As usual, I’ll try to distract you from the lack of actual writing on my blog with fancy! shiny! pictures! You can see all our pictures from Montpellier (with a running commentary, of course) here. In the next few days, I’ll be trying to get up some stories from our Montpellier reunion 2008! But fortunately for me, Elizabeth is coming up for her last visit to Paris while we’re still here, so her arrival on Tuesday may mean that I need to venture back into the great outdoors, instead of putting my feet up and blogging. Isn’t life an adventure!

As usual, I’m behind with some goings-on. I’d like to share some pictures from the last days of Sarah’s visit, April 22 and 23. Fortunately I had hardly any work to do, so I got to bum around with her the entire time.

We began with the Jardin des Plantes, or Paris’ botanical gardens, which I hadn’t visited since 2001 when our tour bus dropped us off for a 15 minute look. My favorite part was the Jardin Alpin, a sunken garden with narrow paths and plantings everywhere. It was an intimate change from the well-planned and perfectly-laid gardens elsewhere in Paris. Entering the garden by passing through a tunnel added to the feeling that you’d discovered this gorgeous place.

It even had a little pond with goldfish.

Exiting the back of the Jardin des Plantes we skirted the Mosquee de Paris.

Then we wandered Rue Mouffetard, which feels medieval for its narrowness (and pedestrian-only designation in places).

We walked together to my tutoring (passing Allee du Seminaire, shown below).

Afterwards I ran into Sarah on the metro at Duroc! What a strange coincidence. We rounded out the night by having a drink with Antoine and Typhaine and strolling past Hotel de Ville and Notre Dame after dark.

The next day Sarah and I walked all over Haussmann’s creation. We tried to lunch at a Cameroonian restaurant (Sarah spent two years in the Peace Corps in Cameroon), but it was closed. We walked back from the far 11th to the Promenade Plantee, which was flowering beautifully (but the sky wasn’t playing along for photos). Then we searched for lunch elsewhere - at Rue de Rosiers, where everything was closed for Passover, at Marriage Freres where we got skittish about the price of a cup of tea, and finally at an Asian traiteur where we munched on roulades de printemps. In between we took a quick look at the ensignes (old signs that would hang over shops) and the Art Nouveau jewelry shop at Musee Carnavalet.

Next, we hopped on the metro and headed to the Champs-Elysees, home of another Laduree - and oh, the Arc de Triomphe and stuff. Whatever, back to the macarons. We admired the gorgeous lily-of-the-valley boxes for May.

And we gorged on macarons.

We also purchased what we liked to call “chocolate spaghetti” but which is actually a Mont Blanc. We held onto it for later. Then we walked to the Eiffel Tower, and the weather was suddenly clear and beautiful for perfect Parisian pictures.

After our little photo shoot (I think I said to Sarah, “After you’ve satisfied yourself with the Eiffel Tower” and then we were both like, “Ummmm…” Okay, who am I kidding - we laughed like American tourists.), we took the RER home and picked up Allen for dinner. We were concerned, however, that we hadn’t had enough desserts in one day. Oh no, that wasn’t it. We were concerned that we wouldn’t be able to get Berthillon after dinner, and it was Sarah’s last day. So we stopped for ice cream first. Sadly, Berthillon itself was closed (school holidays), so our choices were slightly more limited. I got pineapple and caramel.

Then we climbed the hill towards the Pantheon, and more importantly L’Ecurie. We ate our ridiculously cheap (17 euros for entree, plat, dessert, plus a free glass of sangria with the menu and free glass of cognac with the bill) three course dinner in the dank (and intimate!) cellars of L’Ecurie, including another dessert of course. (Sadly, the chocolate mousse was not as good as the creme caramel, which they hadn’t made enough of that day.) The cognac burned us up inside, but we were pretty glad for that trou. (A digestif is sometimes called a trou, which means hole, because it burns right through what’s already in your stomach, and you can eat more! Or not feel fit to burst.) Why were we so glad? We still had the chocolate spaghetti from Laduree at home! 

