Provence / Paris travel log 2006-12-30

The magic TGV train whisked us away from Provence and back to Paris early this morning. Nathan, Anna, Lauren, and I said our goodbyes to the rest of the group (flying home today), then heard the echoes vanish in Doppler shift and wind.

Aboard the train, we hashed out tentative New Year’s plans and slept. Mainly, we slept.

From the Paris train station, it was a short cab ride to our hotel, the Hotel des Nations St. Germain. Our rooms are cozy but clean, the lady at the front desk is really friendly, and the location in the heart of the Latin Quarter is a big hit with Nathan.

All of us were overloaded on French food, so we decided to go ethnic, choosing a Vietnamese place recommended in my Lonely Planet Paris travel guide. Food was light, crisp, and delicious – just what we were hoping for.After lunch, Lauren wasn’t feeling quite right, so she and I returned to the hotel to nap, while Anna and Nathan made their pilgrimage to the Shakespeare and Co. bookstore.

After waking, Lauren and I took to the streets, enjoying the noticeably warmer weather and wandering without much purpose. Paris is a city that rewards romantic aimlessness, and we ended up carrying roses, apples, and large smiles into the café where we ducked for coffee.

As we’d agreed earlier, we met Nathan and Anna back at the hotel at 7pm. Continuing our rebellion against French food, we walked to a nearby North African / Moroccan place. The atmosphere and food were perfect: geometric tiles covering the walls, stewed meats, dates, honey, almonds; hookah bar in front, restaurant in back. Again, just what we wanted.We tried to round out the night with a jazz club visit, but our first choice was closed. After walking further to option #2, we found that there was a cover charge and that Nathan wasn’t feeling quite right. So we said au revior till tomorrow, Anna and Nathan walking home, and Lauren and I heading in for some jazz.

As I write this on my ever-handy notepad, Lauren and I are leaning back in Le Petit Journal St.-Michel, sipping our kir, while in the air above us the sounds of keyboard and bass, clarinet and drum mingle with the half-drunk French and the cigarette smoke. An old man is smiling at me. Life is good.

Provence / Paris Travel Log 2006-12-30 (Lauren)

Paris Jazz Club: Le Petit Journal

Here is how to listen to Parisian music. Will sits beside me writing the events of the day. We found a jazz club in the Latin quarter playing rolling jazz -- the big, jolly kind. We are drinking kir and the bubbles are rising in crisp sizzles off my tongue.

The woman in front of us wears a thin blue sweaters and the puckers from her bra spread across her back. She is a tiny woman and rounded and softened with her age -- she is moving her shoulders in time to the music. At another booth, a handsome American in a yellow t-shirt loudly tells his friends about the German girl that married his buddy, and in another booth a young woman on a date strokes her young man's hair.

The woman sitting at the table next to us is drunk. She laughs loudly in French and stands to undo the top button of her pants. Will is comforting and warm in his cashmere sweater, and I am luxuriating against the solid mass of his chest. His arm drapes over me and I am blissful beneath the indolent arc.

Provence travel log 2006-12-29

We left the house early this morning to make the longish drive to the Pont du Gard. This famous Roman aqueduct was the largest of its kind. They began construction in 16 BC, erecting a structure only 2 yards shorter than Rome’s coliseum. Of course, the really amazing thing is that the Pont du Gard has stood for 2,000 years, surviving countless floods, wars, and even stone theft (medieval construction workers couldn’t resist the perfectly cut stones). The pictures really speak for themselves:Afterward, Nathan, Anna, and Mom split off to go wine-tasting and cheese-tasting in some nearby villages. Sam, Dee, Lauren, Dad, and I went the other way to see the Palace of the Pope. After parking near the palace, we first grabbed lunch at L’Isle Sonnante, which was listed in Dad’s guidebook as a cozy, rustic place for a bite. It was so small that they couldn’t even seat us all together, so Lauren and I unintentionally got a romantic lunch date out of the deal. Our main course was pork stew, polenta, and a smattering of veggies. For dessert, I had a chocolate terrine with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream. Chocolate terrine is apparently French for “a big pile of the best chocolate you’ve ever tasted.” I shared half with Lauren, and spent the rest of the day bragging about my self-restraint.

From there, it was on to the Palace itself. It was fun and worth seeing, but in this case, Palace is apparently French for “a very large, very cold, mostly empty stone building.” The audio tour also went for completeness over impact, so eventually we stopped neurotically listening to all of the audio tour stops. We instead just enjoyed the view and imagined what the palace must have been like during the hundred-odd years that the papacy was seated there instead of Rome.After the Palace, we reconvened at home. Nathan gave us his most impressive French display yet as he made the dinner reservation on the phone. Then we all headed out to dinner, except for Lauren who diagnosed herself as “over-excited and in serious need of a nap.”

