue-collar workers and ladies who lunch. Our choice had been affirmed.

Our party attempts to adhere to the rule of no two people ordering the same thing so we can all try one another’s selection. This has proven to be a smart plan. Our lunch selections were:

Cassoulet ordered by me (of course planning to share with Kelley). Cassoulet is a porridge of big white beans, a rich tomato-based red broth, a hunk of Bratwurst-like sausage and a leg of braised duck.

Mille Feuilles Croustillant ordered by Kelley because he couldn’t resist the badly translated descripton of “one thousand being crusty sheets…” filled with shrimp, avocado and topped with a chive cream sauce. Turns out it was a salad and not an “en croute” hot pocket notion he envisioned. Nor was there any avocado to be found. Stacy had seen the classic French toasted ham and Swiss cheese sandwich, a “Croque Monsieur,” in market food cases since our arrival, so she ordered her first today.

Rusty decided pasta sounded good, so he ordered Penne au Jambon Cru which was penne pasta topped with a creamy gorgonzola sauce and “country ham.” The country ham to which the French referred is what everyone else knows as prosciutto. The huge and almost paper thin slices of premium ham were simply laid on top of the penne and cheese.

We each enjoyed our tastes of the others’ dishes, though I’ll admit I was a bit disappointed in the cassoulet. The big white beans (fava?) weren’t cooked nearly enough to be the comfort-food fix I was aiming for. However, the sauce, sausage and duck accompaniments were well executed. And by the time lunch had ended, there was no food left on anyone’s plates. We even had a “dessert” course of an assortment of cheeses, just like the French often do.

On to the chateau

Perhaps when first constructed, the chateau or palace of Versailles (www.chateauversailles.fr) was set apart, out in the countryside. Not now. I was surprised that the enormous, walled expanse of buildings and grounds were only a few city blocks’ walk from where we had lunch.

The approach to the palace's gilded gates is not lined by lawn or trees or even grass, as I had envisioned. Instead, the imposing expanse is paved with four-inch square, unevenly settled cobblestones. The surface was not comfortable underfoot, even in comfortable shoes.

Entry to the palace was not allowed until going through a metal detector, but that’s certainly understandable given the priceless artwork, craftsmanship and history inside. The first and one of the most impressive views of the whole chateau is the chapel.

Calling it simply a “chapel” is quite an understatement. The place of worship was a late addition to the chateau, but like the rest of the place, is caked in carved marble, granite, gilded wood work and plaster.

Almost each room in the complex is dominated by enormous paintings depicting members of the monarchy, Greek gods and goddesses, or scenes depicting the royals’ victory in battle.

There are too many rooms in the main chateau for me to count, each extravagantly decorated and each with a specific purpose. There were the king’s and queen’s separate bed chambers, the rooms in which they allowed an audience, formal rooms for government proceedings and political meetings. Many of the rooms were solely meant to impress and intimidate, and I can certainly see how they accomplished that.

This isn’t my first lush and lavish residence to tour. I was awed by Biltmore, the Vanderbilt-built American “castle” in Asheville, North Carolina when I visited it a few years ago. So, I expected gilded mirrors, fancy chandeliers, expensive silk draperies and amazing antiques to be the rule of the day at Versailles. That expectation was far surpassed and by the end of the tour, I felt as if my retinas had been flash-burned by all the shiny glitz and glam. But I also felt something else.

Though the audio tour didn’t speak to it very much, I was very aware that generations of French royalty and politicos had surrounded themselves with unbelievable décor, isolating themselves from the reality of the daily life of their subjects. The monarchy figuratively lost their heads in faulty justification when they escaped Paris and began to create their own world in Versailles.

Those first missteps led successive royal generations far off course, ending with the literal loss of their heads in the French Revolution.

With that in mind, the tour was a bit somber for me, but nonetheless impressive. No one should visit Paris without touring the chateau at Versailles.

Good night!