Sadly, the chocolate spaghetti was a horrible disappointment. As Allen and Sarah will attest, I was really hoping it would be chewy. Instead it was…I can’t quite put my finger on it. I’m terrible at identifying tastes. But it was a little soggy and mushy. The only redeeming portion was the meringue underneath. We threw away a good part of the most expensive pastry I’ve ever paid for half of. Boo. And boo too that we said goodbye to Sarah in the morning. We’ll always have Paris…

Five years and some months ago, I applied for a job with an educational research firm in the District of Columbia, hoping to put my linguistics minor to use. One of the questions from my interview was: Where do you see yourself in five years?

This might be a question I need to revisit, just for fun. Or for direction. But right now I’d just like to say that I never thought that the answer to that question would be: In Paris, with three of my coworkers from that job. Regina, Cate, and Sarah arrived on Monday, and that very night we went out to the Italian place (where else?). I remember a lot of chatter, topped off with tiramisu and panna cotta.

Tuesday (April 15) started well too, with some City Walking around the Marais. I left Regina and Cate to it while I went to tutoring (and Sarah was meeting with a French girl who took her to the Grande Epicerie at the Bon Marche). Then we all met at the funicular at Sacre Coeur at 8 pm. Allen and I walked up to their small group, passing tourist after tourist trapped by Africans with friendship bracelets. Yet our friends remained unmolested. Sarah explained: one of the Africans had come up to her, and she told him, “I already did it.” That is the most awesome thing I’d ever heard. (It reminds me of Monty Python’s search for the Holy Grail: “We’ve already got one!”) The guy challenged her, asking what it was. She responded nonchalantly, “You make a bracelet.” Snap!

We wandered down towards the Moulin Rouge, glad we were passing the seedier side of town while it was still light. (Hallelujah for it still being light at eight pm!) Then we went to dinner at Chez Toinette, where I had a lovely rack of lamb and our equally lovely guests treated us to our meal. (Sarah, Regina, Cate, you are as lovely as a rack of lamb.)

And that is just about when my week came to a screeching halt. I felt a little tickle in my throat and figured it was the wine. Then I tossed and turned all night with a fever. The next morning I rose early and went to babysit Noah. I told the parents how sorry I was that I had a fever and that I could leave if they wanted, but that I’d only developed it overnight and couldn’t let them know in advance. That was okay; Noah had a fever too. (Note: I do not believe it is a coincidence that Noah and I both got a fever the same night. I’d babysat him the Thursday and Friday previous.) Noah and I spent the morning on the couch starting blandly at Blue’s Clues. He was burning, and I was freezing. Then we both took a nap. My throat was killing me, but I had no white spots to betray strep. Finally, I went home, cancelled my babysitting/tutoring with Rafaela for later that day, and passed out with my fever.

That night, Regina and Cate came over and watched some TV with us. I stayed on the bed in a heap. (Sarah had gone to Luxembourg and Germany for the weekend.) The fever persisted, and I had another sleepless night. In the morning, the white spots had developed. The strep had announced itself.

On the last day of my brother’s visit  - Sunday, March 23 - he and his friends had hit all the major attractions, so we turned to City Walks for entertainment. They narrowed the choices to two, and we decided we could do both. Then, in my usual overachieving spirit, I shuffled through the box and found another walk that was “on the way” (though really it was about a twenty-block round-trip detour). I took a quick poll: how far did we want to walk that day? Dave and Alan immediately voted for “around ten miles.” We were off.

But before we really took off, we needed fuel. Alan, Dave, and Megan hadn’t yet tried Berthillon ice cream. We swung by and came away with a quarter of the flavors Berthillon offers. Though I was disappointed (frankly, dismayed) that they did not have my beloved pear sorbet on the menu (or a new crush, turron ice cream), I was nonetheless pleased with my choices of praline aux pignons (pecan ice cream with pine nuts) and caramel gingembre (caramel ginger). Megan tasted an interesting raspberry sorbet made with rose water. Allen played it safe with classics coffee and raspberry. Dave and Alan were the bravest. Alan opted for caramel au beurre sale along with marrons glaces au rhum (candied chesnuts and rum). Dave chose agenaise, a mix of prunes and armagnac liquor, both specialities of the Agenaise region. When the French put alcohol in something you can taste it, as Alan and Dave learned.

