Paris - Day 7

On our final day in Paris, we decided to take it a bit easier.  We were going to sleep in, but a crow decided to park on our open window at around 5:30 this morning and squawk and squawk and squawk.  So, that was that.  Still, we had a leisurely morning figuring out our luggage sitation, both coming to the conclusion that we each needed a new suitcase.  Let me explain.  Accodring to the guidebooks, stores in Paris are only allowed to have sales twice a year.  I didn't know that we would happen to be here during one of those times.  Every single store has a big "SOLDE" sign, which indicates that they are having a sale.  And, I'm talking about 50, 60, 70 percent off.  And, this is on top of things already being quite reasonable.  Surprisingly reasonable.  As we got used to saying, "It's local."  What we mean by that is that French things that are expensive to us are mostly because they are IMPORTED.  Here, they're local.  For example, at home, Evian is the expensive water.  Here, it is the typical one.  It's like an Aquafina or something for us.  Or, you can get a bottle of perfectly good French wine for 3 Euros.  Same with some of the items in shops.  And, if you add to that the fact that there are sales, it's just too much to resist!  I have gotten a lot of Christmas gifts taken care of, a few memorable things for myself, and things to show my family that I was thinking of them every day.  Therefore, there was a need for a new suitcase.

For a long time, I have liked a brand of luggage called Lipault.  It is French.  But, it has been way too expensive for me to buy.  We went to a GIGANTIC luggage store today, and not only was the Lipault significantly cheaper than at Macy's, but it was on sale!  (Cathy bought an identical one.)  So, while I have no idea how I will get it down seven flights of stairs early tomorrow morning, I at least know that I have space for it all.

After buying our suitcases, and hauling them up seven flight of stairs, we went back down and hopped the metro to the Pere Lachaise cemetary.  This might not be on the "A" list for many people making a quick stop in Paris, but it is certainly worth a visit.  If you have ever seen the raised cemetaries of New Orleans, it is like that time acres and acres and acres and acres.  There are some notable people buried there, namely Chopin, Bizet, Edith Piaf, Jim Morrison, and Marie Callas.  My destination was the gravesite of Heloise and Abelard.  I think I mentioned in an earlier post that they were real life 12th century starcrossed lovers.  If you haven't heard of them, I recommend googling their story.  Anyway, the way to their grave was poorly marked.  We saw this beautifully ornate tomb, the largest in the cemetary, and took a picture of it by the pathway.  But, we were in a hurry to try to find their tomb.  We found the section that we thought it should be in, and aimlessly walked through narrow rows of tombs that were two times taller than us.  I found an English-speaking couple looking in the same place as us, equally confused.  So, we all split up to look.  Shortly after, Cathy said, "I found it!"  It was none other than the gorgeous one that we had bypassed.  Upon closer inspetion, we saw how truly beautiful it was.  It had a stone statue of Heloise (who had later become a nun(, and Abelard (who had later become a priest) , laying together in repose, a dog at their feet.  What we could read (in French) on the side, said that while they were separated in life, they were together in death.  

I tlook a lot of pictures here.  There were eerie family tombs with cobwebs draping from the doors as if they had put there as Halloween decorations.  There were statues of mothers holding their children, of women mourning, of a child playing, etc.  Whatever represented that person's life, memorialized in their death.  I will post pictures on FB when I get home.

AFter that, we took the metro to the Bastille stop.  As soon as you get out, you see a tall column standing where the Bastille used to be.  It was destroyed during the French revolution, but had been around since the mid-1300s, so it was very sad that it was no longer in existance.  A walk of just a few blocks took us to the gorgeous Place des Vosges.  Imagine a huge city square surrounded on all four sides by huge red brick townhouses, row after row of the same.  Victor Hugo lived there, and we were disappointed to find out that we were there on the ONE day of the week that w are closed.  Still, we got to take a picture by his front door, and enjoy the park as he might have.  Cathy took a nap and I read a book.  There were no tourists there, just a lot of French families playing with there children.  

We wanted to hit a few more shops in the Marais district before heading back, and went to a few that had been recommended by the guidebooks.  We weren't disappointed, and finished off our lists of who we needed to buy for.  We stopped by a tea room (Mariage Ferers) that has been there since 1846 (old for Paris, I guess), and then went to a wine cafe that had been recommended by a friend of Cathy's.  It had an warm, homey feel with beautiful artwork on the wall.  We each had a glass of French red wine (only 3.40 Euros!).  The proprieter was the cutest old man we'd ever seen, and we kept trying to snap surrepticious pictures of him.  When that never worked out, we finally asked him if we could take his picture.  I think he was flattered, and he then told us that he was the painter of all of the artwork.  And, he gave Cathy a postcard with some poetry that he had written.  I love those kinds of moments!

Our favorite moments have not been all of the beautiful sites, although they are infinite, but the moments with the people.  I don't know why the French get a bad rap.  They have been SO VERY NICE everywhere we have been.  The man at the wine bar.  The streetsaleman in St. Germaine who offered his assistance when we had a map out.  The boulangerie girl today who smiled so sweetly and practiced a little English with us.  Every shopkeeper who greets you with "Bonjour" before you've finished crossing the threshold.  The waiter who called us "princesses" at a cafe outside St. Madeleine.  The man at the macroom counter who brought the macroon chef out to meet us.  Our driver into Normandy who incited humorous moments that Cathy and I will be imitating for years.  The waitstaff who bring you your drink and never once make you feel unwelcome even if you're there for hours.  The people who are more than willing to take your picture when you ask.  It goes on and on.  The French people ended up being one of my FAVORITE things about this trip.  

