The Final Push

In my mind, today was going to be a relaxing, slow, final day in Paris. I would laze around at cafes, wander slowly, and take in the end of my Parisian excursion. But we all know that’s not me. While I already had the Musee Picasso in the morning and lunch back to L’Atelier de Joel Robuchon booked for today, by the time I went to bed last night I had already added reservations at the Catacombs and Eiffel Tower to my agenda. Yes, yes I had in fact skipped out on my Eiffel Tower reservation a couple days ago but in consulting with my bestest friend (of almost 30 years!) it was confirmed that I should rebook it if I could because that is a quintessential first trip to Paris must. The Musee would start my day in the late morning and of course I had some ideas to fill in the gaps between reservations.

I can’t recall if I had been told or had read that Musee Picasso was not that amazing but wherever I heard that information, it was true. For whatever it’s worth, I did appreciate how well laid out the Musee was; it was very linear and easy to maneuver unlike the larger Louvre and Musee D’Orsay. I had hoped that they would be reciprocating the Rodin – Picasso exhibit that I saw at Musee Rodin as that was such a highlight. In fact, they were! Except not nearly as well. Whereas Musee Rodin had such amazing side-by-side examples of the relationship between the artists, the concept was more abstract at Musee Picasso and failed to properly illustrate the intensity that existed between the two. There were few side by side comparisons and, while the descriptions on the wall clearly explained the relationship between the two artists, it wasn’t well conveyed in the exhibition.

Aside from that Rodin-Picasso special exhibit, Musee Picasso seemed to be a mix of Picasso’s works and his personal collection. It was the first time I realized how contemporary Picasso was and that he did not pass until the 1970s. I had always assumed his work was from decades much earlier. All I know for sure is that whatever drugs he was on must have been good.

And did this piece in his private collection from Gustave Ricard illustrator the first pedicure? Oh, and per usual in Paris, don’t forget to look up.

I had enjoyed a slow morning so by noon Musee Picasso was the only item I had checked off my list. And I do mean noon on the dot, with only mildly minding the clock I walked out of there at exactly my intended time to catch the Metro to lunch.

With the mastery of the Metro at your fingertips (and by that I mean on Google Maps) the world, or at least Paris, is your oyster. I would find my route and then take a screenshot of the steps so I could quickly consult during the course of my navigation without having to waste time nor phone battery pulling up Google Maps again. Even with my 50 euro fine a couple days ago for my picture snafu, my Metro pass more than paid for itself this week, and was certainly cheaper and less frustrating than if I had tried to get around with Uber. I would not have been able to cover nearly as much ground had I not gotten comfortable with it. And no, I was not being lazy, I still walked upwards of 29,000 steps each and every day. I actually found the Paris Metro system to be easier for me to navigate than the New York subway system, largely because the energy was less frenetic so I was able to remain calm consulting my directions and the signage to figure out where I needed to be. At first it was a challenge of having to constantly recheck my directions to make sure I was on the right train and going the right direction but once I figured out I could play phonetic games to help me remember it got even easier. For example, it was hard to remember “Pont de Levallois-Bécon” but easy to remember “Point Bacon.” “Porte de Clignoncourt” could easily be remembered as “Clingon” (spelled differently but in my head tied back to the Star Trek days of my childhood) and “Mairie d’Issy” could be remembered as “Sissy.” The hardest part was trying to figure out the correct exit to take at some stations, to make sure I ended up on the correct side of the street (which I only messed up once!).

My poor, tired, bandaged, feet and the Metro got me to L’Atelier right on time. I was hungry and ready for round two at this delectable eatery. Surprisingly, it was not busy but I was still glad I had made a reservation to be safe, I would have been heartbroken had I taken a chance and then not gotten in. I had the same waiter and, for lack of better term, support waiter, as my Tuesday dinner and they remembered me as I remembered them. Today I would start with The Papillote and the tartare de boeuf, and go from there! I was excited to get another taste of the amazing amuse bouche cantaloupe mint gazpacho as well! The Papillote is crispy langoustine enveloped in a light and airy tempura, sitting atop a fresh green cross-section of lettuce. And, you guessed it, the flavor was masterful. Seriously, salt has never been used with some perfect precision as here.

My tartare de boeuf was everything I had hoped and dreamed it would be. I don’t even normally eat red meat but I love a good tartare. The texture was less chunky than most preparations I’ve had and rather like a raw burger patty. The use of acid and finely diced onion perfectly balanced the sweet meat. Surprisingly, however, the accompanying frites just weren’t that good. They could have benefitted from some salt. I hated, hated, hated that I couldn’t finish my tartare. It was sooooo good but soooo rich I just couldn’t.