With ice cream for lunch, we were fueled and ready to go. We set off on foot towards Palais Royal, my little detour. First we threaded our way through Galerie Vivienne, but since it was a Sunday the shops were all closed. Still, it was quiet and picturesque.

From Gallerie Vivienne, we found some back entrance to Palais Royal, which I never would have suspected without explicit City Walk directions. We paused for a quick photoshoot, in which Alan, Megan, and Dave took pictures of each other jumping. I think this is an ultimate thing. The trick, according to Dave, is to kick your legs up into the air so that it looks like you got maximum air. Allen and I declined to try it.

Exiting Palais Royal, we followed Rue de Rivoli down to Place de la Concorde and took a right on Rue Royale towards La Madeleine. It was time for macarons. (Of course we were going to Laduree!) We ordered a box of 15, each with three flavors to munch on, and then an amazing thing happened - we did not eat them immediately that very minute. Then I exercised severe restraint to not bring them up because Dave was on to me not being a very patient person when it comes to eating anything within reach immediately this very minute. (Oh look! A gaufre au miel! Nom nom nom nom…) But we soon reached the square Louis XVI, where some other wise person suggested eating our macarons. Hallelujah! Afterwards, Megan stomped on the box. It seemed like the right thing to do, she said. As long as there were no macarons in it, I was happy to let the box go to whatever fate awaited it, even stomping. Then, because we hadn’t done enough walking yet, we headed back to the metro and Bois de Boulogne.

From the metro La Muette, reaching Bois de Boulogne took at least twenty minutes. It involved a stop at one of the free toilet contraptions. Allen and I did not use it, but our touristing friends were more brave. Then onward! When we finally reached Bois de Boulogne, it wasn’t exactly what I expected. I was thinking there would be more bois, like in Bois de Vincennes. But I suspect we were only at the periphery, so it didn’t exactly look like a nature walk. We did a circuit of the two lakes - the smaller Lac Superieur and the larger Lac Inferieur. (Who names these things?) The Lac Inferieur had a charming island with a little gazebo on one end. You can take a rowboat or ferry from the shore to the island and eat at a little restaurant there. But it was cold, and we’d been walking a long time, so we sat at a little snack bar instead with all the dogs, and we munched on warm French fries.

On the way back around the lake, we resisted Alan and Dave’s pleas to stop and throw a disk. Fortunately Megan was on our side, or Allen and I would have been revealed (like it’s a secret) for the lazy people that we are. We returned to the metro and went to dinner at our favorite Italian place, L’Epicerie Fuxia. (And to think that Alan and guests almost didn’t make it to the restaurant where we take all our guests, just so we can have an excuse to go there more often!) Once we’d filled our rumbling tummies with hot fresh Italian food (and some tiramisu and caramel panna cotta to boot), we returned to Ile Saint Louis, where we sent a contingent back to Berthillon. (Actually, we’d been debating our Berthillon purchase for hours, finally choosing a half liter of cherry sorbet and a half liter of caramel au beurre sale. And because I was panicked from not having seen pear on the a la carte scoop menu, I had to ask for and buy a half liter of pear sorbet as well. Then we sat in the apartment watching Flight of the Conchords and eating Berthillon to the point of sickness. Let no one say we don’t know how to treat our guests, particularly on their last night in Paris.

Allen always has a laugh when I go shopping with friends, particularly Catherine S., because when we come back from our shopping excursion I’ve got several bags in hand, and my shopping partner has a smaller bag from Bath & Body Works or something.

Shopping with Alan, Megan, and Dave on Saturday, March 22 was no exception. I force-marched them down Boulevard Saint-Germain to Mabillon, where we ducked into the Marche Saint-Germain. I found a long t-shirt at Mexx for 50% off and snapped it up. I decided I’d return there when I had some euros to burn (which seems now that it won’t be soon as my job situation is changing a little). Nobody else had much luck at the Marche Saint-Germain though, so we weren’t there long before we trudged on towards Rue de Rennes.