So, with bags packed, we're heading downstairs for one last dinner,and a good night's sleep, dreaming, I hope, of a day in the future when we can return.       

Paris - Day 6

Today was a day of extremes. From the grandeur of Notre Dame, sung in Gregorian chant, to a tour of the city's sewers, from hearing the nun's choir at Sacre Coeur to walking by the X-rated shops of the Pigalle area. (Not by design!) But first - today was Sunday, time for Mass. We arrived by metro on the Il la Cite just in time to make Mass at 10, but despite two previous visits this week to Notre Dame, we got turned around, and walked the peremiter of most of the island. To those of you who have been there, it is not a very big island! Still, the church somehow eluded us. We arrived in time for the homily. What we did hear was beautifull, with a hidden choir singing the music of heaven. When we first got there, there were two lines - one for the tourists, and one for those attending Mass. We went on the latter path, and was grateful that the many tourists walking around the side chapels were respectful. We sat about a third of a way back, and I was struck by two thoughts - St. Theresa had been here before, and, this is where Napoleon took his crown from the pope and placed it on his head himself. I have always found that to be the ultimate act of price. But, to think that it happened here in this ediface - fascinating! After Mass, we walked around the side chapels, too. Like many of the churches here, they had an exhibit featuring St. Therese. Cathy said, "She'd like some kind of rock star here!" I'm so glad that we made it to Lisieux. Next, we walked outside where the Monday through Saturday flower market was transformed in to the Sunday bird market. There were hundreds of birds in cages, varities of seed, accessories, etc. It seemed so out of place, and was yet quite charming. What was surprising was that nearly everyone buying birds and selling them were men. I don't know why. Clearly in an animal mood, we walked over the bridge on the Siene to the area just before the Louvre, where our cousin, Audrey, had told us that there was a street of puppy stores. We didn't expect them to be open on a Sunday, but the were, and we oooh-ed and ahhh-ed and sounded generally silly as we enjoyed the adorable faces. A few other stores were open, including one where we each bought the most lovely violet perfume. I would not have thought that would be my scent, but it was so nice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a church with magnificent flying buttresses. Cathy said that it was St. Eustache, which I had read has the largest pipe organ in all of Europe. We headed there after a maze of construction. It was quite beautiful, but I do think that my head is now blending in one church after another. (Except for Sainte Chapelle. It could never, ever be mistaken for anything else.) Hungry, we looked around for a cafe, and sate down at one before realizing that it was Thai food. But, we were already committed. I was disappointed not to be having another baguette, but this turned out to be our BEST MEAL IN PARIS. We each had a salad as an appetizer - it was a carved-out orange with chunks of orange and grapefruit, with red onions and scallions in a citrus dressing, and topped with shrimp. It was AMAZING!!! We remembered that we were in the general vicinity of a famous kitchen store that Julia Child used to shop in. I googlemapped it, and found that it was only two doors down from where we already were! Unfortunately, it was already closed, and the silver shades were drawn, so we couldn't even peek in. We took two subway rides to something we had both put high on our lists - the sewer tour. It is not far from the Eiffel Tower, but was closed when we went to the towr the other day. The guidebook said that it would take about 30 minutes to go through it, but I'm sure that we did it in less. As one might imagine, it was quite smelly. I breathed through my mouth the whole time. It was a fascinating and disgusting look at what goes on underneath the beautiful city. We were drawn to it because the books said that it is a "must do" for fans of "Les Miserables" since the character Jean Valjean carries Marius through the sewers in order to rescue him from the barricades. All I can say is, "Bravo, Jean Valjean". With the dark and the stink, I'm not sure that I could have done the same thing. Scary! Huffing and puffing for fresh air when we arrived above ground, we were nonetheless thrilled to have done this trip. On the way back to the metro, we saw the tunnel where Princess Diana died. The wall nearby has some notes written in black marker by people who left messages for her. But, very sadly, there is no memorial and no official mention of it that we could see anywhere. It brought me bac to that day years ago, and I got tears in my eyes. Next, we wanted to conquer the Montmartre area, to include Sacre Coeur, the magnificent white church that can be seen from nearly anywhere in the city. By this time, I'd had enough of stairs, and my left Achilles heel was vibrating as if it would rupture on me. So, I opted for the funicular that takes you to the top, and it was a good choice. The steps were impossibly crowded, the only time we'd seen that many people together in Paris. We heard organ music and singing, and walked in to some kind of service (not Mass) with a choir of nuns singing. It was beautiful! That was my favorite thing, though. As remarkable as the church was, they were again starting to blend in. We walked through the San Francisco-like hills and streets of Montmartre, stopping in a jewelry shop that Cathy had found the other day. I bought myself an antique silver and lapis pendant as a momento. Two turns later, and we were suddenly in front of the famed Moulin Rouge. I love the movie of the same title, so I had wanted to see the outside of it. It was quite small, though, and I can only assume that the inside is more impressive, because the outside was only distinguished by the large red windmill on its roof. The walk to the subway had us strolling by a sex shop district. I saw things in shop windows that I would prefer to purge from my mind, and for once, I welomed the long subway stairs. We grabbed a baguette (ham, cheese, and butter this time), a tart for breakfast, and came home early to start packing. We have one more full day before we leave first thing Tuesday morning, and didn't want to spend it figuring out the luggage situation. Next stop (tomorrow), Place Des Vosges and Pere Lachaise Cemetary.