Dinner was 20 minutes from home in a town called Salon de Provence. The restaurant was part of a posh boutique hotel called Maison du Soleil, and the chef was Francis Robin, who I assume is a big deal since his name was everywhere (even painted on the plates). Dinner was the most French meal we’ve had. I had a guinea fowl salad, hearty rabbit in a Bordeaux wine sauce, and then about 5 different sweets. Oh, and a prune.It’s worth noting that the restaurant was way off the beaten path, up a hill in a residential area. It took many tries and wrong turns to find, and we felt like we’d really accomplished something when we made it there. Definitely not the kind of restaurant you could just stumble onto. Hooray for good guidebooks!

Provence travel log 2006-12-28

This was a day of many small towns. First stop was L'Isle sur la Sorgue, where we marveled at the iced-over waterwheels spinning in the river. Dad says there were originally 64 wheels in the city. They’re still economically important after hundreds of years, though now they generate wealth by attracting tourists rather than grinding wheat.The shopping gods smiled on Lauren, who found gifts for friends and family. After the requisite stop for café au lait and warmth, we returned to our cars.For lunch, we stopped between towns at l’Estellan, which was a random stop and a real stroke of luck. All of us agreed that it was the best meal we’d had yet in France. I had pumpkin soup, chicken, and mashed potatoes. Food was just perfect. As we sat there, we saw that the restaurant was recommended in all of our guidebooks. Based on its location, we also suspect that l’Estellan was the restaurant that Patrice was trying to recommend, but whose name he couldn’t remember. So it was fate that we landed there, I guess.The next stop was the beautiful village of Gordes, a real “city on a hill” that reminded all of us of Gondor from the Lord of the Rings movies. There wasn’t much to do except marvel at the countryside below and the white walls above, but this was exactly what we’d come to do, after all.Finally, we journeyed on to Roussillon, another hillside town whose soul seemed tied to the ochre beneath it. We stood wrapped in rouge: sunset, city, and hill. Beautiful.Lauren was so excited that she celebrated with her new favorite: a Nutella crepe.

From there, we drove back home. Having no dinner plan, intimidated by the cold and dark outside, and frankly sick of driving, we decided to return to House Pizza, the bumpin’ pizza place across the street. Lauren, Sam, and I took care of business, securing 4 thin-crust pizzas for the household and enjoying the company of all 5 young people in Alleins while we waited.

Provence travel log 2006-12-28 (Lauren)

Gordes perches on the edge of the white cliffs like a city of stories ~ tall and white and proud. Her stones glow in the glory of the afternoon sun, her face turned towards the blaze. It is the stately gaze of a warrior searching for signs of danger that might threaten a beloved land.

She overlooks the intermingled fields of wine vines and olive trees, and her brow is fair and serene.

* * *

Along the road to Rousillon, a line of old trees stands at attention. They reach and arc over the highway with spreading branches, trunks thick and sturdy and fingers bared by the cold.

Looking beyond these stout trees, I see groves of smaller olive trees planted in neat rows. They are lighter in color to the harsh, hearty brown and greens of the larger highway trees and have managed to cling to their leaves despite the cold.

The slender trunks disappear into the ground, and as I lean closer I realize that each cluster of trees is not one single plant but instead a collection of a few. Their feet firmly set into the ground, they lean back as if caught in one frozen moment of a ring dance ~ four or five girls whose reckless circling has caused their hair to fly outwards and their dresses to swirl around them ~ hands clasped tightly to one another's in order to prevent them from flinging themselves to the ground.

I think of Gina. And Nayelli.

Provence travel log 2006-12-27

Anna has broken free of the Robinson OCD and acquired the ability to sleep in without guilt. So after a leisurely morning spent mostly in bed, Lauren, Anna, Nathan, and I piled into the "late" car and made the trip south to the beautiful fishing village of Cassis.
Undeterred by a few wrong turns and many loops through construction-addled Marseilles, we finally reached our destination just before 2pm. A walk through the stone-and-pebble beach and around the docked boats brought us at last into the hungry presence of Mom, Dad, and Sam. They'd been waiting in the beautiful harbor for quite a while and had the lunch situation all scoped out. First couple of choices were ferme (closed), but we finally settled on L'Oustau de la Mar. We feasted on seafood, salt air, and a view of the shining harbor over our shoulders.
The "young ones" then stuck around and enjoyed sunset at the beach. (Did I mention that the weather was about 20 degrees Fahrenheit warmer by the beach? Life was good.)
Finally, we piled back into the car and had an exciting time finding our way home in the dark with a barely-adequate map. But we made it at last and were rewarded with a large, Showalter-style "grazing" dinner.

