Paris, Blog 10

Paris, Blog 10

Now that my mini crisis is over, I have to confess…..

We were almost to Dijon when our tour manager came to the back of the bus and whispered in my ear, “You left your passport on the ship!”  I have been traveling all over the world for about 35+ years, and the only item I’ve ever lost is a hat here and there.  I was embarrassed and devastated.  If we had been flying out of Paris the next day with the rest of the tour, we would have had to take a very expensive taxi ride from Dijon back to the ship to retrieve it.  Since we weren’t leaving Paris until late Tuesday, we could have it sent by FedEx. Because it was Saturday and we were changing hotels, we weren’t sure when it would arrive.  A Vantage staff person on our bus suggested that the bus driver bringing the new group from Paris to the boat could bring my passport back to Paris the next day.  Happily it arrived at 11 PM that night.  Much relief and big tips for everyone!!!  I felt like an idiot.

The Vantage rep was onboard because she’s dealing with all the cancelled trips I mentioned.  She has boats stuck in Budapest, Germany, and somewhere in Russia.  To her my lost passport was a “no never mind.”  I don’t think I mentioned it, but when we left Cluny, we hit a very heavy rainstorm.  The water on both sides of the ship almost spilled over the banks, and the river was up to the crowns of the trees.  Fortunately we were a day past Lyon, which had the lowest bridge on our trip.  We cleared it by inches.

Paris—For our final night we went to La Coupela (sp?) a restaurant we had visited with Deb and Grant 16 years ago.  Our group got the to watch the world go by as we were seated by the large windows.  On our way back to the hotel, we drove by the Arch d’Triumph and around the Eiffel Tower—spectacular!

Another confession (two this blog!):  “The last time I saw Paris,” it was 150 degrees, filthy dirty, with people peeing in the streets.  I really had no desire to return.  However, this trip the weather is perfect, the city is clean, and I’ve yet to see anyone watering the sidewalk.  It’s truly a beautiful, magical city.

The last night of our tour along with every other tour group in Paris we stayed at L’Etoile Meridien for 600 euros per night!!!! I’m sure Vantage didn’t pay that but that was the rack rate.  I wouldn’t have paid 100 euros.  The room was tiny with unattractive furniture, stains in the bathtub, dirty pealing wallpaper, and 7 euros for one hour of wifi!

Today we transferred to a charming boutique hotel on the left bank.  From the outside it doesn’t look like a hotel having only a modest sign on the wall.  Inside it is filled with fresh flowers everywhere—peonies, orchids, a white flower I don’t recognize but love, and beautiful sculpture and art.  Instead of an impersonal lobby and a snooty concierge, at a small desk was a charming mademoiselle. A cozy, homey sitting room had delicious candy out for our pleasure.  Next to it was tiny bar area looking out onto a courtyard garden.  On the counter we found fresh and dried fruit.  Our room is large, bright, airy, and quiet with a coffee maker.  What more could we ask.  When we researched hotels in Paris, they were all expensive—even the 2 star.  This is a steal at 300 euros per night, which we rarely  if ever pay for a hotel.

Before we switched hotels, we walked leisurely along a wide street with antique dealers on both sides.  On the way to our destination, Museum Nissim du Camando, we passed through a typical Parisian Park filled with joggers, bicyclists, exercise and tai chi groups, pony rides, and adorable children.  The museum is a mansion built in 1911 filled with 18th century furniture and art objects.  The architect Rene Sergent (for my friend Stan)  patterned it after the Petitt Trianon at Versailles but with modern conveniences. Moise Comando’s family were wealthy Jewish bankers from Istanbul.  His only son was killed in WWI and his daughter and her family died at Auschwitz. All that great wealth and no one in the family survived. The mansion was exquisite and in beautiful taste.

When we were last in the Marais district about 16 years ago, it was a quiet area with a few Jewish restaurants and shops (it was the heart of Jewish Paris before WWII).  Today it is the most happening place in Paris.  I remembered having the best falafel ever so I was on a pilgrimage to repeat the experience.  When we got off the metro, we were engulfed in a mob of people.  It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday and I think ½ of Paris was there.
We knew we had arrived at the right place when we saw a lonnnng queue of people standing outside a tiny restaurant whose sign proclaimed in French, “often imitated, never copied.”  Young men in kippah walked along the line monitoring it with an Israeli attitude (If you don’t understand, I can’t explain).  They had gizmos, which took our orders and our money.  When we finally got to the window, we handed over our receipts and our falafel was made to order in a nano second.  The server and I started chatting, but the line “guards” (I was going to call them line Nazis but thought that might be inappropriate) told us both to move along.  Dan (he had schwarma) and I found a shady spot on a sidewalk a block away from the madness.  I put down my map and elegantly sat on the concrete and watched the world go by:  Chasidim in black garb, their pregnant wives, and crazies.

Nearby was the Museum of Jewish History and Art. The artifacts were unique and beautifully displayed and I had an excellent audio guide in English.  After I bought my ticket using French, I was asked if I wanted a French audio guide!  The exhibit included Spanish, Italian, Morrocan, Tunisian, and Salonikan as well as French, Dutch, and Ashkenazi Jewry.  There was a w of the original synagogues have been destroyed.  Debbie and I were fortunate to tour one of the best remaining (although in ruins) in Lithuania.
I don’t know how you all are when you travel, but the hardest part for Dan and me is choosing a restaurant.  I often look at Rick Steves, Trip Advisor, and ask the hotel clerk, but we actually do better wandering around.  While we wander we argue.  Dan likes his meat and potatoes; by dinner I like a salad.  We find a restaurant, sit down, then decide we don’t like it and leave. We continue to wander on, reading menus posted outside, looking at the food everyone is eating, checking out how much cigarette smoke there is, and getting crankier by the minute.

That happened last night until we found “the” place to have the quintessentially French restaurant experience.  It was outside on a corner of two side streets.  The menu had something for both of us; the prices were right, and the food looked delicious.  There was one table for two outside.  The owner shrugged us off—it will be 30 minutes (of course in French).  At that point although it was after 9, I was ready to wait.  We stood around and the waiter came out and told us to sit.  The owner came out and told us to wait.  Finally we were permitted to sit for good.  The French couple next to us began apologizing about the French commenting on the rude waiter.  We assured him we were fine although we had to wait a bit for menus and then for drinks.  I ordered l’eau gasseuse.  He brought it with Dan’s wine, but I had no glass or bottle opener.  They were out of my first choice on the menu so I quickly picked another item, a chicken salad with wonderful fresh vegetables, ham, and cheese.  Dan had the steak.  We got a basket of French bread and I asked the couple next to us if it was OK to ask for butter.  The man said, “of course but maybe not here.”  He asked for butter on my behalf…actually he asked four times before we got it.  Despite everything we really enjoyed the meal with good food and good conversation.  He was a CFO of a company and she was a lawyer specializing in mergers and acquisitions. Their English was as good as our French but we managed to communicate.  They painted a grim picture of the French economy.  They repeatedly apologized for the  poor service at the restaurant as if it was indicative of all the French, which we know it is not. We had to have at least one difficult waiter encounter on the trip.