Day 6: Gare Saint Lazare, The Unforeseen and Unexpected Highlight, a Bus ride takes an hour of our lives, Delacroix’ museum, Musee D’Orsay (take 2), Musee de Moderne Arte, and THIRTY SIX ESCARGOT!
Slow to rise. Intentionally. With so many of our last few days at a blitzkrieg pace, and the ease in which we could bask in last night’s experience, I don’t even remember if we set the alarm.
So, we finally made it out of the hotel at around 10:30 AM. My first thought for today’s plan was this: Tomorrow we are planning on going out of the city to a place called Giverny. In this small hamlet about 45 minutes outside of Paris, Claude Monet lived his most prolific years. His flower and water gardens are supposed to be out of this world. Since this was an actual train ride (compared to the short jaunt of Versailles), I figured let’s do some re-con work and check out the train station from where we need to leave from and figure out what tickets to buy etc.
Gare Saint Lazare
Paris train stations are cool. Though not as beautiful as Gare Du Nord, it still had quite a bit of charm. The station was packed with travelers, many taking the Euro Stars, all in countless directions. Noting the lines of wait for the tickets, I felt even better about coming a day early (we didn’t really have to be anywhere today, other than a few museums we still wanted to visit). So, we walked up to an info booth, inquired, and the gentleman handed us a pamphlet (in English) listing the train and bus times for Giverny as well as small bits of info on the museum and gardens themselves.
The Unforeseen and Unexpected Highlight of our Trip
Figuring out what line to take was easy; the choices were limited on the return, so we made our decision and decided to buy the tickets now instead of tomorrow (anticipating the same amount of hustle and bustle.)
There were ticket counters, 10 to 12 people long, with actual humans running them. But, at the end of the station, there were a group of about five automated ticket dispensers. We opted for those, standing in line and hoping not too many people would stand behind us (in case we had any translation problems with the machine.)
Fortunately, we were in luck; our line was only 5 people long, and only one man stood behind us.
Once we were up to this ATM for train tickets, we began attempting to use the machine. It was an old DOS looking Green background with white lettering. Ok, maybe blue with light blue lettering but you get the point; these things reeked of antiquity.
As we began entering our info, the man behind me started gesturing to the screen, and making suggestions in French. “No, press that button” he said. “Now, type in the city (Vernon; the train actually took you to Vernon and you then rode a 5-10 minute bus to Giverny).
I typed in Vernon, but he felt incline to complete the purchase for me. Very kindly, he asked me what the machine asked: “Premier, or Deuxieme?” (First class or 2nd class?)
“Oh, um, 2nd class.”
He punched in 2nd class, pushed a few more buttons, read aloud our intentions (I confirmed) and then he said to put in my credit card.
First card attempt: No. hmm. Worked last night. I have plenty of credit. Trust me.
2nd card attempt (My ATM/VISA). Nope. Non. Ne marche pas.
It was my suspicion that these old machines weren’t handling my cards properly. After small talk of commiseration, he sighed and suggested I stand in line at the cash only counters.
We said, oh, well; thank you for your help and such, and bid him good day.
At this point, when we were maybe 20 yards away (or should I say Vingt metres?) he motioned to us: “Monsieur! Monsieur!”
Walking back to him, he suggested (as always, in French): “How about I pay for the tickets with my card and you give me cash?”
I looked at Christina (I had a 50€; the tickets were 45.50€). “D’accord! Merci!”
He paid for the tickets and handed them to me. As he entered his info for his own tickets I handed him the 50 spot.
“Let’s go to the magazine stand; I owe you change,” he insisted.
While we walked, he asked where we were from, and we replied. We asked him and he replied “Paris.”
He stopped at the magazine stand, bought a sports mag, got his change and handed me 5€.
He then looked at us and said: “Are you doing anything right now?”
“No,” I said.
“Would you like to visit my apartment?”
Now, a normal reaction to this, especially a big city American reaction, would be something along the lines of masked fear and an overwhelming desire to “get the fuck out of here.”
But I felt different. Cavalier even.