After consulting with my waiter on a light and clean dish to follow I settled on the sea bass ceviche, a special today. “With caviar or classique?” I knew that either would probably be amazing and god knows how much more expensive the caviar supplement would be (this was not a cheap lunch) so I opted for classique. The light and chilled bowl of ceviche was the perfect compliment to cleanse my palate after the tartare. These are not chefs in their kitchen, these are artists.

I exclaimed to my waiter how glad I was I came back for lunch, and he simply said, “You are at home.” That is a very Parisian way of thinking at a restaurant. They do not rush you out, ever, once you are there you are simply at home, encouraged to relax, live in the moment, and enjoy your space. I inquired with my waiter what his favorite dessert was. “Oh it depends on the weather!” It was warm out so he said in this weather it would be La Noix De Coco, a coconut mango meringue-type thing. Perfect, bring it on! And it was perfect. Upon arrival it appeared to be a shiny orange sphere, the inside was coconut milk, crystallized at -200° C (-328° F) under an emulsion of fresh mango, lime and blackcurrant powder. I appreciated that he not only explained the dessert, but also how to eat it; make sure to break into it down the middle so the mango oozes in. The interior texture was like a mixture of meringue and freeze dried astronaut ice cream, unlike anything I’ve ever had before. It was a perfect, light, airy, cloud of deliciousness.

Among the 22 Joel Rubichon restaurants in the world is one in Vegas and now I cannot wait to schedule a quick trip there for a date night with Brandon. Though, I am aware that Vegas restaurants do not actually ever taste as good as their original counterparts so they can better pander to a more diverse (ie: lame) set up of taste buds and that particular restaurant is not Michelin starred (while this Paris location holds two stars). Joel Rubichon himself actually passed away in 2018, having been awarded over 31 Michelin stars.

I departed my two hour lunch, again right on time, to make it to my next reservation, a visit to the Catacombs of Paris; the underground burial grounds of two million Parisians. That’s right, two MILLION. The spiral staircase (I am so sick of narrow, spiral staircases) winding 22 meters down below the streets of Paris made me dizzy, which I really did not need because this was already going to be a test for myself with my claustrophobia. I was fascinating reading the history of the underground burial grounds of so many as I made my way though the tunnels that led to the hallowed graves. “The history of the Paris Catacombs starts in the late eighteenth century, when major public health problems tied to the city’s cemeteries led to a decision to transfer their contents to an underground site.” It’s hard to describe in words the feeling of coming around the corner and face to face with skulls and bones stacked tightly on either side of a narrow hall. This was not Disneyland, these were no facades, these were real once-live human beings. Apparently when the catacombs were assembled the bones were pretty much dumped en masse with the outer edges stacked into more decorative patterns to greet those who came to pay their respects. Different sections had plaques that were installed when the bones were dumped, indicating their origin and year of placement.

It was beyond fascinating; you could see where some had died by bullets to their head, where bones had been broken. The outer layers were mostly tibias and skulls but if you looked deep past, the occasional pelvis or rib stuck out. One Brit crassly and loudly explained that they had really “Marie Kondo’d the shit” out of that place and that there should be a market for textured Catacombs wallpaper. I hung back and paid respects to the souls buried within, wondering what they would think if they had any idea so many would come to admire them and wonder about their lives. And made sure that her obnoxious and disrespectful voice was out of earshot before I continued my journey. I had almost skipped the Catacombs but am beyond glad that I booked a reservation last night and went. On the way out a guard searched everyone’s bags to make sure none of the dead were going to see the light again.

I had hoped to make it to the Grande Mosque for a cup of mint tea but it was in the opposite direction of the Eiffel Tower, where I had an upcoming reservation and the travel time would be too much to head to the Mosque and then backtrack back towards the Eiffel. Oh well, it is one of the very few items I ended up not getting to tick off my list this trip.

Instead, I would hop back on the Metro, and with three transfer, all completed successfully with ease, I would go see the Flame of Liberty. On one of the Metro stops a young man carrying some type of clarinet saxophone hybrid looking thing (I’m going to have to ask my sister what that was) got on. As the Metro doors closed he put the instrument to his lips and started to play a beautiful harmony, with background music on a little speaker. It was pretty dang awesome and I was disappointed to be getting off at the next stop.

The Flame of Liberty is not only an exact replica of the flame that our Lady Liberty holds, but also marks the spot fo the demise of Princess Diana. Yes, the flame sits squarely on top of the tunnel where Diana’s car would crash and the young Princess would die. With her being close to my own age at her passing and in so much media lately with her sons it was very chilling to be standing there, where she spoke her last words. I remembered watching her funeral on TV as a child. I had the chills.