Paris - Day 5

Ok. I'm just going to say it. These Parisians love their stairs. Or, maybe it's not that they love their stairs, but they love their monuments too much to desecrate them by adding any modern conveniences like, say, elevators. You want to see the top of the Arc de Triomphe? That will be 270 stairs. You want to see the bell tower at Notre Dame? That will be 348 stairs. At the cafes - where are your restrooms? They are downSTAIRS. Or, at Starbucks, they are upstairs. Or, at the Pantheon, they are downstairs, but then you have to walk through a hallway and up another set of stairs until you come to them. So, basically, the bathrooms are on the same level that you started, but you have to take some stairs down and up to reach them. And, at Cite Metro stop, there are five HUGE flights of stairs to take before you reach fresh air. So, NOW I understand why French women are so skinny. And, the only other thing I can say is that if I don't have swimsuit-ready legs when I get home, I will feel cheated. Here's another random take on Paris. Everyone here must be very prone to heart attacks, because there are defibulators EVERYWHERE! Could it be all the butter they use in their cooking? I learned at the class last night that French butter even has more butter in it than the American version. Yet, the women are skinny. Did I already mention that? And, in all their goddessness, how on earth can they walk in heels on all of these cobblestone streets? But despite what might literally be two thousand sets of stairs, we are having a great time. Today was the last day we could use our Museum Pass. As a side note, if you are planning a trip to Paris, this is HIGHLY recommended. We have whizzed past lines and paid a fraction of what each individual ticket would have cost. I feel like a VIP floating past sweat=soaked tourists complaining that not enough stuff is in English (hello...you're in FRANCE!), and saying "Bonjour to the smiling ticket attendant.) And, since I'm in the mood for tangents, let me just say that almost without exception, the Parisians have been VERY kind, quite polite, and quick to help with directions or take a picture of us if we ask. If they have a reputation for being snooty (although we haven't seen it yet), perhaps it is because they live in a city parallel to none with a rich and jaw-dropping history and their regular street sandwich is better than anything you've ever tasted. Maybe they have something to feel a bit boastful about. Still, we have met with nothing but very nice people. Back to what I was saying. We started the day at Sainte Chapelle, which is located just a few blocks from Notre Dame. I knew it was going to be beautiful. I knew that it had four walls of floor-to-ceiling stained glass, mostly in blue hues. But I did not know that it would take my breath away so completely. That it would become the most beautiful room, the most beautiful church I had ever seen. And, it should be. It was built by King Louis IX to house the Crown of Thorns. It if was possible for a human endeavor to be worthy of that, it would be Sainte Chapelle. Even the small church underneath was stunning. (But, of course, you had to go up a flight of spiral STAIRS to get to the upper church. Nearby, we used our pass to get in to La Conciergerie. I expected this to be a quick passthrough. See Marie Antoinette's cell and be out. But, it was quite more than we thought it would be. It had many roles over hundreds of years, but one of the most recent was the prison that held monarchists before they would be beheaded. Apparently, conditions were so bad and sanitization being so poor that it's a wonder that people didn't die bfore their execution dates. Having said that, if I ever had to be imprisioned, it sure is a beautiful place to do to. We did see the cell where the queen spent the last 76 days of her life. After that, we grabbed a panini and sat in front of Notre Dame. We got a kick out of the open-air double decker tour busses where the tourists snap quick pictures of the outside of the church before the light turns green. They pidgeons hung around and go the last few bites of my Nutella beignets. Our pass allowed for a stop undernearth the church to the architectural crypt. It was room after room of ruins - the foundation of the old Paris from as far back as 300BC. And, since we couldn't get enough of ruins, we headed to the Cluny Museum, which was high on my list of priorities. Housed in an ancient Roman bathhouse, it is now the keeper of the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries. And, what was a surprise is that it also holds a vast and impressive collectino of medieval art. Statue upno statue, column upon column, monstrance after monstrance. Our favorite room was the frigidarium, so perfectly protected. And, for the second time today, my breath was taken away. This time by the tapestries. They are in a small, round room, and they are displayed to surround you. I like to make tapestry pillows on the side, but not only were these massive, they were stitched with the tiniest stitches that I have ever seen. They were avsolutely magnificent. All that medieval history made our heads spin, so we walked a few blocks more to the Luxembourg Gardens. Commissioned by Marie d'Medici (and on whose grounds she built a palace), and designed by the same man who created the gardens at Versailles, these grounds were the most beautiful that I had ever seen. This was truly a Parisian park, as we saw mostly locals. We found these terrific metal chairs that lean halfway back so that you're partially reclining. We found two more chairs for our feet, and promptly fell asleep. As my husband will tell you, I do not nap, but I napped at the Luxembourg Gardens. A deep, well-needed sleep. And, I woke up to a vew of the Eiffel Tower. Not a bad day! A walk took us along the Rue Ferou, where Hemingway lived at #6, and a longer walk took us to the Pantheon. (With a stop for gelato along the way.) The Pantheon is yet another gorgeous church, and it reminded me of St. Peter's. It was built in honor of St. Genevieve, who convered King Clovis to Catholicism in the 6th century, and therefore, all of France. However, the revolutionaries took it over for secular use. (And, by the way, publically burned her remains. All that is left is a small relic housed in the church of St. Etienne next door. (We went to St. Etienne, which has a beautiful double marble staircase, and which was the church that started the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. Anyway, the crypt of the Pantheon had a solemn feel to it. We walked immediately to the tombs of a coule of our literary heroes - Alexander Dumas (The Count of Monte Cristo) and Victor Hugo (Les Miserables), both of which we have read and loved. They are buried just feet from each other. Pierre and Marie Curie are also buried here. This was the best night in our schedule to see the light of Paris, but considering that it doesn't get dark until almost 11pm, we had a long time to wait. So, we found a good cafe at the monument to Saint Michele, and parked ourselves there for hours, with the help of some ham crepes, cheese tray, red wine, and hot tea. By this time, it was freezeing. I hadn't brought a jacket because it wasn't supposed to be cold in the forecast. I nearly asked the man sitting near me for his, seeing as he was only fashionably wearing it on his shoulders. By 11:25, we decided to wait around for the sparkly, hourly display that makes the Eiffel Tower look as if it's ocvered in animated diamonds. I got a cell phone video, but it really doesn't do it justice. Also while we were out, we put a padlock on the Pont des Arts, and old tradition. After affixing it to the bridge, you throw the key in the river. Cleverly (I thought), I slipped the key through the bottom slots of the bridge. We didnt' hear it's little plink in the water, but we heart the sound of metal hitting stone, and realized that I had thrown it on to one of the base supports. I didn't plan on retriving it, and if anyone is particularly interested, you can get the key and try your luck at opening thousands of thousands of padlocks until you find the one that the key opens And with that, I can barely keep my eyes open. Thanks for reading!