Provence travel log 2006-12-26

[All of today’s pictures thanks to Lauren. I left my camera at the house! Wish I could take pictures as well and as frequently as she does. –Will]

I woke late this morning to find everyone else already up and about. Lauren was very kind and had a cup of tea and a bit of pain chocolat ready (it’s a croissant-like pastry with a little bit of chocolate in the bottom). As I hopped in the shower and got ready to go, Nathan dutifully scraped all the car windows clear of ice.

After a brief drive through some villages nearby, we made our way to our first stop, Les Baux. The tiny, stone town’s population is numbered in the hundreds. Lunch was the first order of business, and we had savory crepes and café au lait at Sux Santons de Provence, just inside the city walls. Then it was time to explore in earnest.

Les Baux is the area that gives bauxite its name, although all the bauxite mines are history now. History is everywhere aboveground as well, and we spent most of the morning wandering the narrow lanes of the old citadel atop the hill. Lauren, Sam, and I also took an audio tour that had us looking over the breathtaking countryside below and learning all about life in Ancient Les Baux, Very Old Les Baux, Slightly Elderly Les Baux, and Hardy Middle-Aged Les Baux. The bottom line is that the area has been a beautiful, fertile, and eminently defensible place to live for thousands of years, and as a result the hills and valleys were steeped in history.

We were bummed to only get halfway through the audio tour before we had to meet up with the rest of our group at 2pm.

Les Baux was nice, but the Medieval ruins apparently weren’t old enough for Dad. We thus traveled to nearby Arles to take in the really old stuff – ruins of the Roman arena and amphitheatre. Very reminiscent of the coliseum and forum in Rome. Really had a feeling that we were walking in the middle of history; after all, a provincial sandal once trod on the very same stones beneath our feet today. Arena had a wonderful city view from the top, to boot.

(Arles also gave me a great opportunity to practice my pirate accent. Try it… Arrrrles!)

After the ruins, we spent an hour so chatting in a coffeeshop – my favorite French activity. Then it was a brief stop into a church and square before dinner time.

We drove to a Michelin-starred restaurant in nearby Eygalieres, only to find it closed for renovations through May of 2007. Luckily, Provence has more picturesque little olive-producing villages than Carter has pills, so it was one hop over to Saint Remy. The Michelin-recommended Alain Assaud was serving dinner, but not until 7:30, so it was another hour in another coffeeshop in another village, which was just fine with me.

Dinner was very tasty, very authentic, tres French. A tiny place, about the size of St. Sevy near home in Woodside, CA. But on this night at least, it had only one waitress out front and two chefs in back, which was a stretch even for a small place like Alain Assaud. Still, food was excellent, if a bit long in arriving, and the goat cheese was so tasty and so plentiful that Sam was actually refusing it by the end of the meal, something I never thought I’d see.

The late dinner made this our wildest night out as a group, putting us back home in Alleins just after 11pm. Many people are coming down with colds, so we’ll try to get a good rest tonight before journeying southward to Marseilles and its surrounds tomorrow.

Provence travel log 2006-12-26 (Lauren)

Due to some early programming of my internal clock upon first coming to Alliens, every morning I start listening for the church bells, as I have no alarm clock to tell me thetiome. The first bells I count ring at 5:00, and I count each ring; and then I wake again every hour to count the bells until seven.

Upon first awakening this morning, I had the impression that I was looking at a mirror placed at the foot of my bed. The gauzy white curtains that hang on the pretty iron bedframe also hang from the neighboring bed -- they are like twins sitting beside one another in my lavender room; The couple's two little girls must have slept in this room together.

But when I awoke this morning, the symmetrical shape of the hanging set made me think that I was looking at some sort of mirror in the grey light, and thus I began the day with a sense of wonder.

Let me tell you what a frosted leaf looks like. Brown and brittle, it sits so encrusted in ice that its edges end in tiny white points -- delicate, sharp, and lovely.

Let me tell you about the sky tonight. It is so clear that the stars became multilayered -- not a mere flat cloth canopy over the earth, but a collection of candles that range from near to far and thus shine with varying intensities of light -- the brightest stars of Orion's belt and the smallest adding texture.

A night so cold that the people of Alliens have closed tight their windows -- people fall asleep and fall il and fall in love, and you know that if you only watched long enough then you could see a star fall as well --

Provence travel log 2006-12-25

Christmas! We slept in and straggled downstairs one by one, met with the sound of Christmas music and the smell of fresh-baked bread.

