eDay 2: D’Orsay, Ferrari’s and more, raw beef, feet that KILL, and Mary Pierce
Tuesday, morning. 7 AM.
Well, we’re up and ready to tackle this city. We sensed potential rain but had not the sense to bring an umbrella.
In the spirit of “Hey, let’s go that way” (one of my favorite games) we headed down this one Rue which brought us south and just a little East of the Hotel des Invalides (where Napoleon is buried).
Upon taking a couple of lefts, rights and another left, we found ourselves on this small cobblestoned street, where this beautiful scenario played out: Butcher shops (Boucheries), flower shops, Epiceries (small grocers), bakeries (boulangeries) all waking up from last night’s slumber to set up for their day. It was amazing. Much like the set of a movie before the actors showed up, we were privy to the inside and early scoop. This made it very easy to just walk slowly, strolling even, to just see this ballet of activity unfold.
Finding this little Tabac/Brasserie (Tobacco shop/eatery) amidst all of this, we dropped in and quickly noticed not a soul knew French. If they did, they certainly weren’t letting on. Women dressed in corporate structure but with typical French pre’t-a-porter, men haunched over the counter top drinking café and eating pain avec buerre (bread with butter), smoking storms and commenting on the previous day’s sports scores.
A fifty’s-in-age, Dr. Who looking man came up and said “Bonjour.â€
I quickly confirmed the menu (it was also posted outside) and said, “Deux omelettes des Fromage, s’il vous plait. Et, aussi, un café (Two cheese omelettes, please. And also, one coffee [I sign-languaged the “one” for emphasis.])
He was all business and in need of a shave; not sweet but not rude. It was as he walked away I realized he may have thought I meant one coffee for each of us. Given that it is my heartfelt belief that coffee sucks my ass, I had to rectify this. But I looked up and he already had two coffees in his hand, headed our way.
Uh oh. Haha. Ok…
“Pardon-moi, Monsieur. Seulment, un café, pas deux. (Pardon me, sir. Only one coffee, not two….)
This kind remark on my behalf netted me a steely cold, glare as he spirited away the unwanted coffee.
“LOL, oh shit. I got my first French attitude!”
But honestly, he was fine, kind enough after the miscommunication. His omelettes were very good (not as good as mine, damnit!), and we quickly scarfed and headed down the road we found.
We crossed this GRAND, grassy landscape in front of the Hotel Des Invalides. Took a couple of “we’re in Paris” pictures
and walked East towards where I believed our first stop was: The Musee d’Orsay.
The Musee d’Orsay (www.musee-orsay.fr) is the LARGEST impressionist collection in the world: Van Gogh, Cézanne, Gaugin, Toulous Latrec, etc etc. It is easily the most coveted of the Paris museums that I wanted to visit as I’m a huge Van Gogh and Cézanne fanatic. Originally, a Train Station (Gare D’Orsay), it was targeted for demolition in the early 70’s, but public indignation over the recent demolition of another site (because of a public revival of interest in 18th century architecture) also carried over to D’Orsay, and this one female Architect saved it with an unbelievable design to turn the place into a museum.
So, I couldn’t wait to get there. But since we hadn’t even attempted to figure out the Metro (we had maps yet, but not sure which type of metro pass to get), we were walking and it was a bit farther than the map alleged. Or… we were out of shape! Actually, it wasn’t an “out of breath” thing. It was more of a “my feet already hurt” thing.
As we walked across this grassy area, cars zipping left and right as the city was fully awake by now.
Traveling east, now on the other side, I noticed this fucking RAD old Ferrari. I’m not talking cheese ball 80’s Miami Vice wannabe. I’m talking GTO 250 style.
Then another. And another! Hurriedly, we scurried to this area filled with trees where, under the trees, there were maybe 30 or 40 of these 60’s era race cars! It was unbelievable. Drivers all decked out in jumpsuits, the cars with their huge numbered decals, all starting up their engines.
It was a RALLY of some sort and they all had just begun heading out to where ever they were going. What a cool discovery, completely unintended.
Walking along streets towards D’Orsay, we noticed we were in a district reserved for Diplomats. The Polish Embassy, the Ukrainian embassy, as well as others were all nestled in this general area.