Paris - Day 4

There are certain things that make you know you're in Europe. When I arrived on Tuesday morning, it was all a bit surreal, but then that unmistakable sound touched my ears that let me know exactly where I was - that distinct siren of a police car or ambulance - that two notes back and forth and a particular pitch, and whose pitch changes and lowers as they get further away. Another thing that is distinctly Europe are the cobblestone streets and sidewalk. Absolutely charming to look at. Absolutely killer to walk on! Then, there are the buildings and the churches. We were walking along the Rue Francois Miron this evening, and came upon two houses, side by side, that had been there since the 13th century. Or the gorgeous St. Gervais-et-St.-Protais church that we found - from 1494! Seriously, folks. Columbus had just discovered America, and already, Paris was already a thriving country, and already had an ancient history. (In fact, the original church built on that site was from the 4th century!!!) A sign that you are in a European museum is that you are walking among masterpieces, and they start to become white noise. And, even more, the museum is almost more beautiful than its art! Take the Louvre, for example. We visited it today, and although we stayed on just ONE FLOOR of ONE WING, I saw more famous works of art than I ever had. Fra Angelico! Da Vinci! Raphael! Monet! Van Gogh! It goes on and on and on. Of course, we made the requisite visit to the Mona Lisa, which is smaller than you can imagine, but truly eerie in her ability to follow you with her eyes. We saw the sculpture "Winged Victory", from BC 190, and the Coronation of the Empress Josephnie. (A favorite of mine since I love reading about Napolean.) Afterwards, we crossed the Siene River to see the Musee d'Orsay. It is an old train station that has been repurposed to house impressionist art. I had not put it high on my list of things to do, but it was important to Cathy, and I'm glad that it was. It was truly stunning, and I saw some terric art by Money, Pissaro, Degas, Renoir, etc. My favorite part of the museum were two giantic clocks that face the outside. If you looked out of them, you saw the most beautiful views of Paris. Next, we went over to the Musee Rodin, which was a beautiful estate that was actually the sculptor's home. "The Thinker" was outside, along with many other beautiful works, and "The Kiss" was inside. The manor house itself was reason enough to go in. Before it was his home, it was a convent school for aristocratic girls. Next, we went next door to Les Invalides, which was the French version of a VA hospital. Yes, they did it as the French did, charm and opulence all rolled in to one. While it is still a working hospital, much of it has been turned in to a military museum. But, that's not why we went. The magnificent (I mean, rivals St. Peter's in Rome magnificent) dome inside the church towers over the tomb of Napoleon Bonapart himself. His coffin was ENORMOUS, and I mean ENORMOUS. Much too much for a man of his small stature. (I know what you're thinking, and we thought it, too...) However, given my love for all things Bonapart, it has been one my list of things I wanted to see for almost twenty years. I was not disappointed. Now, why were we doing so many museums today? We bought a two-day museum pass, which is terrific. Not only do you save a lot of money on entrance fees, but you get to go in a special line that gets you to the front. Tomorrow, our pass will expire, so we will hit the ground running then. But wait! (As they say on infomercials.) We walked from there to the Eiffel tower. We found a fruit stand along the way, so I bought plums and clementines, and sat on the grass for a mini-picnic. It started to drizzle about 15 minutes after we got there, so we headed out. Cathy insisted that I needed to do more than just see it - I had to see it from the top! So, we made our way to the tunnel that takes you under the street. Unless you have a deathwish, that is the way to go. We started up a spiral staircase before I knew what we were doing. And, 270 steps later, it did, indeed have a beautiful feel to it. Where to go from there, but the Champs Elyssses? We strolled down that one, taking in the outrageouly sales gimmmmcks. We turned right on George V, and decided that it was time for a much needed break. Cathy offered to buy me a drink, adn they gave us great eating with a door to the outside. The experience (especially the bathroom, after using one of those holes-in-the-floor set ups. Let's wrap up George V with this parting note: the club sandwich was on the menu for $75!!! That's 94 in dollar. For a sandwich. For a SANDWIGH!!! Needless to say, we didn't eat there anyway, because we had plans. Our plan was booked several months ago, and good thing, because they sell out quickly. We reserved spots at a French cooking school called La Cuisine. They specialize in teaching English speakers how to cook. There were eight other people in our group, mostly from Canerra, Australia. Our instructor was excellent - and, he was from Nacogdoches, TX! You would never know it, though. After high school, he spent a few year in Romania, and then moved to Paris, where he met his wife. He's worked at some prestigious places. The French say he sounds Romanian, the Romanians say he sounds French, and there was no trace of a Texas accent, other than a "y'all" dropped here and there. He looked all of twelve. Well, almost. But, the Texas roots and youthful appearance belied the fact that he was an EXCELLENT teacher, and a great resource of food and of technique. I finally know how to properly dice an onion and how to peel garlic easily. We made stuffed quail, ratatouille, and almost apricot tarts. They were delicious! I only hope that I can replicate them at home Anyway, I'm off to bed after what I think was a very disappointing open ceremony for the Olympics. I just don't get everything that the UK did. Although, Mr. Bean was really, really funny.