At Texto on Rue de Rennes, Megan didn’t find shoes as she hoped, but she did pick up some leggings. I, on the other hand, had more luck (again). I found a pair of dorky might-be-cute or might-be-ugly pair that I decided were quite stylish. They were 40 euros, so I debated if I wanted to spend $60 on them because I was using my American credit card this day. I gave in, thinking I’d slow my shopping the rest of the day if I got them. But when I got up to the front of the store, he rang them up as 20 euros and then gave me 20% off. So the shoes were just 16 euros, or $24. Totally worth it!

Alan saw a couple of pairs of shoes he liked in Etam, but they didn’t have his size in brown for either of them. Everyone’s strength was waning as it was past lunch time, but Megan and I stopped in Promod for a minute (where I found a graphic-print dress) before we all headed to Place du 18 Juin to find a bench and eat lunch. I bought a crepe as big as my head, with half a jar of Nutella and an entire banana in it. The crepe unfortunately got the better of me as I neared the end, and I ended up blowing snot out of my nose because I was laughing and trying to swallow a huge mouthful at the same time. Huge disaster. (Thank you for sharing, as we’d say at school.) Fortunately, my brother was holding a napkin, and there was more shopping to distract us from my nasal overload.

The guys hadn’t had as much opportunity to shop, so we went to Celio next. I think Dave came out empty-handed, but after trying on a lot of argyle sweaters, Alan ended up with a striped sweater and a red t-shirt (both deemed cool enough to wear under his suit jacket, since he’d forgotten to bring a regular coat). Megan later found a pair of flats at our last stop before she and the guys headed back to the apartment for a nap and preparation to go to the Moulin Rouge that night. I, on the other hand, had to babysit in a couple of hours, so I stayed at Montparnasse to shop a little more, but I didn’t end up making any other purchases.

All week I have been neglecting my brother. Well, not really neglecting him, since he does have an entourage. But kind of neglecting him. Alan, Megan, and Dave bought four-day museum passes. Having just run riot through Paris museums, and because there were three of them on this adventure, I didn’t make an effort to jump in as tour guide. (I did give them a Paris scavenger hunt to keep them sharp though!) Through some bad timing (mostly my own) on Tuesday, March 18, I only had a quick rendez-vous with them in the gardens of the Musee Rodin (unfortunately missing their journey through the sewers of Paris, as I ate lunch with Mimi instead). Then Wednesday, I couldn’t accompany them to Versailles because of work in the morning and afternoon. And Thursday, I tried to go to Saint Chapelle with them, but it and the Conciergerie were both closed because of either a strike or Easter preparations or a strike about Easter preparations. So I had breakfast with them and then stood in line at Notre Dame with them for about an hour in the freezing wind. (Did I mention that my brother forgot his jacket? He wore his suit jacket all week.)

So now it’s Friday, March 21, and I’m continuing to neglect him. But today it’s okay because he presented Megan with the big surprise: a proper follow-the-clues scavenger hunt throughout Paris. A series of about ten clues brought them around town with designated restaurants for lunch and dinner. (Lunch at Le Polidor turned out fabulously, while dinner at Cafe la Poste was a little stickier. The owners were having a private party but let Alan and Megan eat anyway - in a standing room only reception situation, where they were the only two sitting and being served dinner.) But they followed all the clues with minimal cheating, exploring the Latin Quarter and Montmartre.

Meanwhile, Allen and I sat around tapping our feet for a bit before we had the brilliant idea of going out to dinner ourselves. And since it was Good Friday, we needed the meatiest place possible for two lost carnivorous souls - L’Ecurie. L’Ecurie has a 17 euro dinner menu - in case you misunderstand me, that’s a 17 euro three course dinner menu. Unheard of. But as if that weren’t enough, the server also brings free sangria with the menus and free cognac with the bill. We each had a tomato salad (whole sliced tomato, typical French salad dressing with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and mustard), a bavette (flank steak) with frites, and creme caramel. We added a demi-pichet of sangria, thinking it would provide us about one more cup each, but it was two to three more cups each, and we were pleased. Everything was simple and satisfying, and Allen managed not to bump his head on the way out.