While standing in line at D’Orsay, I decided to go over to a small wall nearby, stand on it, and take a picture of the waiting line and the building. At this point, a French pigeon thought it best to crap on my camera.
Thought you’d find that funny! Imagine me asking French women standing in front of us for a tissue or something to clean this ‘merd’ off my camera! Oh well; no harm, no fowl. LOLOLOL
Inside, we bought Museum Passes. These are 5 day Passes for all of Paris, allowing you into something like 60 museums. (While not cheap, these are an absolute must buy; they paid for themselves by the 3rd or 4th day.)
So, here’s why I love the Musee dâ’Orsay:
At this point, there were these kids on a field trip standing in front of Whistler’s Mother. (Didn’t realize it was such a huge painting, huh?) Since I’ve always enjoyed the outlook of a child, I opted to sit in with them and listen.
This place was BEAUTIFUL.
Lunch.
We had lunch in the Café upstairs at D’Orsay. I had read good things about it, and it was very ornately decorated. We ordered what were possibly the most eclectic dishes of our trip: plat du Fromage (dish of various cheeses) and Beef Tartare.
Ok, Beef Tartare is not Steak Tartare. Steak tartare is raw steak, sliced thin and served. THIS was fucking ground beef! From like Trader Joe’s or Albertsons (Ok, maybe not from there)! With an egg cracked over it, minced onion, olives, and relish, parsley and a bottle of Worcestershire Sauce. Um…Bon Apetit! It actually was very good, but you had to constantly disobey the things your mom told you while tasting it.
We were in D’Orsay for at least 5 hours, and our feet were starting to kill. We walked (ouch ouch ouch) to the Musee de Rodin where, along the way, I took one of my favorite photos of the entire trip. A beautiful little city garden/park with a chapel behind it. This chapel was just nestled in the city like every other city, right? Uh well, um….no.
Just beautiful.
At the Musée De Rodin we saw the Thinker.
Impressive to a point, but that’s the way I feel with most sculptures. They just don’t blow me away like paintings. Still though, my respect is high because they are a pain in the ass to create.
This museum was one of many that were housed in the artist’s home at the time of either his fame or the end of his life (or both). His house was a little boring honestly, but they did have a Van Gogh which I loved and finally was able to see in person.
At this point, we were walking in light rain and SERIOUSLY considered a taxi. It now being about 6 PM, we had definitely walked 6-7 miles today. We were in pain. No, not pain. PAIN. Still though, we continued to walk.
DINNER.
We made it back to the hotel, rested our fucking blistered and swollen feet. Just prior, we stopped in at the local epicerie (grocer) and picked up some bread, Coca Cola, prosciutto, salami slices and very spreadable cheese for morning sandwiches. We decided that saving money on breakfasts meant more money spent on dinners. Yes, I thought it clever too. 😉
The 3rd restaurant of the day was this little place near the hotel found in the book of menus the hotel’s concierge had given us. We settled in, and for the 2nd day in a row, ordered Escargot. Why? Because Escargot rules. (You’ll get a kick as to how many times in all ordered them). She ordered this amazing Chicken and mushroom cream sauce dish and I ordered the Coq Au Vin (that was not as good as mine GOD DAMNIT).
However, this large party of seven sat down next to us. Lively, and mixing French and English, I looked up and realized I recognized someone.
Since she spoke English during most of the table’s conversation (she literally sat right next to Christina) I simply asked:
“I’m sorry, can I ask you a stupid question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you Mary Pierce?â€
“Yes I am.”
Cool. I just met my very first Tennis Slam Winner. Mary won the French Open in 2000 over Conchita Martinez. I saw that one. Good match.
She was kind, and quickly I text messaged my buddy Ty: “Dude, I am sitting right next to Mary Pierce!”
He text messaged me back: “Ask her if yellow balls are her favorite”
Ty is not normally won to slam home a winner like that! So, I say this: Good one, my friend!
Fondant Au Chocalat for Dessert…
Barely making it home, via our godforsaken feet, we collapsed and fell asleep.
Day Two Complete.