Paris - Day 3 continued

I forgot to mention two noteworthy things. At a rest stop in Normandy, we encountered the lovely "toilet-is-a-hole-in-the-ground" phenominam. Lovely. We were glad to be wearing skirts. I just can't believe that those exist anymore. Second, we had dinner out tonight, and I had duck confit for the first time. Simply amazing.

Paris - Day 3

Has it only been three days? It feels like three lifetimes. We have covered so much ground. Today took us out of the city. After consulting where we wanted to go and all the ways to get there, we decided that the most efficient thing to do would be to get a driver who knew the area. We found Christian, an ex-pat from New Mexico and Hawai'i (Keihi, no less!) who has three daughters and who has liveed in Franch for quite some time now. He speclizes in driving Americans around to wherever they want to go, as he straddles both cultures. He was an excellent choice. Christian listened to our ambitious itenerary, and suggested that we start at our farthest point - Mont St. Michel, on the border of Normandy and Brittony. It was a four hour drive, and mostly unscenic, as he choice the highway in the interest of time. But, it was worth the wait. Again, words fail me at the magnitude of Mont St. Michel. If you can't picture it, I highly recommend that you google a picture. In the year 709, St. Michael the Archangel appeared to the bishop of a local town and said that he wanted a church built on this particular rock next to the water. An abbey was built there, and a town to surround and support it. The whole mount rises out of the water like something from another world. After the long, long, LONG walk to get there (this is along the path of the famed Santiago Walk), we came to a fortress-like gate. Everything was cobblestones and turrets, thatched roofs and stonework. We passed through a second gate - this one with a drawbridge. The metal gate looked as if it could impale you if it were to fall. We strolled throgh this pre-medieval village, now full of shops selling tacky trinket. We bypassed these, continually working our way up the mount. There was not one right way to go. As long as you were going up, it was the right way. Christian knew his way around, and our favorite path was through a street - yes a STREET, not an alley - that was MAYBE 24 inches wide. And, like everything else, it had a steep staircase. I only wish that I had counted the number of steps we climbed. It would both impress me with my math skills and explain why I am suddenly sporting very strong legs. After a walk through more ancient buildings and a cemetary, we reached the line to enter the abbey. It was very long, and Christian estimated that it would be at least a half hour. We decided not to wait, as there was much on our agenda to see today. He said that he had another way for us, and led us around the corner to a door that he opened. He ushered us in and said that he'd meet us down by the shops. It wasn't too long before a wave of people walked in our direction, with us going upstream, and we realized that he had let us in through the exit. By this time, we were a short way up a very narrow spiral staircase. We were set to turn around, when a lady encouraged us to move forward because we were almost there. We continued up the staircaes, up many more stairs than her reactino had prepared us for. Basically, we took the Mont. St. Michel tour in reverse. After marveling at the magnificent cloister, grand church, wheel and pulley system, and unusual windows, we arrived at the entrance and let ourselves out. Our second stop was Lisieux, the home of St. Therese the Little Flower. We saw its incredible basilica, which was only built in 1954. Yet, instead of some of the ghastly modern architecture that churches were bulding at that time, it was classic and ornate. Next, Christian drove us to Le Buistonets, which is the home thst St. Therese lived in with her father and sisters. I went there when I was four years old, and it was one of my oldest and fondest memories. We walked through her kitchen and parlor, and upstairs to her bedroom. I saw the toys that I remember so much from when I visited before. Finally, we went to the Carmel Convent where she is entombed. Our last stop was to Camembert. Even our driver had never been there. It was not near anything else. The draw was the cheese that we love so much. The town of Camembert was MAYBE a quarter of a mile long, and yet it had a city hall, church, and stained windows. We walked through the process of what it takes to make cheese, and helped ourselves to samples as we left. We were nearly the only ones there. We made lots of cheese jokes. Sadly, Giverney just could not be fit in, but I figured that since that it an easy trip from Paris by train, we might go there later in the trip, or hopefully on a future trip. Mont St. Michel, on the other hand, it just the opposite, so it was well worth going to this time. Ok, friends. Thanks for reading it. It's 2am, and I'm going to boed.

