Why is it that vacations always end far too soon, whether they’re one week or one month? There’s never enough time to do everything that you intended, no matter how well you’ve planned! With that being said, yes, my week in Paris went by much more quickly than I’d anticipated.
During my time in Paris, I’d been buying carnets of 10 tickets at once for the Metro from the machines using my ATM card. On Tuesday night, my last ticket of that carnet was used going to see “How to Become Parisian in an Hour.” After dinner at Chartier, I tried to purchase another carnet from the machine, but it wouldn’t work. I wasn’t sure whether there was something wrong with my card or whether the machine simply wasn’t taking cards at the moment. While I was searching for change, a group of 6 Americans walked up to the machine. They weren’t sure how to use the machine at all, so I showed them. They tried to pay with a card as well, but it still wouldn’t work. They scrounged together enough change for all of their tickets, which the machine happily took. As I was counting my change, one of the men offered to buy the Metro ticket for me; he didn’t want to leave me stranded. I had enough change in the end, but really appreciated his offer.
I awoke to my beamed ceiling on Wednesday morning realizing that it was my last full day in Paris. What to do? What to do? Should I go see new things, revisit old things, concentrate on taking photos, do some shopping or relax? I kind of ended up doing a combination of all of them, with the exception of seeing new things.
My first stop was another branch of that shirt store. When I asked the salesman where the “fin de serie” (i.e. sale) shirts were for the women, he said that they didn’t have any; they only had “fin de serie” shirts for men. That disheartened me a bit, but I only wanted one shirt, anyway. While searching through the women’s shirts for something unique, he suddenly said to me not to look at the regular price, but to look at the sale price (for the men). I thought he’d said they didn’t have any sale shirts for women! For any of you who know me, it really doesn’t matter. When I want something, I want it; there’s no beating around the bush. I chose a lavender-ish women’s shirt with a contrasting fabric of – get this – cassettes! You know, like those old Maxell cassettes! When the salesman rang it up, he gave me the sale price. It remains a mystery as to whether he was confused, I was confused or whether he’d just decided to give me the sale price to be nice!
On my way to the Metro stop, I happened upon Mariage Freres on rue du Bourg-Tibourg. I’d been in that store back in 2006, but hadn’t been able to remember where the street was on this trip. It was kind of a stroke of luck! Mariage Freres makes the most incredible, but pricey, teas. You could spend hours in there sniffing away! The salesmen were very nice; they assured me that I could take the teas on the plane – that they didn’t have to be purchased at the airport. I decided on the “Lily Muguet” (lily-of-the-valley) green tea; they had a white one as well, but I preferred the green one. Then my dilemma was between one called “Year of the Serpent” and “Plein Lune.” “Year of the Serpent” is a green tea with anise, mint, rose and Goji berries. “Plein Lune” is a black tea with almond, honey, fruit and spices. Of course, the salesman tried to convince me to get both! I was leaning towards the “Year of the Serpent” because it was more of a special tea, not one that they usually have. “Plein Lune” is nearly always available; even the saleman said that that would be the one that could be found in the United States more easily than the other. So “Year of the Serpent” it was.
My next stop was to see L’arc de Triomphe. My last visit to the Champs-Elysees was probably in 1993; just doesn’t interest me that much. I managed to come up directly by L’arc de Triomphe, though, which was convenient to snap some photos quickly and go. I took a few photos, asked an Eastern European guy if he’d take a few of me, took a few of him and was on my way.
That brings me to another little rant of mine. Why is is that, when you’re on vacation alone, it’s so difficult to find someone that knows how to operate a camera? Everyone HAS a camera, so why can’t they operate YOURS?! Whenever people take my picture, it’s usually out of focus, too far away to even recognize it as being me or they’v managed to cut part of my head off! This time was particularly frustrating. When I was over by La Fontaine Medici, a Spanish guy said that he’d taken 5 photos of me. Since he had a nice camera, I trusted him as far as knowing how to use mine. Yet when I checked the photos after he left, there wasn’t even a single one of me! The day I went to see La Tour Eiffel, a Japanese girl supposedly took 2 photos of me. Once again, when I checked, there were NO photos! Apparently, you need to explain to everyone how to use your camera, but don’t they all basically work the same these days? Don’t you hold the button down partially to focus, then push it ALL THE WAY DOWN to take the picture?! Ok, back to our regularly scheduled programming!
