Arc de Triomphe and the boulevard spindle

Our early-bird ambition to beat the rush to the Eiffel Tower felt strained when the actual early-birds starting chirping, and Nick seemed to have picked up a hint of my cold, so we slept in. When we got going, we decided to begin the day further west at Arc de Triomphe where the views would be nearly as good and the lines shorter. We knew the views of the twelve boulevards spoking outward and the ornate architecture would be a highlight, but we didn’t expect the main attraction to be the comical capillary-action traffic patterns, piling up and surging forth 15 lanes of traffic at each notch along the wheel in hilarious roundabout shenanigans (best captured in the video montage, previous page).

Ordering in French @ Chez Alex Brasserie

During our stroll from the Arc to the Eiffel Tower we stopped for a bite, an espresso, and a brew at a sidewalk café called “Chez Alex,” within a block of Place d’Iéna. With a little help from Nick and my Lonely Planet guide, I managed to give my whole order in French AND receive the food and drinks I thought I’d ordered. Booya! Having conquered the French language, we focused on charting out our (rapidly disappearing) afternoon plan: stroll the Siene River, catch plenty of outdoor architectural and neighborhood sights, and hit at least one major museum. More on that later…

Vacation as reconnaisance in the internet age

I snapped this shot of the monument statue in Place d’Iéna because the architectural and floral backdrop caught my eye, but this photo exemplifies how the internet (and google Street View in particular) can make the “being there” aspect of a vacation just a stepping stone to further learning and entertainment. Like a reconnaissance mission where the real indulgence and “aha!” moments come long after you’ve unpacked your bags back home. Turns out the statue is actually a sword-brandishing George Washington, and the main axis running through the roundabout is Avenue du President Wilson. As for the architectural style, it’s probably Second Empire. Also, these rows of locked bikes in front of the café are Vélib’ bikes, a borrow-a-bike grab-n-go operation (think ZipCar for bikes) that’s been taking off in Paris and is soon to be sweeping the states – possibly starting in San Francisco!

Anonymous pointy tower

We did a quick pass-thru under the Eiffel Tower (look, there it is!) before swinging northeast for a stroll along the river toward the Louvre.

Gold on the Seine

This scenic stroll along the Seine was one of the highlights of Paris – placid blue water, pristine tree-lined walking paths, and beautifully ornate statues against a backdrop of regal French architecture. As we approached the Alexander Bridge, the statues on the four surrounding pillars shifted from soft yellow to gleaming gold, radiating sunlight and then dampening as the sun poked in and out of the clouds. Maybe they were a little gaudy, but it worked for me. The Seine, it turns out, is littered with gold. Specifically, gold rings – though only visible to panhandlers with impeccable timing and ability to spot them near your feet as you walk past. Three times in the course of a 20 minute stroll we were intercepted by someone who’d just found a gold ring in our path, who themselves couldn’t keep it (because of their “religion”), but who’d gladly offer it to us… for a few euros. My Lonely Planet guide had actually forewarned of this scheme (though I could’ve sworn it was the Rome guide, not Paris) so I watched Nick’s pockets and surroundings pretty closely when the first gold-digger, a middle-aged middle-eastern woman, began her routine. The second encounter was short-lived, but the third fellow who caught us on the Alexander Bridge was persistent – even more aggressive than the Sacré Coeur bracelet posse. He eventually offered to introduce us to his “mafia” connections when we didn’t offer up a cigarette. Most of the warnings we’d heard about panhandlers were directed at Rome and southern France, but in the end Paris earned us far more unwanted attention than anywhere else we traveled.

Biggest Louvres

Given what was about to happen at the Louvre, at least we had the foresight to soil the fountain pools at Tuileries Garden on our way in… Everyone knows that scene in Pee-wee’s Big Adventure where he visits the Alamo, right? Yeah… well, Nick and I had our basement-in-the-Alamo moment when, after cracking up seeing an American-led (or was it Australian?) tourist brigade on Segues, we nonetheless followed the advice we overheard from the tour guide and sought out a secret underground Louvre side-entrance in order to beat the crowds. After being neck deep in tourists and yokels much of the day, Nick and I weren’t about to be caught in the same ticketing queues as Joe Chicago and Johnny Liverpool. My guidebook confirmed the existence of a stealth entrance by way of the Metro station, which after a bit of circling we found – closed. Hrm. Must be a weekends-only thing we thought… …until we walked straight up to the main entrance – to find it was also closed. On Tuesdays. Every Tuesday. Not that this prevented a few dozen people from milling around the entrance as if to suggest things were happening inside. Joke was on us. Nick is visibly shaken; my stock as a competent Lonely Planet guidebook user plummets.

Jardin du Forum des Halles

The realization that we wouldn’t be entering a museum in Paris sunk in slowly, sorrowfully. But the tree-lined paths and fountains in Jardin (garden) du Forum des Halles reminded us it was a-ok to be outside. A crew of old-timers playing bocce, the regally gothic Église Saint-Eustache, and a couple pints on a sunny patio at Châtelet Les Halles warmed the spirits. Still, passing the Pompidou Centre (also closed on Tuesdays, as are 80% of the museums in Paris) as we wandered east toward Pletzl threw a bit of salt in the wounds.

Pletzl

Our hosts Karin & Jeremy had recommended a couple of side streets in the nearby Jewish neighborhood of Pletzl called “Rue des Francs Bourgeois” and “Rue des Rosiers,” so we aimed there next. Pletlz is a cozy little neighborhood with a number of murals, public courtyards, outdoor paintings, and scattered monuments to Jewish victims of World War II. The engraving on the left memorializes 165 children from the neighborhood who died in Nazi concentration camps. When we rounded the corner, this guy started pitching us the “best falafel in Paris,” citing New York Times editorial write-up credentials (see kitsch-n-stub montage below). A few minutes later we circled back a second time and… he pitched it to us again. It was a tiny street, and the guy was everywhere – good bet if that you find yourself on this block, he’ll find you too.

Bastille and 11th arrondissement

Bistrot Amelot & A li Fiera We dismounted and sipped a glass of vino at Bistro Amelot, a couple blocks from our evening rendezvous at the Panic Room where Jeremy’s brother’s band would be playing. Jeremy & Karin met us at the Bistro before we wandered a few blocks to dinner at A li Fiera, a restaurant less memorable for the food or wine than for the waiter responding to my being an American by saying “well, nobody’s perfect!” Panic Room The Panic Room was a good time, especially considering it was only a Tuesday night. Several of Jeremy and Karin’s friends were there and Nick had a chance to experiment with his French, but everyone was friendly enough to adjust to English when I was in the huddle. I got a kick out of Jeremy’s brother’s band, F.hiro. There were only two guys performing but I think they might’ve played about 8 instruments between the two of them, from drums to laptops to toy xylophones to keyboards to guitars etc. Bastille Square Being a Tuesday night, everyone parted for home after the show, leaving only the vacationers to blaze onward to Bastille Square a couple Metro stops away. Nick and I slipped into a sidewalk table at “Salon” café and sat there people-watching, dumbfounded at how many folks were out late on a school night and simmering with jealousy over the warm late-evening temperatures. We hit a second bar, then made a not-in-time effort to grab a late-night Kebab, which led to a not-in-time effort to grab a last connecting train home, which led to a fair piece of extra strolling through the Latin Quarter to get home… but when it's 75 degrees at 2 AM in a gorgeous international city who can really complain about a little extra walking.

Paris kitsch-n-stub montage

Full Paris photosets: Andy’s (flickr) | Nick’s (SimpleViewer)

Pages: 1 2