Paris - Day 2

Have you ever had someone talk something up so much, and once you saw it, your imagination had been so worked up that the reality was a let down? This was not the case with the Paris Opera Garnier. Of course, books and movies have hailed it. Of course, the longest running musical in Broadway history has made it a legend. Of course, my sister told me that I would be blown away. Guess what - I was. The Opera Garnier, known more recently as the setting for "The Phantom of the Opera" is every bit as opulent, every bit as impressive as I expected. And more. The famed marble staircase, the scene for "Masquerade" is simply stunning. Every balcony, every sculpture, every mosaic, every fixture coordinates into an overwhelming experience that could only be topped if you were actually attending a performance. We entered the opera house itself, luckily, on the one day every year that they lower the also famed chandelier and change its bulbs. We got an up close view of it, and all I can say is that Andrew Lloyd Webber and his crew just about nailed it. The ceiling was painted by Marc Chagall. Just a little bonus there. We even visited the real "Box 5", which "Phantom" fans like myself will recognize as the box that the ghost requires to be empty. Surprisingy, Cathy and I were the only ones there. I thought there would be crowds. While I would have given my right arm to travel down into the deep, deep depths that go down to the real-life lake that rests below the house, the furthest level that we could visit housed a display of costumes from operas staged in the 20th century. It amazed me that these mostly velvet costumes could A. Be worn by the singers without them dying of heat exhaustion, and B. were ornate down to the details that an audience would never see. This is the real thing. I could go on and on, but the photos that I will post when I get home will say it all for me. Needless to say, this was the #1 place to see on my agenda, and it not only met its hype, it possessed my imagination in a way that I never would have thought possible. But, there were other tasks set for the day. We walked a few blocks to the magnificent food emporium, Fauchon, where we had a private mustard tasting with flavors such as raisin, black currant, and curry. Though I could have purchased enough to fill a suicase, I settled on the black currant. We bought the requisite macroons (almond, chocolate almond, and lemon this time), and I tried an apricot that was satured with something that I can only imagine was sugar water. It had a gelatinous look and feel, and was simply marvelous. Our stomachs were rumbling, but our budget was unwilling to eat at the pricey cafe attached to it, so we found an alternative at the nearby Cafe Madeline. It overlooked a building that looked like a replica of the Acropolis in Athens. After lunch, we decided to see what it was. It turned out to be an absolutely magnificent church in honor of St. Mary Magdalene. A British choir was rehearsing for a concert tonight, so we got to witness the music of angels as well. Our metro ride took us to the next must-do of the day: The Chapelle of the Miraculous Medal on the Rue de Bac. This is where St. Catherine Laboure (the namesake of my sister) was a nun, and where Mary appeared to her in the 1800s and gave her the image of the Miraculous Medal. The relatively small church (after being at St. Madeline) was packed with pilgrims, mostly from Africa. They were finishing a Rosary in French, but we still managed to go upfront and take pictures of the exposed body of St. Louise de Marillac (founder of the Sisters of Charity) and the incorrupt body of St. Catherine. To the right of St. Catherine was the heart of St. Vincent de Paul, as well as the blue velvet chair that Mary appeared on. At the end of the Rosary, the priest began benediction. It started with the ever-familiar "Tantum Ergo". I was so proud to be Catholic at that moment. Here was a church filled with pilgrims from all over the world, but we could unite in the common Latin song. How universal our beloved chruch really is! I bought a few medals at the gift shop, as well as some lovely rosaries for my kids. I only realized when I got home that they are glow-in-the-dark rosaries, so my kids are sure to like them even better. A block and a half away on the Rue de Severen was the church of St. Vincent de Paul. Sadly, this one was entirely empty, save for one lone American pilgrim. The church was beautiful, but those are really a dime a dozen in Europe, aren't they? The wax-covered body of St. Vincent was set high above the altar, but our friend in San Antonio, Fr. Ed. Hauf, tipped me off that you can take a small staircase up to that point and be face to face with him. So we did. Most people don't know that St. Vincent is the father of modern social work, so he should be a hero not only of the Catholic world, but of the world in general. The Rue de Bac was cobblestoned, and the sidewalks were so narrow that Cathy and I had to walk one in front of the other. We somehow hit Paris at one of the two times of year that the stores are allowed to have sales, and when they have sales, they go all out. 50 and 60 percent off, easily. I bought myself a lovely platter (how am I going to carry it home?) and a mug and saucer. Every time I drink my hot chocolate from it, I will imagine I am in Paris. We headed to the nearby St. Germaine de Pres neighborhood, which was row after row of the French architecture style that I have fallen in love with. Cathy took me to a crepe vendor that she likes, and I had the freshest crepe (drizzled with sugar and Grand Marnier!) that is possible to have. It was a little piece of Heaven! Which, speaking of Heaven, was followed by a visit to the church next door, the 16th century St. Germaine. Again, beautiful. Some street vendors were outside. I bought a little jewelry, but the real find was handmade soap from Marsailles. I pay a good $6 a bar for a quality bar of French soap at home. It was half the price here. I really loaded up, as did Cathy. And, after I walked away, I decided I needed ten more bars. As I bought those, the lady (who had made them herself) said, "And I will see you in another two minutes?" How I wish! But, we were quite laden with what we had purchased already, and couldn't imagine carrying any more. We did meet a vendor (and old man named Pierre) who befriended Cathy when he found out that she was from New York. He was so kind to us. And, I will say, while I am on the subject, that the Parisians have been QUITE friendly to us, and have, so far, not deserved an ounce of the reputation that they have. (Although one was so friendly that he rubbed up against my sister inappropriately on the subway. It wasn't THAT crowded!) But, that's beside the point. The Parisians have been absolutely lovely. Another stop in the area was to San Sulpice, recently of "Da Vinci Code" fame. I have neither read the book nor seen the movie, but it was yet another gorgeous church. The first side altar was to the Shroud of Turin, so I lit a candle for my parents and those in San Antonio who are bringing the Shroud exhibit to the Alamo City permanently. We wussed out (hey, we've been walking A LOT), and took the subway home. We decided we needed a good meal, and chose a couscous restaurant the the guide books recommended, Chez Omar. Besides the fact that it it only a half block away from our apartment, it was fabulous because it was delicious. From its artichoke salad to its lamb with vegatables and couscous to the bottle of French red wine that we finished in no time to its very reasonable price. Good all around. Now, at nearly 1am, we are ready to crash because we head out in to the countryside early tomorrow. I will post more adventures later!

Sorry about the spacing

Sorry about the spacing of the posts. My iPad turns it all in to one paragraph. But, please read on!