A loosely-defined, “grazing”-style breakfast eventually congealed into a spaghetti-and-squash lunch, courtesy of Chef Anna and Chef Nathan. Sated on pasta, wine, and Christmas cheer, we opened our presents.
We’d set up an exchange beforehand where everyone would give and receive one gift, and I was pumped to receive a Puma-style “BERLIN” exercise shirt from Nathan. Here's me with the shirt, "mad-dogging it" as the Alldredges might say:
Throughout the day, we ate, drank, napped, played games, told stories. Lauren and I squeezed in two walks before dinner, one up the hill behind the house, and one on top of the castle ruins in the center of town.

Finally, it was time for a home-cooked frittata dinner, the requisite dishes and dessert, and immediate nodding off.

Joyeux Noel!

Provence travel log 2006-12-24

I gave myself an early Christmas present and slept in this morning. Most of the others rose early for a trip to the special weekend market three villages away. I awoke around 10:45am, just in time to catch this group returning with a large haul of wines, cheeses, olives, and fruit. Everyone feasted as noon sunlight slanted in from the south.

Feeling criminally lazy for sleeping so long, I did all the dishes, and then after some lounging and talking it was time to make the drive to Aix en Provence, the nearest “big” city. The main attraction there was the Christmas market, and this was of course our last day to see it. Expert navigation by Dad and Nathan saw us safely into Aix. The market was busy and well-lit, and Aix was exactly the kind of provincial counterpoint to Paris that I was hoping for.

Some Aix pictures:

We stopped throughout the afternoon for crepes, cathedrals, and plenty of photo ops. The only hitch was a scarceness of open dinner places, not surprising on Christmas Eve. We finally broke down and gave heavy business to a man running a food stall in the Christmas market. We dug into sandwiches and crepes of all kinds, always accompanied with lots and lots of French fries. (French fries are one of those things that you’d think weren’t really French. But you’d be wrong. French fries are everywhere here. The sad thing is, I weaned myself off them years ago in the states! I’m having trouble reacquiring the taste.)

After dinner, we fled from the rapidly dropping temperature and drove back home to Alleins. We opened some wine, put on Christmas carols, lit the fire, played games, and wished each other Merry Christmas at least five times each. A great way to end our Christmas Eve.

Provence travel log 2006-12-24 (Lauren)

In the morning, Anna, Nathan, Sam and I went to a small market in a neighboring town. Stalls of food -- cheese, fruits, sausages, Christmas pies -- stood next to other stalls filled with clothing, sunglasses -- it was as if the Honolulu stadium swap dropped down wares into a quaint French provincial village.

We sampled some cheese and some lavender honey. When the honey hit my tongue I could smell the flowers through my mouth. Then the smell lingered even after we walked away.

And when we walked back to the car, the steeple of the town's church rose in creme-colored beauty in the bright blue sky.

Paris / Provence travel log 2006-12-23

As tiny Anna and tiny Will used to say, voices shooting to truly uncomfortable octaves: “It’s Christmas Eve eve!” Christmas is definitely in the air in France, though not quite in the same way as America. Mom pointed out that only a tiny minority of the shops we’ve entered are playing Christmas music, in stark contrast to the states, where retail employees have sued (successfully!) for mental anguish resulting from the constant barrage of holiday musak.

After a final breakfast at the hotel, we spent much of the day in transit from Paris to Provence. Our first stop was the Paris train station, where we played it very safe and arrived an hour and twenty minutes before our train was supposed to leave. I’m not sure we actually planned to play things quite so safe, but there you go. Anna and I made the most of it, entertaining Lauren and everyone else with stories from our travels together as small children.
Finally, it was time to get on the train, a bullet from Paris to Avignon. I was really surprised by the train, which rode much smoother and much faster than the other trains I’ve known (e.g., Amtrak, Caltrain). Perhaps newly-arrived Lauren’s jetlag was contagious, as I couldn’t help nodding off for most of the train ride.

It actually lent a slightly magical air to the trip. I’d wake up with a start, see the French countryside painted in frost slide silently by the window, and hear the drugged cat in the seat opposite yawn at me. I’d then nod off again, to wake some unknown time later and see the world now covered in snow, or drenched in sunshine. Every so often some unknowable French message would play through the loudspeaker, bracketed with electronic chimes. There were no stops to announce between Paris and Avignon, no stops at all. As near as I could tell, that French woman was just telling me: “Back to sleep. Back to sleep.”

