Perfectly Timed

For the first time so far this trip I had nothing reserved or booked for the morning, allowing me to sleep an extra hour and have a more leisurely start to the day. With only two days left here I sat down with my little spreadsheet of things to do ideas that I had put together before, and throughout, the trip and started ticking them off. What had I done. What was still on the list. And what were my priorities. Then it was to pull up my good friend Google Maps to plot everything, see how long it took to get between areas, and figure out a plan. I did have two appointments today for which I needed to be mindful of my time; a macaron class at 1:30pm and a COVID test at 6:30pm. With that in mind I mapped out my day and realized that I was going to actually be ok and get to pretty much everything I had wanted before the end of my trip!

After trying on every pair of shoes I brought and all sorts of bandaid combinations to figure out which hurt my poor blistered feet the least, I was out the door. I would be walking slower today and that was ok. First stop, Montmarte neighborhood to see the Moulin Rouge, Dali Paris, and Sacre-Coeur. It took me three Metro transfers to get there and I did it, almost flawlessly, only once merely messing up when I realized I was on the wrong side of the platform. But I realized my mistake, scurried back down and back up the stairs on the other side and I was in business. The Metro dropped me off right outside of Moulin Rouge and as I ascended from the underbelly of Paris I was, well, unimpressed. Super unimpressed. It just looked like a regular theater with a windmill on top. I had expected some whimsical facade but nope.

However, there was a Starbucks across the street and an iced tea sounded good so that helped me feel better. And they had a bathroom which is always an exciting find. I sat down with my iced tea to figure out the route to Dali Paris, I really am a Dali fan, but alas, they don’t even open until 1pm. So that wasn’t going to happen. Ok then, off to see Sacre-Coeur, the basilica at the highest point in Paris. I don’t know why I didn’t think about the fact that this meant it would be an uphill adventure and I was more surprised than I should have been when the streets became hilly and steep staircases appeared in my way.

The moment I stepped off the last steep step, boom, scammers galore! I had barely made it five feet before two women rushed up asking me to sign a petition to help the prostitutes. I had been warned about this scam from friends and then subsequently read up on popular scams in Paris before my trip so I was prepared. Their play was to get people to sign a petition and while you were busy doing so the other would steal whatever they could reach off of you. They were EVERYWHERE up there! No less than seven or eight approached me in the ten minutes I was there. I got smart quick though, their opening line was “You speak English?” I would just look confused, shake my head, and keep on moving. Other scammers were selling little string bracelets to ignorant souls. They would ask “where are you from” and if you weren’t from the EU, they’d give you fake change instead of real Euros. Even I could easily tell they were basically handing out Monopoly money. This was the most touristy I’ve felt the entire trip and I was glad I had skipped the Eiffel Tower. I like to travel with a cross-body style purse so it’s not easy for someone to grab off of me but even still I held it against the front of my body with my hand the entire time I was there. Any time I’d stop to take a picture or to look up directions to my next stop I’d make sure I was standing against a wall of some sort so nobody could come up behind me. Sacre-Coeur was fine, the view was just a view of a big city and it’s not like I’m a stranger to big cities so I was perhaps less impressed than others would be. The basilica itself was impressive and beautiful with its carousel at the base but the sea of tourists and scammers really detracted from the ambience.

Leaving Sacre-Coeur I was right on time to make it to the next stop on my agenda, lunch at Candelaria, the first taqueria in Paris! Both my Paris foodie contact and a friend back home had recommended Candelaria so it had high priority on my list. In the Marais neighborhood, it is tucked away on a quiet side street. A group of selfish backpackers who weren’t even eating there but had gotten food at the restaurant next door was not just using their dining space and taking up four seats, but also six others with all their crap that they had piled in to the small area. I hate people sometimes. With their indoor dining space closed these four people were taking up over half the available seating. Seeing me looking for a place to sit the mistress of the taqueria asked if they would move their bags and thankfully they were done anyways and left. My chips and guacamole and tacos al pastor (with pineapple!) were delicious and my elote was fine. I’ve had much bettrer elote but I also live in California!