Then on the way home, we walked past some foreigners (perhaps German), speaking in accented English.

“You don’t say, “Do you have a lighter, OR?” The first one said, angrily, inhaling on his cigarette. His two minions laughed and repeated the phrase in mockery. 

The first guy, pushed on by their laughter, suggested an alternative, ”Do you have a lighter or WHAT?” One of his friends said vehemently, ”Or DON’Tchu?”

“Yeah! Do you have a lighter or DON’Tchu?” The guys agreed that this was the best way to ask for a light. I couldn’t stop laughing almost all the way home. I almost wish that I smoked so I could have a reason to voice this moronic phrase.

But I’ll just say it anyway, in completely inappropriate contexts, and laugh and laugh. Do you have a problem with that or DON’Tchu?

On our day off between visitors, Allen and I fit in some babysitting at Mimi and Jack’s, so we were ready to sleep in on Sunday, March 16. But we had more visitors coming! My brother Alan, his girlfriend Megan, and some guy named Dave would be in Paris from March 16 to 24. (A note: Dave, if you are reading this, we no longer refer to you as “some guy named Dave” but at first we were kind of like, “Um, who’s Dave?”) Right on time - that is, at the crack of dawn or near enough - they arrived at our apartment loaded with backpacks and suitcases. Alan had forgotten his jacket. They were all tired.

But tired? Tired is a surrender. So they all said, “Screw, tired!” They were going hashing. Now, someone will correct me, but my understanding of hashing is this. One person is the rabbit, and they run, run, run, creating false trails on the way to confuse the pack. The rest of the people (a large group) runs after the rabbit, trying to follow the trail and determine which is the real trail and ultimately catch the rabbit or get to the finish. And before, after, and in between, there is much drinking.

So shortly after our visitors’ arrival, they went off to get the keys to Dave’s apartment, cat nap, and then go find a bunny. (And also drink.) We crawled back into bed.

That afternoon, we met Antoine and Typhaine at the Musee Carnavalet. It took us quite a while to find the exhibit we’d come to see - paintings of Paris by Pelletier - but in the meantime, we took in the amazing collection of ensignes, or signs, that used to hang out over various shops of Paris. There was one from the Tour d’Argent and another with a black cat on a crescent moon. We finally found Pelletier and took in his paintings. Then we managed to squeeze into the Art Nouveau jewelry shop (covered in green peacocks and little fish and lilypads) before we got kicked out so the museum could close.

We stopped at a nearby tapas bar, but it was chilly, so we opted for coffees and hot chocolates (rather than sangria, which I daresay might have warmed us just as well). We had a short chat - trying, for instance, to explain hash to them, to which Antoine said, “We have games like that too. But they just involve drinking.” Then we told them we’d better head back to the apartment to see if Alan and company had returned from hashing yet.

Because my parents’ hotel reservation went through Monday morning (due to Marriott time share requirements), we left Alan and Megan in the apartment Sunday night, and we stayed in the Marriott Champs-Elysees. It was fancy enough, but we were mostly pleased to be sleeping in a really comfortable bed again. Our bed in Paris is a six-inch thick pallet mattress, such as you’d find at Ikea, perhaps. The loft below it creaks loudly when you turn over (which is a treat for guests sleeping below on an air mattress). Sometimes it bumps into the wall when you barely think you’ve moved. And don’t even think about drinking any water before bedtime, or you’ll have to climb down in the middle of the night. So yes, we appreciated the Marriott Champs-Elysees. I particularly liked the fresh rose in a bud vase over the sink. Posh!

March 14 may have been my parents’ last day in Paris, but did that mean they were tired? No way! What would they be tired from, anyway? Hundreds and hundreds of stairs? Sheesh!

Still, we weren’t going to climb the Arc de Triomphe, but we did go take a look at it, macarons from Laduree in hand. Very nice, everything as it should be. Let’s avoid the climb though.