We finally arrived in Avignon, all persons and parcels accounted for. We went through the usual and universal hassle of getting our rental cars, and then set out on the 35-minute drive to Alleins. Although we had multiple maps and direction printouts, we found our small town and our house almost by accident in the end. With no street numbers visible, we were eventually rescued by our landlord/host, Patrice, who said he heard English outside the window and came out to investigate. Here's the view outside our new home:
Patrice showed us around the house, which we’ll call home for the next week or so. It’s a gorgeous place in an amazing location. As Dad noted, three bakeries within a block. And Patrice was kind enough to give us the very detailed rundown: “Go to this bakery for bread. Go to the other for croissant. Never go to the third bakery. They are not good people. Seriously, I must tell you this.” Also had great tips on the Christmas markets and other great things to do in the area. Here's a picture of Patrice and our entire company (sans moi), at the end of the tour:
Although we really appreciated Patrice’s help, we were all starving, having missed lunch, and in some cases, having missed breakfast as well! Once Patrice left us with the keys and a hearty “bon nui,” we headed straight for the pizza parlor next door (there being nothing more French in sight), and had possibly my best meal since arriving in France. OK, so I was starving. But still, the pizza was very good, and the "American" ambiance was unbeatable. Enough seats for about 15 people (we filled the place, more or less), but it had a set of turntables in front, a disco ball spinning up above, and it was playing some light house/techno the whole time we were there.

At long last, we returned to the house to drink a bottle of wine and listen to music. The house has a wonderful old turntable, with some records gathering dust nearby. The records are all older than I am, which is something to think about. We tore through Dire Straits’ self-titled album, The Beatles’ “Rubber Soul,” and a Bach recording. We finally finished off the evening over wine and laughter with the Charlie Brown Christmas CD playing. Mom had brought it, of course. It’s been the Robinson family Christmas soundtrack ever since I can remember.

We have an early morning tomorrow, when we’ll be making our way to a Sunday market two towns over. Lauren’s eyes lit up at Patrice’s mention of the market, so how can I resist?

Paris / Provence travel log 2006-12-23 (Lauren)

Today the sleep debt from the two previous days suddenly appeared, like finding, upon standing from a table, that I am strapped to a backpack full of bricks.

Although staying awake was a bit of a fight, the day itself was again full of joy. Simply sitting in my pretty Parisian hotel room with the French sun smiling upon the city was enough to make me happy -- the wallpaper a rich pink brocade and the bedspread damasked with deep red roses.

And again sitting up in the morning and eating breakfast -- small cops of orange juice and heavy cereal and my bleary-eyed Will -- we packed our bags and headed towards the bullet train station.

Ironwork arched above us and the trains lined up, sleek as if molded by the force of the air through which the move. I though instantly of Harry Potter as the people rushed past us, lugging shopping bags and children and small dogs; and wondered if I could reach Hogwarts if only I rushed through one of the walls.

Across from us on the train sat a beautiful French woman cradling a black cat in a blue blanket. Every so often the cat would mew or peer its small head at Will and I; its eyes were weirdly clouded over. The woman would whisper a few words to the animal and cuddle it against her bosom; by the end of the ride, the cat lay unmoving upon its back, its mouth open and its eyes shut. A passing child stroked its chin and belly but the cat did not respond -- I wondered if it were still alive.

Finally, Avignon. I had slept the entire time on the train and awoke to an entirely new countryside. Hills and bare trees in neat rows stretched out in front of us, and I tried to re-orient myself amidst this new open landscape.

Paris travel log 2006-12-22

Lauren arrived this morning right around breakfast time.
As I already knew, she’s a much better trooper than I am and was ready to start seeing the sights right after breakfast. Mom, Dad, Dee, Sam, Lauren and I took a long metro ride to Montmartre (a hilly neighborhood) and the Sacre Couer (Sacred Heart basilica, located at the highest point in Paris). The view from the hill was spectacular – a bit blinding really in the morning light.

The church itself looked very similar to the other churches we’ve seen in Paris, though it was built much more recently (1870).
The area just outside the church was the most touristy place I’ve seen so far, complete with tacky t-shirt shops. But we made the most of it: Dee had a street artist draw a really neat portrait of Sam. And all of us enjoyed some surprisingly excellent coffee, agreeing that it was the best we’d had in all of Paris.

After the portrait was finished and paid for (“You pay what you like. I don’t know what I do. So if you like, you pay more, no?”), we had a medium-length walk back to the metro, catching glimpses of a windmill and the Montmartre cemetery along the way. Then it was lunch all together in the Bistro de Montmartre, where I had (could you guess) beef and pomme frites (French fries). Then Dee and Sam peeled off to the Picasso museum, Mom and Dad peeled off to do some shopping, and Lauren and I – finally running out of gas – headed back to the hotel for another one of those power naps.