Paris - Day 1

How shall I describe today? Shall I say that Paris absolutely lives up to its reputation as the most beautiful city in the world? Shall I say that the first time I saw a T-Rex in a museum I thought he was smallish, but that the grandeur of Notre Dame left me without words? Yes and yes. It is 10:30 in the evening, and the sky is not yet pitch black. It feels like much earlier, not only because I am jet lagged, but because the sun sticks around to kiss this city for as long as it can before retiring to other places. We have enjoyed a dinner at home of Fromage de Chevre, a quiche, and a glass of Bordeaux. All for the grand total of 8.5 Euro. The food, which is a luxury at home, is a staple here, a local product, and the prices are more than reasonable. I also picked up a chocolate eclaire for dessert, despite having two macroons and a gelato earlier. But then, our apartment is a seventh-floor walk-up and we racked up at least six miles in the heat. I'd say we earned it. After a brief nap, Cathy wisked me off for a walk through our Marais neighborhood in 3rd Arrondissement. Our walk took us to the edge of the Siene River with a view of Notre Dame right across the bridge. Stunning! But, that site was for later. We walked along the side of the river, on the Quais that change names every few blocks. Halfway in, I really felt a sense of Paris when I saw the top third of the Eiffel Tower off in the distance. The heat was in the 80s, much less than Texas, but when you are walking in it and have no air conditioning, it seems hotter. We took frequent breaks, our favorites being outside the Louve. We found an old covered walkway that was probably designed for horse carriages. We wedged ourselves between two cold, marble columns and absorbed its cool comfort for about half an hour. When we got up, we walked in to the back courtyard of the museum, and its architecture took my breath away. Cathy said that I hadn't seen anything yet. We walked through one more covered walkway, and entered the main plaza there I.M. Pei's glass pyramid stands in modern contrast to the exquisite palace that surrounds it. Words fail me, as it was beautiful beyond belief. The care which is given to the statues and the decorations is unparalleled. And that is without having even gone inside to see some of the world's great art treasures! That will be for later in the week. We went over a block to where the guide book said that you could find restrooms, and you could - at a price of .80 Euros. I had heard of it before, but not seen it - the concept of paying for public restrooms. I wonder - where do the homeless go for this essential function? Next to the restroom was a McDonald's, so I bought a bottle of water and a pistacio macroon. It felt wrong on so many levels to buy anything from a McDonald's in Paris, but it was convenient. We crossed the street to the Tuilleries Garden, and then over to the other side of the Siene. Our GPS couldn't keep up with the narrow, cobblestone streets, but after a few circles, we found ourselves at Shakespeare and Company, the famed English bookstore that lets aspiring authors sleep upstairs as they try to make their way in Paris. A few such students were upstairs lounging, one playing an old piano. It was the kind of bookstore that is narrow and cramped, with every possible space taken up by books, old and new. Pure Heaven! Across the Street, we found a church from the 13th century - St. Julian's. We couldn't help buy marvel at its age and wonder about its stories. A few more steps took us back to Notre Dame. The line was still long, so we have decided to wait on the inside for Mass on Sunday. But, a walk around its perimeter is equally impressive, as the carvings, gargoyles, and flying buttresses are more impressive with each step. On the North side of Notre Dame, I had read about a medieval village, home to the famed lovers, Heloise and Abelard. If you don't know their star-crossed story, I suggest you look it up. It involves a convent, a castration, a revenge-bound uncle. It's a true story. Heloise and Abelard are buried in the Pere Lachaise cemetary, so we hope to find them later in the week. We did find the uncle's house on the Rue Chanoinesse and Heloise's home on the Quai aux Fleurs. The streets were utterly deserted, and they had not been found by the tourists. We felt so exclusive. We found a restaurant along the way that had been in business since 1594! Must be good. (And expensive!) We left that island for Ill St. Louis for a gelato, and worked our way back to the Marais. We walked past the GHASTLY Pompedou building, so out of place among such charming buildings, to the Rue de Montmorency to find the home of Nicholas Flamel. Harry Potter fans will recognize him as one of the owners of the Sorcerer's Stone, but he was a real alchemist in the 15th century. The first floor of his home looked like something from Diagon Alley, but the upper stories were modernized. And, by modernized, I mean that they were probably 300 years old. Our weary bones stopped by the grocery store for some necessities (milk and PINK toilet paper), and after seven flights of stairs, our little apartment (the size of my bathroom at home) never looked so good.