I wasn’t just right on time with my day’s agenda so far, I was actually running early! I was less than half a mile from my 1:30 macaron class and had half an hour to kill. I figured I could just wander the streets a little, surely some shops or something would catch my eye and steal some time. Lo and behold, it was mostly restaurants and the hot sun was BLAZING. I stopped to admire a beautiful building and found that it was the Musee des Arts et Metiers. I wasn’t even sure what that meant but it was included with my Paris museum pass, was one of the few that didn’t require a reservation, and would be an escape from the sun. Surely I could kill 25 minutes there.

Fun fact, “arts et metiers” translated to “arts and crafts” in my little app but apparently by crafts here it would have meant scientific instruments. With few exceptions the descriptions were strictly in French. I mean, I am in France so it’s not like I found that off-putting, but for the most part I had no idea what I was looking at. I could tell that the displays included the history of telling time and molecular studies. But then I turned the corner into the next room and it was displays of glass vases. Followed by space exploration and then food packaging. What the hell was this place? I’m still not sure but the eclectic mix of random stuff served it’s purpose of keeping me occupied and out of the sun for 20 minutes.

Back in the wine cave of Chef Jean-Yves, and thanks to COVID and the lack of tourists, I had a private class on how to make the perfect macaron. This was not a hands-on event but more of a sit there, drink a glass of champagne, and take notes on how he made macarons in front of me. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem that difficult. While he went through the entire process of making the macaron itself, he didn’t spend any time at all explaining how he made the accompaniments that would adorn the plate with the delicate pastry shell and cream. When I pressed for more information the responses where short and not particularly helpful. Given how much I had paid for this workshop I couldn’t help but be disappointed. At least the end product was delicious and calories don’t matter as much when you’re walking close to 30,000 steps a day. I actually felt a little bad turning the beautiful dessert into carnage as I devoured it, sitting awkwardly alone in the cave with my glass of champagne. Looking around while I ate I did a double-take at the snake filled bottles that adorned one shelf. Armed with my goody bag of extra macaron shells I was out the door at 3pm on the dot, just as my schedule for the day had indicated.

Now it was time to pay my respects to the likes of Oscar Wilde, Chopin, and Jim Morrison at the Cemeterie de Pere Lechaise. I was really looking forward to this stop as I do have an affinity for the beauty of cemeteries to begin with. And Pere Lechaise did not disappoint. I wandered in awe of the statuesque and chilling monuments to the souls laid to rest there. I only saw two sites of those passed in recent years with graves marked back to the mid-1800s. I had a special appreciation foe those whose dogs were included in their memorial.

Haunting graves had not withstood the test of time well and their headstones now stood blank, smoothed by centuries of weather I could only assume. Some were in ruins by this point, crumbling to the ground or even fallen open. Did those souls come hurling out! Did they refuse to go quietly into the night?

Taking in the crumbling old graves I couldn’t help but think, is this what happens when there’s no one left to visit? Who would visit my grave when I was gone? Not having children would there be anyone to make that trek? These reflections made me want to plan a visit to the graves of my grand-parents to clean off their headstones and pay respects; they had passed before I was even a thought.

Benches surrounded a patch of grass and garden, a place to sit and reflect. I stopped there to look at the cemetery map, quite frankly I needed to find the bathroom. An old man with wild white hair turned his attention to me from the bench where he perched. I think he might have asked if I needed directions, I’m really not sure. I used my standard apology for my lack of French and he inquired; Italian or Spanish? Literally every single person to guess my heritage this trip has asked the same when I apologize for my broken French. Nobody, not a single person, has guessed American or English speaking. He apologized when I clarified, “Je parle anglaise, je suis Americaine,” covering his mouth with his hands embarrassed. He did not speak English but some how we communicated with what little French I could speak and understand. We had a lovely little conversion, each barely understanding the other, on the beauty and peace of this mystic location and the greats laid to rest within these walls. It seemed like an interesting place for an elder gentlemen to come to relax; was he sitting here contemplating his fate and needing human connection? My own soul was fulfilled that I had taken the time to stop and connect with this kind old man and his infectious smile. I would have stayed and chatted with him longer but I really needed to pee. I think I spent close to two hours in that sacred space and I could have spent longer but I had another stop to make and a COVID test to take.