The evening held the only big, planned event: a dinner cruise along the Seine to see Paris lit up at night. Anna and Nathan flew in just in time, and our group was finally complete. Many sights and sounds of Paris looked that much better lit up under the stars and seen from the river, and we were very happy to see the Eiffel Tower sparkling quickly, which apparently it does each hour.

After dinner, Lauren and I briefly headed out to sample some Paris nightlife. The creperie right next door to our hotel handled his crepe-making implements with a flourish. As Lauren put it, “it was like he was a knight going on a quest.” And apparently, his quest involved lots of Nutella, which was just fine with us. After snarfing the crepe, we walked a block further to a busy café/bar, where we had white wine (Lauren) and some unidentifiable Brazilian cocktail that was apparently a house specialty (Will). We laughed, talked, marveled at the beautiful French people, and finally called it a night.

Tomorrow morning we’ll be up bright and early and off to Provence. Au revior, Paris!

Paris travel log 2006-12-21

Another exciting day that began with the usual continental breakfast in the hotel. Then we all walked to the Musee National du Moyen Age (The Museum of the Middle Ages, also known as the Cluny Museum since it shares space with the Hotel Cluny). Sam had been talking about this museum since landing yesterday, and it didn’t disappoint. Impressive sculptures, paintings, and illuminated books from the middle ages, along with the remains of the original Roman baths and the famous tapestry, “Lady and the Unicorn.” Here's a close-up of one of the illuminated works:

After the museum, we stopped into the nearby St. Severin church for a minute or two, which was lovely and (to me at least) very reminiscent of St. Sulpice.

Then a 10-meter stroll around the corner for lunch at Le Grand Bistrot, which we selected randomly from a street full of quaint-looking places. The food was tasty, and the large display of meats and cheeses in the window had tour groups stopping and taking photos throughout the meal. Mom snapped a good picture of people taking pictures. In the tour groups’ defense, they did have a 100ish-pound wheel of cheese in the window. I would have taken a picture of that, too.

We returned to the hotel to meet up with Pam and Raylene, whose flight had been delayed but who ultimately arrived just after lunchtime. We said our joyful hellos and took some pictures.

Then apparently, Pam and Raylene went to Notre Dame and St. Chapelle, Mom and Dad went to the Notre Dame archaeological exhibit, and Dee and Sam retraced our second-day steps to the Orsay and l’Orangerie museums. I say “apparently” because I spent the afternoon napping. Or to make that sound more heroic: power-napping.

The napping did a body good, as I was feeling very ready to go when I met everyone in the lobby at 6:30. We had dinner at Relais Odeon, another random choice and a great one. Our waiter was very lively and entertaining, and handled our table of seven very gracefully. I made the big mistake and ordered both a salad and a main course, having forgotten to check the price on the salad (which turned out to be a meal in itself). Then my main course arrived, accompanied by a side-salad of course. C’est la vie!

Mom and Dad at dinner. Note Google t-shirt. What a man.

After dinner, Dad, Sam, and I walked further down the Blvd. St.-Germain to have a post-meal coffee and chat at the famous Café de Flores. (Decaf for me. I am a wild and crazy guy).

Looking forward to the arrival of Lauren, Anna, and Nathan tomorrow, at which point all of us will finally be assembled here in France! Tomorrow is our last full day in Paris. We hop the train to Provence on Saturday morning.

Paris Travel Log 2006-12-21 (Lauren)

Impressions of a Paris Airport:

- Yellow glowing lights. Numbers.
- Moving walkways climbing and falling at impossible angles --
- Rows of signs like a metaphor for something spectacular.
- A lost landing card.
- A lost pink pen -- found.
- Beautiful women in long black coats.
- Languages like bubbles bursting all around -- and I, a silent watcher, understanding none.
- Cigarette smoke.
- Images of Will in my mind.

Paris travel log 2006-12-20

Although it was a fun and full day, I can sum things up in a few words: Dee and Sam arrived this morning after receiving an expedited new passport for Sam. We then spent most of the day in the Louvre (loved it!), and we saw the Arc de Triomphe just after sunset. A couple of pictures first:

Since we were in the Louvre from 10am to about 5:30pm, I’ll just concentrate on what we saw there. Dad and I walked the few blocks from the hotel to the Louvre at 10am. We entered through the big, glass pyramid in the center. After checking our coats, we sought out the self-guided audio tours, and found that there were two different tours available. We went the classy route and chose the “non-Davinci Code” tour.

