Paris Day Three

Being Saturday today, I was a bit wary of venturing out amongst the throngs of tourists, but decided to chance it and headed off to the Arc de Triomphe and the Avenue des Champs Elysees. A lot of the metro is running again, at least the lines I needed, so I hopped on a few blocks from my apartment and ended up at the end of the Champs Elysees. I am happy to report that despite walking for miles yesterday, I have not one blister on my feet...so to everyone who helped me with my seemingly never-ending search for comfortable-but-chic walking shoes, thank you! However, I was rather achey today, especially my calves. I couldn't figure it out, wondering if I had a funny walk that really used my lower legs or something. Seriously, if I do have a funny walk, damn you all for never pointing it out. BUT once I started climbing the 264 stairs to the top of the Arc de Triomphe, my little legs promptly remembered climbing all those winding stairs to the top of Notre Dame. Ah well.

But the view from the top...it was amazing, and it was a clear blue-sky day as well. Down the other end of the Champs Elysees, you can see the modern square arch, La Defense, and the modern skyscraper office buildings surrounding it. As I took a photo of this, the American tourist next to me said to his friend, "So, is like, those buildings, are they more modern? Like, newer?" I think I was unable to keep my snarky, "Uff...Americans," under my breath, and I quickly moved away. Ah well.

After climbing down the windy stairs and getting a bit dizzy, I emerged at the base of the Arc and wandered about like a drunk for a bit then managed to find my way down the famous Champs Elysees. I stopped into Laduree, a tea shop and patisserie that I'd read about.

Oh, the choices! I didn't at all mind the long queue or the American in front of me ("Gimme a chocolate one. Yeah, that one. Oh, gimme three more.") because I could have stood in a sugar-induced visual coma for ages. In end, I chose eight delectable mini macarons and a packet of raspberry flavored hand-made marshmallows.

Then I continued my walk down the avenue, and turned off at one point when I saw some cool looking huge buildings off to my right. Turned out they were the Petit Palais and the Grand Palais, and the street led to the Pont Alexandre. That's the bridge with all the elaborate lamp posts and sculptures. Remember it from Sex and the City? How about from the Sopranos, when Carmela and Ro win the trip to Paris? Or yeah, maybe you just know it from history class or because you're a cultured person. Whatever. I am not ashamed of my pop culture heritage.


Before I'd left, my dear mum sent me a link to a Rick Steves page about tourist scams in Europe. One of the famous Paris scams is the "Gold Ring." A man tosses a gold ring in front of you, then acts like you dropped it and tries to give it back to you. I think if you take it he tries to get you to give him money or something, I'm not sure. Anyway, while I was on the bridge snapping photos, a shiny gold ring landed at my feet. Sure enough, a man approached and picked it up, and tried to hand it to me. But because I am wordly and wise and Rick Steves and my mum got my back, I was not fooled. (Besides, why would I have a gold ring? Gold is not my color. White gold, platinum, maybe. But gold? Seriously.) However, my initial reaction to his advances was my automatic reaction to annoying street people in Saudi: I shook my head and walked away, saying, "Laa laa laa, maafi!" It means "No, no, no, nothing!" So what if I came across as a loony singing American, the man promptly turned away and left me alone. I am so multilingual I can't handle myself.

After a detour on the bridge, I crossed over onto the left bank and headed down Boulevard St Germain (you know, like the music group?). I had lunch at a cafe, sitting outside and sipping red wine of course. I was treated to overhearing the conversation of a table full of English lager louts, obviously in town for the rugby. "I've only got 15 Euros left, how much beer can I buy with that? I think I'll be good and drunk after this one, but I've got to keep it going." Ah, cultural afficianados. At least I could be fairly certain they would not be following me to the Musee D'Orsay.

The Musee D'Orsay is in a renovated train station, and seeing the interior of the building was nearly worth the visit alone. I quickly discovered why I was charged a reduced ticket price, because the museum was closing early in respect for the transit strike. So I dodged the hoards of tourists, checked out some Van Gogh and Monet and Rodin, and left. But I should definitely go back.

After the museum, I strolled down Blvd St Germain and did some window shopping (as the French say, "Leches vitrines," literally, "Licking the windows,"). I had my hand on my camera the whole time, but I was frozen by the beauty of my surroundings. Everywhere i looked was postcard-perfect, I didn't know what to take a picture of, so I finally gave up and just strolled, taking it all in. I finally caught the metro back to my neighborhood, stopped in a cafe for a coffee and to enjoy my macarons, then came back to my apartment.

I believe I'll stay in tonight, as I could already hear the chants of the rugby fans oozing out bars and taverns. Anyway, I've got a big date with a bottle of wine and the rest of my macarons in my apartment.