Sept 11, 207
Two months before our
Dover departure, I had made for myself what seemed like a fairy tale luncheon reservation at the restaurant aptly named Altitude 95, in the Eiffel Tower. In case you are not familiar with Altitude
95, it is as the name describes, 95 meters above ground level. About, what, 300 feet up? Not a problem for
this non-air traveler.I made my Sunday lunch reservation with every intention of sitting solo next to an oversized picture window gazing out over the Parisian cityscape while sipping a perfect
Sauvignon Blanc along with my 4 course prix-fixe dejeuner. Hah. I did not factor in a late arrival in Le Havre, too many people on too few buses to make the 2 hour pilgrimage into Paris nor
the crowds at the Eiffel Tower which were a result of the finish line for a major running race through the streets of Paris. Every two-way street leading to the Eiffel Tower and our drop-off point were changed to one-way streets to accommodate the runners and not the meandering of American tourists. After a one-hour delay in finding a bus parking point, it became clear that my much-anticipated 12 noon reservation was long taken by another more lucky tourist or Frenchman. Time to put Plan B into action, only there
wasn’t a Plan B. In my mind, I would have finished my Parisian repast and slipped quietly into a taxi to be taken to the Rue St. Honore, the shopping and fashion boulevard in Paris…or at least one of the fashion streets. There, I’d had plans of strolling along the street, looking into the windows of Chanel, Hermes, St. Laurent, envisioning myself in the beautiful and yet stylishly-odd fashions of the noblesse oblige. Not going to happen this trip, I reminded myself as I opened my map to chart my walk.
Setting out for a walk along the Rive Gauche (as my high school French reminded me) or the Left
Bank of the Seine to non-Francophiles, I opened my small, over-creased map and began my trek to the Louvre. Lunch, it seemed, would have to wait. The weather for mid-autumn in Paris, or anywhere for
that matter, was absolute perfection. Eighty degrees, brilliant blue sky and a slightly brisk breeze, just to
remind you that winter was not too far away. Not knowing that we’d have this warm weather, I was dressed in long pants, a layer of t-shirt and fuzzy light blue sweater and a back pack holding my too-heavy camera and squashed-up light blue (to match my sweater) flannel-lined wind breaker, and a liter of bottled water, French of course. I could have purchased a ticket for the Seine River Cruise luncheon boat, or the Bato-Bus (should be spelled “bateaux” by normal French standards) which is really a “Ho-Ho” boat (Ho-Ho is
the affectionate acronym for the Hop-On Hop-Off buses throughout Europe. But I decided that I would be more pleased with myself to be able to recall my trek to the Louvre. Walking along the Seine,
the trees losing more leaves with each gusty breeze, reminded me of and had me
humming a paraphrased version of Maurice Chevalier’s “Every Little Breeze Seems
to Whisper Louise” from Gigi to my version; “Every little tree seems to lose
all their leaves”. Funny what being in Paris can do to the mind.
Suddenly out of
nowhere, I was seeing identical bicycles with identical contraptions mounted on
the handlebars. Finally, after seeing
several dozens of these bikes all being ridden by smiling happy people en route
to somewhere, I gathered up my courage and my best high school French and said,
“Excuse moi, ou est le bicyclette rentals?” Parisians, I soon learned, were among the nicest people I met on my
vacation. Don’t believe all that
anti-French prattle spouted by homophobic Americans. I found that if you greeted someone with
courtesy in the manner which they were accustomed, you would get a like
response in kind. Everyone pointed in
the direction of the bicycle rental facilitiy, “C’est la!” they’d reply, and
remount their bicyclette and pedal off. Four miles and one hour later, I still never found the bike rental
stands so accurately pointed out to me. Actually, I did see one….but it was across the bridge and I figured,
heck, there’s bound to be one on my
side of the road. There was not. I made it, tired, hungry and roasting beyond
belief, to the famous Louvre. There, on
the rive side of the former palace, was an outdoor café. approached the hostess, and asked in my
best-ever French if there was a table for one. Non, she replied and pointed towards the line of tourists and Parisians
who were patiently waiting in the hot sun to dine at the Louvre. But, she said, there is a Carosel where I
could get lunch and it is in the
Louvre, not along the side as was this café. Of course as I always
do, I started out in the wrong direction and ended up at the turnstile,
underground, to the subway. Totally
confused, I backtracked and found my way to the entrance to the museum, was
backpack searched, scanned and xrayed and finally permitted entry to the world
famous and infamous Louvre. In search of
the Mona Lisa, I was not. I wanted lunch at the Carosel and I was going to find
it. Yes, here I was at the Louvre, and I was schlepping a plastic tray along the aluminum railing of the food court
counter. After choosing a roasted
chicken and cheese covered zucchini, a bottle of Evian and several napkins, I
grabbed up my Euros and set out yet again, to find an empty table for one. There were no screaming enfants to disturb
my meal, only museum patrons in search of a quick and somewhat inexpensive
meal. I was hungry so I quickly blocked
out the desire to dawdle and tried to overhear bits and pieces of conversational
French and finished my chicken and vegetables in no time at all. In horror, I looked
at my watch. My bus was scheduled to depart from the drop-off point at the Eiffel Tower in two and one-half hours. Since the walk over took a good hour, I was certain that the return walk would take at
least that long, considering I still hadn’t taken all the necessary photographs. Searching out the Mona Lisa
would have to wait until my next trip to Paris. It was time to leave and make my way back, without a trail of breadcrumbs to follow. Not necessary here. One only needs to glance upwards, spot the Eiffel Tower head towards the Seine and move forward. I would simply follow the river back to the bus.
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