We then made a beeline for the three biggies: the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, and the Victory of Samothrace. They were all really incredible, but I don’t have much to add to the mountains of ecstatic prose that have already been written about them. I will say, though, that December seems a great time to visit the Louvre, since we didn’t encounter any of the lines I’d heard horror stories about. There was almost no line at all at the ticket counter, and even a short person who needed to get to the very front of the Mona Lisa crowd could have easily done so after about a minute of waiting.

(Oh, it’s also worth mentioning that there is a man whose full-time job it is to clap at, yell at, and shout angry French at anyone who even thinks of reaching for a camera in front of the Mona Lisa. I’ve been surprised that so many museums here do allow pictures inside, and the Louvre also allows them generally, just not in that gallery.)

So, we’d seen the Big Three and could rest easy even if the museum was evacuated that instant. Time to plan for the rest of the day…

Many guidebooks had warned us that the Louvre will punish you if you approach it with the wrong attitude. Try to see it all, and you’ll just speed along, exhausting yourself as everything blends together. At best, you’ll end up with a camera full of artwork you don’t even remember seeing! So Dad and I took it slow, spending most of the morning in the French and Italian painting wings, sitting down often, and being sure to give long stretches of attention to individual paintings as our audio guide put everything in context. Turns out that Napoleon really, really liked paintings of himself.

We then stopped for a tasty lunch in the museum café, where I had a ham and cheese sandwich and (at Dad’s recommendation) a great lemonade-beer thing (I know) called Panache (Panachet?). After lunch, Mom, Dee, and Sam showed up. We revisited our first three stops with them, and then the guys and girls split up. The boy team spent most of the afternoon on sculpture: ancient Egyptian, ancient Greek, ancient Roman, and Renaissance Italian. Plenty of Michelangelo in that last gallery, and some really interesting audio commentary to boot. On the way out, we also stopped by a special tactile gallery, where they’d duplicated many of the best-known sculptures from the entire museum so that blind people – or anyone who’d been itching to touch the darn things for the last three hours – could actually feel the sculptures.

Throughout the day, we saw many tour groups going by, working in every language you can name. Guides had little microphones, and group members had earphones, which was a clever way to keep everything quiet and to prevent guides from having to yell over each other. Saw the first white person in a while who speaks Chinese far better than I do: she was a Louvre tour guide. Makes sense.

After reconvening at 4:30pm and refreshing ourselves with glasses of wine in the main Louvre café, we hopped on the metro to see the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs-Élysées. Amazing to see such an immediately recognizable monument sitting in the middle of a working (and busy!) intersection.

Finally, it was a rich beef + Bourdeaux dinner at a nearby French restaurant, and then the most crowded Metro ride ever back to the hotel.

Paris Travel Log 2006-12-19

Yesterday’s declaration of victory over jetlag was premature. I lay awake until around 6am this morning, before finally nodding off and sleeping through our set breakfast time. Mom and Dad were great sports putting up with a tired and grumpy Will for the rest of the day.

False starts seemed to be the theme of the day. Our target restaurant for lunch was closed, so I had a random club sandwich on our way to somewhere else. Then, the museum Mom really wanted to see was closed. But then it turned out that it wasn’t. But then we found we’d left the address in the room. And so we got directions. But the person giving us directions sent us to the wrong metro stop. So we decided to see the interior of the nearby national opera house instead. But the main hall was closed for rehearsal. And on and on.

Everyone’s had days like this, but it’s a bit of a shame to have one in Paris. And on only a few hours’ sleep, I wasn’t rolling with the punches too well.

Good luck finally started coming our way late in the afternoon, when we just stopped trying to do much of anything. After cutting through some gardens and the Louvre’s courtyard (note bocce balls!):

…we had some delicious tea, hot chocolate, and desserts at the first café we came across, the Angelina. After walking in, we discovered that the Angelina just happened to have been sitting next to the Louvre since 1901, playing host to people like Proust and Coco Chanel. As the waitress told us later, we would have been waiting at the door for an hour at least, if we’d not come on Tuesday – the one day a week that the Louvre is closed. Our luck was slowly changing, as clearly evidenced by Dad’s truly world-class Mont Blanc pastry (think a dash of chestnut, sitting atop a mountain of sugar and cream).

From there, we took a brisk (read: chilly) walk to the Saint Sulpice, a beautiful church that would have been worth seeing even if it hadn’t featured prominently in The Da Vinci Code.

Then finally, it was another walk back toward the hotel and a stop at the third creperie we encountered (our first two choices were closed. Argh!). But the food turned out to be simple, filling, and delicious. The restaurant was also really conducive to conversation: just the right amount of light, the right level of music, no crowd at all, and plenty of tasty Bordeaux. So we ended the day on a high note, sharing the most leisurely meal I think we’ve had yet in Paris.