So we went to Montmartre. When we arrived at the Lamarck Calaincourt metro station, we scoffed at the line for the elevator and headed straight for the stairs. One level further up, there was another elevator stop (for no reason, it appeared). Still, we kept going. Not until we’d started climbing steps and cleared another level was there a sign announcing the hundred more steps we’d have to climb. How did this happen?

Still, we told ourselves, panting, we had at least decided to take the City Walk that supposedly started at the top. Why then, when we got out of the metro, did we keep climbing up steep inclines? I guess Montmartre will have that effect on you.

We wound around towards the top of the hill, passing the Montmartre vineyard and giving Dad a first taste of touristy (yet so full of potential) Place du Tertre.

When we entered Sacre Coeur, I heard beautiful singing voices, which I assumed were from a professional CD being played over loudspeaker. Then I saw the nuns. They were phenomenal, and if you can coincide your visit with the noon service, I highly recommend the experience.

Coming out, the view and Pachabel’s Canon in D greeted us. Pachabel’s Canon was a bit of a fixture around our house during my high school years. Alan played it on the piano (as did I, though not as well), and this day we were delighted to hear it on the harp. I’ve never seen a street musician with a harp before, but this seemed the perfect setting for him.

From Montmartre, we took the metro to Sevres-Babylone, where we had a delicious lunch at Nemrod (though my book was a little suggestive that it wouldn’t be as expensive as, say, a dinner). Still, it was well worth 14 euros to me to have cold thick slabs of perfectly cooked (rare) roast beef with gooey aligot. Heaven! And the elderly woman dining alone in the table next to us was a hoot.

As usual, I left my parents for some work, and they finally saw the Eiffel Tower up close and then took a ride on a bateau mouche. And that concludes my parents’ visit to Paris! A bientot!

I woke in the posh Marriott Champs-Elysees on the morning of Thursday, March 13. We determined that starting from the same spot would be useful in getting us to Versailles and back before my tutoring. We took the RER C, which was a logistical disaster, since we didn’t see the one helpful sign that shows which train to take for the possible five termini of this particular “line.” However, we were happy to save a buck by not taking a guided tour as we had in the past, and we located the palace very easily from the RER station.

We found the coupe-file entrance (museum passes let you skip the line) and entered, with a bit of confusion about where the tour began. Eventually we found the booth to rent audioguides and equipped ourselves. We started our tour in the chapel, then wound through the state rooms, admiring the details of the palace.

We lingered in the famed Hall of Mirrors, imagining the opulence of lining a room with mirrors at the time the hall was constructed.

Next we wound through the public bedrooms and the Dauphin’s (crown prince’s) wing, admiring luxurious fabrics, gilt molding, and fabulous objets d’art.

After touring the palace of Versailles, my parents and I emerged into the gardens. We bought tickets for the mini-train that ran down to the Trianons. Though I’d been to Versailles twice before, I’d never visited the Trianons or Marie Antoinette’s little village.

We wandered into Marie Antoinette’s hameau (hamlet) - Dad with slightly more urgency than Mom and I, as he was looking for a bathroom. In some ways, the little buildings reminded me of Popeye’s Village in Malta. Think about it. Both were built purely for entertainment. And like Popeye’s Village, Marie Antoinette’s collection of farm buildings seemed to be a caricature of what it was meant to represent. Hollywood had a rival in Her Frivolous Majesty.

We all enjoyed it. See the smile on Dad’s face? (Why is Bob smiling? You’ll have to ask him.)

No peasant’s hamlet would be complete without an assortment of wildlife, and we saw swans, bunnies, hens, a funny little goat, a sow with her belly low to the ground, more goats (some eating pine trees), and donkeys. What a little menagerie.

Afterwards, we visited the Grand Trianon. Normally there is an extra charge for the visit, but it too was included in our Museum Pass. It was much smaller, more manageable example of a decorative arts museum. To me, that meant, “Take lots of pictures of the curtain tassels.”

Our train ride back to the palace included small French children singing La Marseillaise (the national anthem) when they weren’t misbehaving.