Heading towards the Eiffel Tower I was aghast at the massively dense sea of tourists that were coming down and across the bridge beneath it as I approached. There must be something cool in the direction they were coming from or perhaps some event just ended. There were that many people. And then I looked closer. Nope, nope, nope. These were not tourists after all, this was an anti-vaccine march ending! While rules went into affect during my trip that a vaccination or negative COVID test within 24 hours was required to visit any cultural our leisure site/activity, as of August 1st these rules will expand to include restaurants and bars as well. And here are your super spreaders folks, obviously not vaccinated and sparsely masked while pushed tightly together! HELL NO! Even though I know they are more about not spreading and not about helping protect you against getting COVID (and I am vaccinated) I couldn’t help but strap my mask on, sanitize my hands, and do an about-face. I walked a solid 3/4 of a mile out of my way to not be in that sea of selfishness. It’s not about you folks. It’s about the entire world, about your family, about your friends, about your parents, about your children. In my personal opinion, not getting vaccinated is a very selfish choice and I wanted nothing to do with these people’s germs. Peace out!

Finally approaching the base of the Eiffel after my well-chosen detour, I was met by heavily armed guards watching the marchers disband and COVID rapid testing sites for those who did not realize that a COVID test or vaccine is required to enter basically anything in France right now. By the way, I love that decision. It’s great knowing that every person around me in any museum or monument is either vaccinated or has had a negative test in the last 24 hours.

I had no wait for either my COVID clearance or entrance to the Eiffel Tower, this is the beauty of monuments having limited availability and requiring advance ticket purchases. I laughed out loud looking into the clear amnesty box in the security check, here you could willingly forfeit any prohibited items before going through security. The majority of items in the box? Forks and bread knives. This felt very Parisian from what I’ve witnessed this week. The only wait I had was waiting for the single elevator up to the viewing platform to come back down.

As you would expect, the Eiffel Tower offers a 360° view of Paris. To the east the modern office buildings were a stark contrast to the beautiful old architecture that is basically every building in Paris. Those buildings felt very out of place but at least now I knew where they were, I had wondered where the business district actually was. From the second floor platform I took the long flight of stairs down to the first. I struggled with whether I should take the stairs all the way down to the ground level. My feet and knees hurt. But for crying out loud I’ve summited volcanoes, I could walk these stairs. But why? I had nobody to impress and I had my knees to save. I’ll take the lift please!

It was evening now and the rest of my plan for the day was quite simple, visit one of the best chocolatiers in Paris, the oldest patisserie, and then dinner. My feet and knees were so tired as I made the almost-mile walk to the Metro line I needed, I finally got up the courage to grab a scooter. Except my credit card was outdated in my app; and apparently I was in a zone where you can’t just leave them anywhere so who knew if there’d be a parking area by the Metro stop? So that never happened.

The beautiful architecture and ornate old buildings never ceases to amaze me as I walked the streets of Paris. At Charlie’s Chocolatier I chose a selection of dark chocolate goodies to take home. My heart skipped a beat when I thought the register was telling me I had just picked out 95 euros (almost $115 USD) worth of chocolate but quickly settled when I realized that was the weight and it was only 25 euros. I followed Charlie’s with a stop at Stohrer’s the oldest Patisserie in Paris, founded by King Louis XV’s pastry chef in 1730. I walked out of there a couple chocolate bars and an Eclair later.

I had told myself that before I left I had to eat at the little cafe on the corner of the bridge between the Île where I was staying and Notre Dame, Le Flore en Île. The place was ALWAYS packed, every time I walked by almost every table was full. It had to be good and was so close. So tonight would be the night. The air had been much cooler today with light clouds overhead and as I walked back it started to lightly rain. It was refreshing but now I wondered if my outdoor cafe experience was going to happen.

The clouds passed quickly and I was surprised to see that the little cafe was practically empty this evening. I considered going back to the apartment to drop off my sweet treats and grab a sweater before sitting to eat but it wasn’t that cold and my knees were begging me not to take that spiraling six flights of stairs any more than I needed to. This turned out to be a poor choice. Sitting on the cafe patio I was chilly while I enjoyed my escargot (not as good as last night but still pretty damn good) and freezing by the time I finished my chicken Cesar salad. I shivered as I tried to enjoy my dessert. While I ate an older couple and their two adorable mini shelties sat down at the table next to me. I was as obsessed with their cute little fluffy faces as they were with my chicken Cesar salad. I had really hoped to spend some time sitting at my little table soaking in my last bits of the trip but the cold wind and three German hipsters with their cigarettes that sat down nearby made it clear that it was in the cards. I checked the weather and sure enough, it was about 20° colder than the previous evenings. I could take a message, it was time to go back to the AirBnB and pack.