Overall, it was a day of karmic reckoning. We’d had such great luck and gotten so much done in the previous two days, that I think we simply owed the universe one day like this. Our debts now hopefully paid off, I look forward to seeing what tomorrow has to bring (and to getting to sleep right away).

Paris travel log for Monday, 2006-12-18

OK, it’s an obligatory Parisian tourist picture, so let’s kick this off right:

Now, about the day…

Completely over jet lag now, Mom, Dad, and I looked pretty fresh at the hotel breakfast at 10am. From there, we headed straight to Notre Dame. Though smaller than other famous cathedrals like St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s, it made a similar impression. Gorgeous stained glass, interior and exterior sculpture, and (something I don’t remember seeing much in other cathedrals) large paintings. Took plenty of pictures, punched my way through the entire audio tour, and still had a few minutes to just absorb the good vibrations before noon mass began.

After Notre Dame, we walked toward Paris’s best and most famous ice cream shop, at least according to Dad’s guidebook. Mom had been politely but firmly mentioning said ice cream shop since we landed, cold weather be damned. Sadly, it was closed when we got there, but we promised to give it another try on Wednesday.

We made a random lunch stop at a small, nearby restaurant called Auberge de Deux Ponts. I had delicious, salty onion soup and some pasta carbonara. Mom spent much of the meal discreetly trying to take a picture of the “world’s politest cat” – as she dubbed him – who was perched quietly on a seat at the next table.

After a brief stop at the stark Holocaust memorial behind Notre Dame, we walked across the small island and found the tiny but beautiful Saint-Chapelle. This is a church whose walls are small slivers of stone between giant sheets of stained glass. An impressive sight, even in the light of today’s overcast sun.

Next, at my suggestion, we took our first metro ride to the Eiffel Tower. Mom and I both agreed that it was much taller than we expected. I can see how astounding it would have been when first erected in the late 1800s.

Having read that the tower was an entirely different sight at night, we stopped into the nearest café to wait for sunset. And this café reminded me of something. Did you even notice when the nerds took over the world? Have a look:

Not seeing it? Look closer, above the door:
Now remember, this is the coffee shop closest to the Eiffel Tower. There can be only one such place in the world. It can have only one entrance. And what’s the most important thing it wants to advertise there? “Internet.” “Wi-fi.” Five years ago, this sign would have been somewhat out of place. Fifteen years ago, almost no one would have even understood it.

The nerds took over the world by making everyone a nerd. My own lapsed-technophobe father sent email from his blackberry in that very café. And he didn’t even need the wi-fi to do it.

Who knows what that neon sign will say in another 15 years?

As for myself, the internet has changed how I live, or at least how I travel, in a really subtle and pervasive way: to a large extent, I’m constantly curating my own experiences. As I move through a day in Paris, something in the back of my mind is composing a blog post, remembering to take enough pictures, noticing things like neon signs and deciding how I’d like to comment on them. And that same little brain-elf is also deciding what’s not important, what I won’t be recording, what can be passed by. Missed.

I have mixed feelings about all of this. An intention to record and process really motivates me to get out and do more. On top of that, my attention stays sharp all day, because after all I’m working on something. (You’re reading it now.) And finally, I do believe that there is a permanence and concreteness in a well-recorded journey that one never quite matches when relying on memory alone. However, I can’t shake the thought that if the tunnel I look through now is so clear and deep, it must also be a bit narrow.

Oh well. These are the life and times of Will Robinson, and I have a hunch that I can file this directly under the heading: “Not Better. Not Worse. Just Different.” I’ll close this line of thinking with a link that says it all much more concisely than I can:

http://xkcd.com/c77.html

(And for those of you who don’t know what Livejournal is, it’s a blogging system like the one I’m using to write this post).

Our last stop after a nighttime Eiffel Tower gawk was dinner at a quaint, 20-seat restaurant near our hotel. The pushy but incredibly jovial hostess yelled to us on the street: “And why not my kitchen tonight?” After some charming descriptions of the traditional French treats waiting inside, we all agreed. Why not, indeed?

The food was delicious, the atmosphere quiet and homey, and we had the good fortune of sitting next to Tracy Bank, a visitor from San Francisco. Tracy was in Paris with family and friends, but everyone had been food poisoned except for her! She overheard our discussion of Christmas dinner plans in Provence, and having traveled and rented a house there herself, she jumped in and offered us some great tips. Thanks in advance from all of us, Tracy.

My biggest failure as a self-curator today? I didn’t write down the restaurant’s name. Oh well, it’s just around the corner. I might jot it down tomorrow and then practice some revisionism on this here blog.

Reader, beware!

Au revoir.