Paris Journal 2009 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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I planned yesterday’s trek to
FedEx so we’d see some things we haven’t seen or haven’t seen in quite a
while. And so we discovered the
pleasant rue Jean Goujon in the 8th arrondissement, between the
Seine and the Champs Elysées. Just before we reached that
lovely street named for a scultor who used to live there, while we were
crossing the Seine on the Pont d’Alma, it started to rain. The fold-up golf-size umbrella did the job
of protecting us until we reached a bus shelter where we waited for the
shower to stop. We continued on, because I knew
the rain would only be worse later in the day. There is a graceful fountain
and a round intersection on the rue Jean Goujon where it intersects with the
rue François 1er, named after France’s first Renaissance king, crowned in
1515. When we had to stop again for
shelter, this time under a café awning that stretched out over most of the
sidewalk, we were fortunate to be able to gaze at the attractive fountain
until the rain stopped once more. Rue Jean Goujon changes into
the avenue du General Eisenhower near the Champs Elysées, by the Grand
Palais. There we had the cover of tall
trees. After walking by the Petit
Palais, we crossed the overwhelming avenue, marveling at how much vibration
the Tour de France cyclists must have endured on those uneven cobblestones. The park on this northern side
of the Champs is especially attractive, with its cute restaurant and theatre
still in place amidst well-tended flowers, lawns, and trees. There is an abundance of park benches in
this section, but we had business to attend to so we could not rest. Onward. We walked up to the avenue
Gabriel and headed toward the Place de la Concorde, where the guillotine once
operated, where Louis XVI and later Marie Antoinette lost their lives. We went by the sea of concrete
bollards and groups of guards at the entrance to the American Embassy, then
squeezed around the corner, amongst more people than I expected, to go up
past the side of the elegant Hôtel
Crillon, where Lance Armstrong and other celebrities stay sometimes when
in Paris. (Wow! What jazzy background
music on the Hôtel Crillon web site!) Making our way slightly uphill
along the rue Boissy d’Anglas, we passed two attractive shopping arcades on
our right. But alas, no shopping for
us. We had a packet to send off to New
York, and it was taking us longer than I thought it would to reach our goal. The intersection where we
crossed the boulevard Malesherbes was interesting. I want to go back there. In other places, that boulevard just seems
to be too big, I think, but somehow at this intersection it has a cozy
feeling. Perhaps that was because of
the trees and the newstand with its friendly looking proprietor and plethora
of colorful magazines. On the rue de l’Arcade, on the
way up to the boulevard Haussmann, we saw no shopping arcades. I wonder what happened to them? At last, after an hour and a
quarter of walking and being dampened by sprinkles of rain, we reached
FedEx. When we arrived, the place was
alive with activity and more people than I thought could fit into the space. The blonde frizzy-haired woman
who helped us the last two times we were there recognized us instantly and
said bonjour even though she was very busy.
We self-sufficiently found the last remaining shipping form, borrowed
a pen, and completed the paperwork. By then, fortunately, the mob
had cleared out of the FedEx shop. We
did not have to wait in line, and the blonde woman was most helpful. With the packet on its way to
New York, we crossed the street as is our habit to take tea at the Triadou
Haussmann brasserie. Actually, Tom had
a coffee, dessert, and mineral water, I had a glass of wine and an
interesting appetizer concoction made of vegetables and a few bits of
chorizo. This appetizer of the day was
called something like a Verrine
obadrilène on the blackboard. When
I saw that written on the blackboard, I thought, “Well, I’ve never heard of
that so it must be something interesting.
I probably want to try it.” As my
readers know, I’m an adventurous eater. I asked the server what it
was. She said she did not know. I realized she was speaking in English, and
assured her that she could explain it to me in French – English was not necessary. Still, she said in French, she
did not know what it was. She did not
offer to find out. This got the
attention of the man at the table next to us, who gave her a sideways look of
disapproval. I gave up and said,
“D’accord. Merci. Le vin, seulement.” The man’s look of disapproval
must have worked on her conscience, however.
She asked one of the other servers about the appetizer of the
day. She returned, describing its
melange of vegetables and chorizo to me, and I said I’d take it. It was pretty good, and very
un-French. It tasted like something
the French would describe as Tex-Mex in flavorings. It was almost spicy. By the time we were ready to
leave, the skies were darker, so we made our way down the rue Tronchet and
into the northernmost entrance of the metro at the great church,
Madeleine. It occurs to me now that
where we entered the metro, there once was a great cemetery. Almost all the bones from it are now in the
Catacombs, I believe. To get to the number 8 line, we
had to walk an amazing distance underground, up and down multiple stairways,
and finally we were on the number 8’s platform. The subway ride seemed to take
a long time. Finally, when we exited
at the Commerce station, the rain was pouring down and pathetically wimpy
thunder sounded above. The fold-up golf-size
umbrella got a workout as we finished the last few short blocks of our
sojourn. We had only about an hour’s
rest until it was time for dinner with Ron and Carol. We asked if they wanted to cancel because
of the rain, but Ron replied “Of course not.
We’re British. We have our
impermeables.” So they arrived, we drank some
champagne, and then went to Le Tipaza, around the corner. Mohammed was pleased that I’d made a
reservation this time. Ron and Carol each ordered a
tagine with lamb, and Tom had the couscous with lamb. Uncharacteristically, I ordered a steak
with pepper sauce and sautéed potatoes (since I’d already consumed my
vegetables at the Triadou). It was a
tasty steak, if slightly chewy, and fine sauce. We remained at the table
talking for a long time after dinner.
One of the topics we covered was World War II, interestingly
enough. Today, by the way, is the 65th anniversary of the
liberation of Paris. One thing I especially like
about the French (as opposed to the Germans) is the way they seem to deeply
appreciate the sacrifices made by the Allied troops. Because my uncle died in France, for France
and for freedom, this is important to me. I was irritated by statements
on monuments in Germany in opposition of all wars. Where there is genocide that cannot be
stopped in any other way, there must be war.
This is what Uncle George died for.
Just look at the photographs and the numbers of concentration camp
victims and try to tell me there should never be war! By the time we left the restaurant,
the rain had stopped. We said
goodnight at the metro entrance on Émile Zola, and so ended another wet but
wonderful day in Paris. |
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Asian woman using an umbrella for protection against
the sun and heat on Sunday on the rue Saint Dominique in the 7th.
Above and below, statues in the Tuileries.
Tuileries gardeners believe trees take precedence over
statues! |
