Nora's Travelogue of France 2005
Entry 2: Paris
Ah, what a day.
Chose urban hiking over the gym, and started it off with a nice breakfast with the terrace doors open. I slept until 8, and can't remember the last time I managed that.
We walk up the Champs Elysee, doing a little window shopping as most of the shops weren't yet open. We did stop in a little art gallery where there were beautiful bronze sculptures that looked more like stone—streaks of green and purple and gold through them. Then on, past lovely gardens, and along the wide, tree-lined avenue to the Place de le Concorde. The monolith is awesome in person, just stunning, and the fountain is gorgeous and exotic. Lots of tourists milling about.
We head through the Jardin des Tuileries—all those pretty trees—to the Jeu de Paume—photography here now, but they weren't open until noon. BW will have to go back on his own some time.
Through the garden where seagulls swim in the pond—first time I've seen such a thing, and onto the magnificent Musée d'Orsay. The light's just beautiful, and the space is wide and lovely under a glass-domed ceiling. A bounty of Rodin, that just slap your heart silly. Amazing work. My goal was the Impressionists, and when we found them, I wasn't disappointed. Van Goghs, Monets, Renoirs, Cezanne. Room after room. You have to wonder what Van Gogh had inside that head of his to visualize all those wild swirls, and how Monet created those magnificent colors and shapes with all those dots of paint.
I think Renoir must have loved painting; his work is so lovely and abundant and happy.
We walk back on pretty tired feet, stopping at a sidewalk cafe for lunch. I just want a salad—and had to have fries. After all. Every bite was a taste of heaven. Saw a very French girl with a very French do. White blonde, a ruler straight scoop on one side, short as a boy's on the other. Odd, but somehow it worked on her. She was with her daddy—sugar or biological I'm not sure. But he was too old to be anything else.
I go to pay, and my credit card won't go through. Quelle alors!! The smiling waiter turns it over to the manager or head waiter, who runs it again. And says:
Zis card ees stolen, call ze police!
My jaw drops to my toes, and he laughs and laughs. Just kidding!
So far I've had nothing but courtesy and humor from the Parisian French.
Hit a parfumerie on the way back and score a bottle of L'Heure Bleu. Lovely scent, and I love the bottle. Find a cute kids' clothes place, so my babies will each have un ensemble francaise.
Hermes next. Oh, the scarves! Works of art, every one.
Then Armani, where BW gives out and goes back to the hotel.
Big score there, too, thanks to Sally, the French clerk. Madam, will like this?
You know what, Madam, she does like that.
Pretty short black velvet jacket. A just past the knee black skirt with a flirty flair that looked so French on me I have to have it. Then a black dress, again slightly longer than my usual but so pretty. Nice deep vee-neck, wide-ish straps, stretchy material. A couple of tops she sneaks in on me. All will be ready before we leave Paris, and sent to the hotel. She has trouble spelling my name, putting an i instead of an e at the end of Wilder. I can't remember my French alphabet well enough, so tell her the fifth letter, and we get it straight.
Back to the hotel, where BW and I decide to have a swim, then a whirlpool, then go to our separate locker room areas for a steam and a shower. Going to hang out and have a little wine, then go to dinner. Fouquet's tonight. I saw pasta on their menu!
The weather was absolutely gorgeous today, making all this urban hiking a pleasure.
Nora
© 2005 Nora Roberts and ADWOFF
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