We ate sandwiches on the RER back into the city, and we decided that I had time to run through Musee de l’Orangerie before tutoring. Monet donated two immense waterlily panels to the French state with very specific instructions on how to display them. Did he ever have the right idea! The Musee de l’Orangerie holds the two series in circular rooms, where they stretch along the circumference, illuminated by natural light from above. I could imagine sitting in those rooms throughout the course of a day, discovering new patterns and nuances in the colors.

But we only had 25 minutes before school let out (and I had to be there!), so we walked quickly downstairs. The lower level held the private collection of a couple of art collectors, with groups of paintings by some well-known artists (Utrillo, Degas, Cezanne). Though 25 minutes in a museum isn’t enough for true museum lovers, it is perfect for me. I am the type of person who likes to drift through a museum letting each object pull me along. When my mind or my eyes begin to wander too much, it’s time to go. I like to soak it in, rather than to soak in it.

At the metro, we parted ways. I went to tutoring and showed Mom and Dad which station to take to visit the Musee Rodin. They wandered the gardens until they were kicked out. At the very last, the groundskeeper stood himself between Dad and the Gates of Hell as Dad tried to take a picture. I’m guessing the groundskeeper didn’t see the humor in that. Then my parents moved on to the Musee d’Orsay, which has extended hours on Thursdays. (Because the Louvre and Musee d’Orsay stay open until 9:45 pm on Wednesday and Thursday respectively, these are the best two days for the consecutive two-day Paris museum pass.)

I met my parents at Musee d’Orsay after tutoring. We scrapped plans to go to the Eiffel Tower that night because it was raining. Instead, we opted for dinner. Do not let it be said that we don’t appreciate our food. (Actually, this particularly implicates me.) The restaurant of choice for the night was AOC, where we spent the last of our money. (I’m kidding. Sort of.) For an appetizer, we shared an order of white asperagus, and Mom and I sipped the house aperitif. For our main courses, Mom and I had scallops (Saint Jacques), Allen had the suckling pig, and Dad had the assiette rotisseur. That restaurant is certainly a treat. And with that, we ended the night before my parents’ last day in Paris.

On my parents’ second day in Paris, March 12, we were ready for some major tourist action. We bought a two day museum pass each and prepared to attack the City of Lights. We started close to home at Notre Dame with its 300 and some odd steps. It was a perfect day for a view over the city.

“What should I see in Paris?” All our guests ask that first. And now that we’ve lived here for a bit longer, I can answer: the towers of Notre Dame. The view is great, and the gargoyles are better. I even saw one I hadn’t noticed before.

Afterwards, we made a quick circuit of the interior of the church before remembering (ha) that the entrance to the archeological crypt was out on the plaza. It’s an archeological dig where you can see some of the city’s oldest streets, along with representations of how the city grew outwards from the 3rd century. These pottery fragments and the color sources caught my eye this time.

We walked back to the Marais for lunch at Korcarz, a Jewish bakery and deli on rue de Rosiers. Somehow, we all ordered salmon. Mom had a salmon quiche, Dad a salmon panini, and I had a salmon gratin. I can’t speak to theirs, but mine was amazing. It arrived piping hot at the table, sliced potatoes, salmon pieces, bechamel sauce, and melted cheese.  

We all hopped on the metro together afterwards. As we came off the metro, I pointed my parents in the direction of les Invalides, and I ran to work. They saw Napoleon’s Tomb and the Musee de l’Armee exhibit on Charles de Gaulle there. (The exhibit on Charles de Gaulle was one of their favorite parts of the trip, and they highly recommend it.) They then walked out the front of les Invalides, crossed the river and Place de la Concorde, and explored the Tuilleries.

All the while, I was babysitting. So my parents then took advantage of the evening hours at the Louvre. Afterwards, my dad couldn’t believe they’d only been in there for two hours. I can’t blame him. In fact, now I ask everyone who goes to the Louvre how long they lasted. Everyone says two hours. I only made it two hours myself.

They met us back at the apartment, and we walked into the 5th to wind through the cramped rue de la Huchette for gyro baguettes.