Houston Airport - Part 1

In full disclosure, I don't know if there will be a Part 2. But, I landed only a half hour ago in Houston, and have have a full five hours to observe, write, and read before boarding the plane that will take me over the pond. And, I downloaded eight rental movies on the iPad so that I would be prepared for whatever flick the mood is oriented towards. So, a few thoughts. 1. It took all my strength not to cry when I left the house this morning. Am I excited? You bet! But my Five Favorite People are my constant traveling companions. It was strange to have only one suitcase at the front door. Vincent will not be there every day to tell me that I am beautiful and fabulous. 2. Well, the TSA guy did tell me that I looked "gorgeous" this morning, but he didn't have Vincent's cute chin dimple or Rob's sincerity. He may also need to visit the eye doctor, because other than my newly shellaced nails, the proud trophy of fighting the biting habit, I look like I haven't slept much and could use a hairbrush. 3. The two ladies at the United Counter were running through a list of things to see in Paris, as one of them is going next month. They were extra nice to me when they looked at my reservation and saw where I was going. I tried to milk it for a seat upgrade to business class, but they didn't have the authority to do that. 4. I got to my gate just as they were boarding for an earlier flight to Houston. I saw that it was a 737, which Rob - with an airline industry background - finds to be much safer than the express jet that I was due to take. I asked if I could take that one instead, so they switched me out, and off we went. Middle seat and all. Momentary terror filled me as I realized that I hadn't asked WHICH Houston airport it was going to. But, here I am, and all is well. 5. The first announcement from the loudspeaker was a call to board the flight for Roatan. I thought, "Toto, we're not in San Antonio anymore." Despite being the 7th largest city in the country, we are sometimes treated like a stepchild or an afterthought, and I think Mexico is the only country that makes us an "international" airport. The departure boards in Houston rivaled the tv section of a Best Buy, with flights ranging from Alburqueque to Zihuatanego. (A google maps search produced no search results when I looked that one up, yet it's large enough to have a flight that goes there. So, any enlightenment on where in the heck it is would be welcomed.) 6. My declaration to Toto was underscored by seeing a woman who looked like she had just emerged from farm work in rural Peru. Wouldn't I just love to know the story of every person here, where they are going, and why. 7. There was a neon directory and map for the airport, outlining where all of the shopping and dining is. Just like a mall. 8. I have found a coveted spot at one of the few outlet stations in this terminal. I dare not find something to eat or go to the restroom for fear of losing it. I see all of the people crowding around to get their fix from the two rectangular dark holes that feed our need for power. I am, sadly, one of them. I realized that my carry-on suitcase is literally heavier than my large purse, the latter being stuffed with every electronic device that I will need for this trip, plus two backup chargers. I did pack two of those things made of paper, with two covers, and words written on them. I think they're called books. But, I can't get their text to enlarge or the margins to backlight. Maybe they need a battery. Lest you laugh at my observations, thinking me to be pitifully childlike in my thoughts here, please know that this is not because I don't travel. Quite the opposite. But, when you are used to shuttling four people shorter than yourself from gate to gate, pausing only to find a restroom or pull them away from a Hello Kitty display, or making sure that your Toddler Who Refuses a Stroller isn't more than a foot away from your obsessive glare, an airport becomes a Wonder. A Gateway to the unknown. It is a mystical and marvelous place.

Getting Ready

Here it is.  One week away.  Plus a day, but who's counting?  (Un, deax, trois...)

I haven't been overseas in fifteen years.  The last time was to Turkey, on my honeymoon, where love and minerets filled the air.  

Before that, Rome, where Rob and I tried to find a church that would let us plan a wedding, and where Italian red tape was more plentiful than its pasta.

Before that was Egypt, pre-Rob, where my mother was offered one hundred live camels in exchange for my hand in marriage.  Post-Rob, I'm happy that she declined. 

Now I travel alone, my husband of a decade and a half heroically staying behind with our four children and our active business.

Well, alone only in the sense that I don't know who my seatmate will be for the ten hour flight from Houston, whether he/she will be old/young/friendly/smelly/loquacious/obnoxious/compatible.  It's funny to think that you can spend half a day trapped within an inch of a total stranger, and what you can learn by surrepticious observation.  I'll keep you posted.  Perhaps the gods of Publishing will see fit to seat me next to a hungry Random House editor who thinks that my novel has the potential to be not only a best-seller, but a box office blockbuster.  Perhaps it will be a guy with questionable dental practices who wants to show me his award-winning toenail collection.  Oh, the mystery!

Regardless, I will already miss Rob, who starts every flight (and every day) with a Rosary, who makes me feel safe.  And Vincent, who would immediately ignore the dictate to place the tray table in an upright and locked position.  And the girls, who would have packed books and iPods and Nooks and whom I wouldn't hear a sound from except "Is it ok if we ask the flight attendant for a Coke?"

Once we have spanned the width of the vast Atlantic Ocean and started our descent over vineyards and chateaux, I will land, hopefully without turbulence, in Paris.  The most desirable city in the world.  And, on the other side of customs, my sister will be waiting for me.

This time in Paris is but a speck in the latter half of the year that will take her to four or five continents in a quest to shake the dust off of a dozen years as a New Yorker and discover who she is at 30.  She will have arrived a week before me, refreshed by the park air of Parisian gardens, plump from daily croissants.  I will give her the gift to which I have allotted precious space in the suitcase, but no spoilers.  You'll have to check back in.

But, I get ahead of myself.  I need to vacuum seal a few more meals in the freezer, although Rob has told me not to go to the trouble.  Still, I want to leave my family with  homecooked food, and already I have stockpiled spaghetti sauce, lentil chili, tomato soup with tortellini, spinach hummus, and mint chocolate chip cookies.  I need to print my flight schedule so that they can use an app to calculate my altitude, distance, speed.  Although, they will all be deep in sleep when I land, seven hours behind. 

I do not need to pack.  That has been done for three weeks already.  Lest  you think I'm crazy, I am used to packing so far an advance with six people to plan for. I have created an excel sheet that lists the names horizontally and the items vertically, using the grid to mark things off as they go in to the suitcase.  I have not forgotten one item since using this system.  Out of habit, the bags came out of the garage at the mere mention of a trip.  My clothes may be impossibly wrinkled after so long in patient storage, but I will be confident that everything I need has accompanied me.  I am proud of the fact that I am a light enough packer to go carry-on.  I cannot say the same for the return trip, laden as I hope to be with gifts and memories.  But, I have included a fold-up duffle for that contingency.

The most important accessory, undoubtly, is the right shoe.  And, after months of searching for the perfect pair that would be stylish yet comfortable, I found it at a store in New York, and bought it in two colors.  Already, I have worn them silly for work, and they have proven to be worth every penny.  I learned from Rob that good shoes are worth spending good money on.  Girls, pay attention!  Grab the man who will support your shoe habit and never, ever let go.

So, pack your virtual suitcase, send me off on a wing and a prayer, and join me as my sister and I take the City of Lights by storm!  (Which, by the way, I have packed a raincoat for.)