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Paris Vacation - Day 8
It's
our last full day in Paris and we had planned to take a RER train with
Michelle and Michael for a day trip to Versailles, but because we hadn't seen
any museums due to the strikes, we decided to wait and see if anything would
be open  today.
On discovering that the Louvre was open, we met Michael and Michel at the
information desk there. When we inquired, we found that the strike was still on,
but the Louvre would be open nonetheless and that because there was not staff
available, there would be no charge to enter the museum. We saw all the
biggies: the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, etc., and spent the entire morning
in rapture as we finally visited a Paris museum. We briefly stopped at the Le
Café de la Pyramide for a quick sandwich. We checked with information and
to our disappointment, the Musée D'Orsay will remain closed until
Sunday, so no Impressionists for us on this trip. Ah, well, this gives us an
excuse to return to Paris.
However, the Musée de Picasso is open and we catch the Metro as one
window closes and a magnificent door opens. I've never been one to say that
everything happens for a reason; I don't really believe that. But I
will say that, had it not been for the strike, we probably would not have
visited Musée de Picasso and our lives would have been poorer for it.
Following the arc of the career of this genius by observing  his
works in a chronological manner at this relatively small museum is something
that I will for all time treasure. Of course, we made the requisite jokes
about misplaced noses and eyes on the sides of heads, but this display makes
it easy for the lay person to see Picasso's career progression and you begin
to appreciate the monumental creative world-view  change
he made in the early 20th century and his continuing contribution throughout
his life to our understanding of art and what it means to be an artist.
The four of us later retired to a pleasurable little bistro near the museum
called L'Abarée where we enjoyed the French version of club
sandwiches. Michael enjoyed his sandwich completely l until I mentioned that
it contained Caviar. "I asked you not to tell me," he reminded me.
We split up afterward and Beth and I hit a few shops that she had found in
one of her magazines before we headed back to the Left Bank. With our last
night in Paris winding down, we decided to eat close to the hotel and dined
at Aux Charpentier. On the way, we stopped again at FUBAR for cocktails
and met a new bartender named Jane who spoke perfect California
valley-girl-English. Remarkably, we found that she is from Sweden and wants
nothing more than to move to New York. "You can't walk on the grass here
or even fire up a grill without someone coming down on  you,"
she pronounced. I was trying to imagine where she was going to outdoor and is
an 8-year escapee from Rutherford, New Jersey – an amazing coincidence.
At Aux Charpentier, after a wonderful salad that contained greens that
I didn't recognize in a garlic-heavy dressing with julienne cut beets, I
decided that I would be fearless and ordered les Andouillettes. Don't
ever do that. Out came an large innocuous looking sausage with the foulest
smell I have encountered since spending the summer slopping pigs on my
grandfather's Kentucky farm. In fact, that's exactly the smell my sense
memory brought back. After cutting into the sausage, the smell intensified to
a nauseating level. I was, however, determined and ate about three-quarters
of the sausage before quitting. I don't know what I was trying to prove, but
the reek of that food will stay with me the rest of my life. Only the
loveliest of red wines and a wonderful crème brûlée removed the stench from
my mouth. The dinner then took an even stranger twist. A couple sat down next
to us and asked if we spoke English and when we answered "Yes,"
they stated that they were looking for something Vegetarian on the menu. Beth
pointed out a lentil dish and then my ear detected in their English what I
thought to be a slight German accent. I mentioned this to Beth and she
immediately began speaking in German with them. I heard the older American
gentleman at the table on the other side of us remark, "Good Lord, now
she's speaking German!" The couple seemed very relieved and the young
lady and Beth struck up and unusual conversation in German, French and
English. As we lingered over our dessert, we noticed that the French waitress
(an older woman) seemed to be purposely ignoring the German couple and Beth
finally asked her in French to please take our friend's order, which she did
only reluctantly. It was a stark reminder that prejudices and memories of a
half-century old war still linger in Europe.
Need I add, that it rained again?
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