I may have take the Metro out of way and stopped at the shop where I bought my beautiful new clutch yesterday to pick up a corresponding card holder and lovely fresh-scented perfume to go with them… That may have also been part of my itinerary for the day.

Getting off the Metro back by my AirBnB I made a quick detour to l’Eclaire du Genie, supposedly the founder of eclairs in Paris. Picking up classic and yuzu meringue eclairs to go I had time to drop them off at the apartment. Arriving for my COVID test right on time at 6:30 sharp. I had timed this day perfectly.

I’ve had a couple mandated COVID tests over the last year but this was by far the most invasive; she went DEEP and long. I wanted to smack her when she kept telling me to relax my face. How the f*^# was I supposed to relax my face with that swab plunged into my brain? About 20 nerve-wracking minutes later I had my results. Negatif! I was good to come home this weekend! I’m not going to lie. Even having already had COVID after our December 2019 Southeast Asia trip and being vaccinated I was still concerned and anxious for my results. I think it’s unclear how well the vaccine protects against the Delta variant and I have been in many a packed subway this trip.

Relieved, I was ready for dinner. This evening’s street performer of choice on the bridge between Îles had quite the complex set-up, complete with water fountains. He sat on his throne reading aloud to those passing by.

Tonight would be Le Pre aux Clercs for dinner and would also be, without a doubt, the rudest service I’ve received in Paris thus far. For the first time this week a few clouds moved into the skies over Paris and some cool rain fell as I walked; it felt amazing. I was giddy over the soft drops hitting my skin as I walked to Le Pre, I’m so sick of feeling sweaty.

Straight up, my waiter was an asshole. He was rude and dismissive and forgot about me. I ordered a salad, escargot, and duck au poivre. The escargot was divine but it’s arrival, with the little tongs and fork, presented a little conundrum for me. Crap, how the hell are you actually supposed to use these tongs and eat these things? It’s been over 20 years since I last had escargot, at the Slocum house with my brother. We all know I have no shame so I pulled out my phone and the power of Google to guide me; and then happily dug in. The escargot were delicious, buttery, garlicky, little morsels of heaven.

The waiter had brought bottles of oil and vinegar to mix for my bread but, uh, there was no bread plate or anything to mix them on. I wasn’t sure what my play was supposed to be here but it didn’t matter because he took the bread basket away when he cleared my escargot and salad dishes. Rude! He’s lucky I didn’t slap his hand. I sat waiting for my entree. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting some more. I know that a meal is to be enjoyed with relaxation here so while the wait was long I figured they were just promoting the slower pace. Until my waiter came over smugly, “I forgot you had an entree.” His “sorry” that followed was quite insincere and now I was annoyed. I ordered a glass of red wine that took longer to get than my just ok duck au poivre. With my first sip I learned that my shitty waiter was also a shitty pourer. Wine was dripping down the base of my glass and was now all over my dress. And I like this dress. So now I was not just annoyed, I was pissed. Thankfully it appears that some sparkling water, immediately applied, saved it.

Staying in an AirBnB on the Île means that as long as I can find the Seine, I can easily find my way back. Tonight I took the steps down from the street level to walk along the stone river bank. The river is lined with house boats, some complete with gardens. In another I could see a large fish tank thru the window. The bright moon light made everything twinkle. Friends and couples sat along the edges drinking beer and wine. Even the rats ran across to join their mates. It was peaceful, except when the floating night clubs went passing by, and I finally felt some of the magic of Paris.