After the L’arc de Triomphe, I headed to the Les Halles area. I took pictures at the Georges Pompidou Centre, which the French often call “Beauborg.” On my first visit in 1991, there used to be a mechanical clock around there that fought a rooster and various other things every 30 minutes. The clock didn’t seem to be there any more, though. Since it was lunch time, I stopped in at Le Parvis for steak frites.
Then it was off to the neighborhood of St. Germain des Pres. I’ve stayed there at the Hotel Au Manoir a couple of times, which is right next to Brasserie Lipp, as well as across the street from Cafe de Flore and Les Deux Magots. I took some photos outside and inside Saint-Sulpice, one of my favorite churches, for some reason. I recognized it immediately in “The Da Vinci Code!” Then I finally made it to Laduree for macarons. My macaron choices were rose petal, lavender, pistachio, orange flower and a new flavor, Marie Antoinette. I also spied a rose framboise (raspberry) religeuse that looked too delicious to pass up. As I was heading out, another customer mentioned that their teas were good, which jogged my memory. Not only do I like their teas, but am a little obsessed with that blue-green canister that they come in. I turned around and asked to look at two of their teas, the Cherie (chocolate, vanilla and caramel) and the Violette (violet). The Cherie appealed to me a little bit more.
By then, it was time for a shopping break at the very touristic Les Deux Magots. The staff there was EXCRUCIATINGLY nice! (Based on this trip’s experience most of all, I don’t understand how people say that French waiters and salespeople are rude in this day and age.) My choices were le chocolat a l’ancienne (i.e. hot chocolate) and gateau au chocolat (chocolate cake). The waiter smiled “It’s really time for chocolate, huh?” They were both really good; the hot chocolate was about half the price of that at Cafe Florian in Venice, too!
I wandered about a little more and found my favorite Italian restaurant (Marco Polo) and the Souleiado shop where I’d bought a shirt for Laurent. My shopping was done for the day, though, and time was of the essence. Of course, my end of shopping coincided pretty much with rush hour, so the Metro was a zoo.
Back at the apartment, I dropped off my purchases, cleaned up a bit, changed clothes and headed back out. I thought about having dinner at Pharmacie in my own arrondissement, at La Tartine in the 4th or somewhere in Le Quartier Latin. Le Quartier Latin won out because it’s more lively. The restaurant I settled on was called Le Latin Saint Jacques. I had the prix fixe menu which featured an entree (chevre roti sur salade) and a plat (poulet roquefort en papillote), along with a glass of Brouilly. I ate slowly, taking my time, although I knew that my things still had to be packed and the shuttle was scheduled to pick me up at 6:30 a.m. I decided to forego the Metro again just to take that last evening walk through Paris. It was a beautiful night, but then, it always seems like a beautiful night in Paris to me.
It never ceases to amaze me how I manage to stuff everything into my suitcase and carry-ons. When I looked at everything spread out all over the apartment, it seemed like an impossibility. As usual, I made it happen and was in bed by 12:45 a.m.
I was up at 5:00 a.m., showered, rechecked everything, emptied the trash and tried to lug my suitcase down those narrow circular stairs as quietly as possible. I was waiting by the inner door at 6:20 a.m. Super Shuttle kept calling. Even though my phone never rang, it kept showing that I’d received calls. Of course, thanks to Verizon and their wonderful international calling plan, I was unable to return any calls. Around 6:40 a.m., Super Shuttle sent me a message via Skype saying that they would be at least half an hour late. Naturally, I was unable to respond to that, either. Instead, I was opening the door every few minutes to check. Besides, it’s easy to hear if a van pulls up on that small street. By 7:30 a.m., there was no sign of a shuttle and I was beginning to panic. About that time, a Filipino woman walked in the front door and looked at the mail boxes. I’d put the apartment keys on the outside of the mail box; didn’t want to put them inside the mail box until I was sure that someone was picking me up and I wouldn’t be needing them any more. When she looked at the keys, I asked her if she worked for the woman I’d rented the apartment from, which she did. She said that she’d be upstairs if I needed anything. In the meantime, I was able to call Super Shuttle IN THE U.S.!!! I asked them if they could check what was going on with Super Shuttle in Paris and explained my situation. To make a long story short, they put me on hold for quite awhile. They were unable to reach Super Shuttle in Paris themselves, but said that, according to their records, Super Shuttle had showed up for me at 7:01 a.m., but left because I wasn’t there and they were unable to contact me. (Once again, THANKS, Verizon!) The woman was very apologetic and said that she would try to get my money refunded. Of course, by now it’s after 8:00 a.m. I ran upstairs to the apartment and asked Tess if she could call a cab for me. She called the owner who gave me numbers of cab companies; she assured me that cabs in Paris take credit cards. I thought Tess would be able to call a cab for me from her phone, but… she informed me that she couldn’t speak French! I’m okay with my French, as long as I get a live person. If I get any kind of a recording, though, I’m lost! So we called the owner back, who called a cab for me herself. I dashed downstairs to wait. The cab was there around 8:30 a.m. The cab driver spoke no English. He asked me what time my flight was. When I said that my international flight was at 10:30 a.m., he looked at his watch and exclaimed “Oh la la!” Exactly! He said that a road was closed and there were accidents. I tried to tell him that I trusted him to get me there as quickly as possible. We arrived at CDG at 9:40 a.m. He jumped out of the car, grabbed my bags, ran them over to the curb and wished me “Bonne chance!” Talk about stress! By the time I checked in, checked my suitcase, went through the passport control, went through security and RAN all the way to the gate, it was 10:30 a.m. ON THE DOT! I ran to the counter with a look of resignation and asked “Did my flight just leave?” The agent said that it was delayed, but they hadn’t yet made an announcement. I was relieved, but also kind of pissed off that they hadn’t bothered to update the monitor! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had to rush like a maniac through the airport for nothing! In the meantime, I kicked back and scarfed down a few macarons. The flight didn’t leave till 11:45 a.m.
The flight en route to Seattle wasn’t full. I was sitting on the left side in a space with two seats; me by the window, of course. The girl next to me eventually moved to the row in front of us since no one was sitting there. I ate my lunch – chicken – and settled back to watch “Pitch Perfect.” It was amusing. I was searching for another movie to watch when I suddenly had horrible stomach cramps. It was about 2 1/2 hours into the flight. That’s when I realized that it was… FOOD POISONING!!! For the next 4 hours, I pretty much occupied the back bathroom. Believe me, it wasn’t pretty. When I wasn’t being sick and crying in the bathroom, I was laid out in the middle row in the back (since they were empty) moaning and writhing, having chills and wishing that someone would put me out of my misery. The young French flight attendant said that he was sorry I wasn’t feeling well. He said that the only thing he could offer me was lemon or lime slices, as they would make my stomach feel better. The lime slices actually did offer a little bit of a relief. Even so, it was at least 4 hours of pure Hell! When it was over, I stumbled back to my seat, bundled up and fell asleep for a few hours. I woke up long enough to watch most of “Cloud Atlas” before we landed.
My cousin, Donna, and Uncle Donald were meeting me at the Seattle airport, since my layover was so long. We hadn’t seen each other since the early 90’s! I was tore up from the floor up, though, so had to completely revamp myself as much as possible in the ladies’ room. I washed my face, reapplied make-up, did my hair, changed my shirt, etc. We had a pleasant visit before my flight out at 8:50 p.m. I got back to my apartment in San Francisco after midnight.
So there you have it… Paris in a nutshell! Hope you enjoyed the journey and (lucky for you) didn’t have to go through the food poisoning ordeal personally!
(If there’s a lesson to be learned here, it’s “Do NOT rely on Verizon for international dialing that actually works!”)