Christina did not. Her face a bit ghost white, and her smile much more artificial now, she arched her eyebrow as I said to the man, “Sure! We don’t have anything going on babe, do we? You don’t mind?”
She did her best to conceal her visions of this man being an axe murderer, but I’m afraid it was not working. She went around behind me, and tried her best at casually saying “Sure.”
He attempted to reassure. “I live just around the corner, maybe 5 minutes. You can see how the Parisians truly live!”
I introduced myself and my wife (ah, that still makes me laugh; wife lol). He introduced himself: “I am Jean-Pierre.”
Jean-Pierre was a man of maybe 48-50 years of age, dressed in long slacks and a dark, comfortable and short sleeved rugby jersey. Made sense since we probably talked sports the whole way up to his place. He was lanky, tall and had thinning gray hair on top.
Walking up the Rue d’Amsterdam, he pointed out the buildings in this neighborhood all built by this one architect (who also built his building). We talked about his favorite Rugby teams, France winning the World Cup in 1998 (he didn’t like soccer as much as Rugby), Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France. He was very kind and spirited.
Walking up to his apartment complex, a tall 18th century building with those HUGE, wooden doors. Stepping into the doors (having to step over the wood the door is made into), we noticed a beautiful cobblestone courtyard. As the doors closed, he quickly noted: “Listen! Very quiet!”
Wow, it was amazing how much those doors blocked out the frantic nature of the street outside. It was a calming and very beautiful little place, maybe 5 stories high.
In the lobby, he pointed to the ceiling so we noticed the crown molding. Christina, though impressed, remained nervous. lol
Listen, my attitude was this: Have your back away from him at all times and always be looking for the exits. This entire trip I was trusting my instincts, and though I could be nightmarishly wrong, something told me this was going to be alright. Plus, I had this really big wedding ring, so I figured if I swung enough times I’d leave a dent!
We walked into an elevator that one 200 lb man would have problems fitting into. We were three people.
But as we moved out of the elevator onto the 4th floor, and into the foyer of his apartment, something caught both of our eyes that let all guards (including Christina’s) come down: a small disheveled child’s backpack.
Cool, he has kids, we both simultaneously thought. And his first words as we walked in were: “If you please, keep it down while my youngest daughter is still asleep.”
He showed us the living room, where there was a nice view of the courtyard and a large harp that his youngest daughter was learning to play.
He again pointed to the crown molding, the fireplace, and noted “our apartment, this floor is the only one that has this feature!” (He also owned a small studio flat on the 5th floor, where family and friends visited.) He was proud of his place. He wouldn’t divulge the price he bought it for, teasing “ooh, a lot, a erm, a secret!” His first words in English.
In a study room, I saw he had a piano! Quickly, I sat down, and quietly played.
“Oh, please play!” he requested. After a few bars, he looks at Christina and, again in English, smiled and said, “He is very good, no?”
He showed us the living quarters, including that of his middle son. Aged 14, he had a Korn poster, A Simpsons “El Barto” poster, and many, many rugby posters. Spaced in between these were pictures of the family (Jean-Pierre and his three kids). This made me suspect his wife was not alive or perhaps divorced. Too early to tell, and too early to ask. I’ll wait and see.
We went into the kitchen, all white and utilitarian, which had a very lived in feel. Someone definitely had breakfast here in the last 2 hours.
“Please, sit down he motioned to us. Would you like a wine? Maybe some Coke?”
I declined the wine, but upon his insistence, acquiesced on the Coke.
Five minutes into our conversations, the door. “Ah, ma femme!” he said. (His wife)
I translated for Christina as he left the room to greet his wife, and Christina remarked, “Oh, he is sooo busted!” lol
She walked in and greeted us with warmth. Her name was Joelle. They both offered us pasta (he had just started boiling the water) and we did our best to say we weren’t hungry (not wanting to insult his kindness.)
And there, in the middle of a Parisian apartment, the four of us talked for about an hour.
He worked for the railway (which is why he helped us, I’m sure) and she worked for the Ministry of Economy. She serves as an expert that travels to countries like Romania trying to get them to join the European Union.
IT. WAS. AMAZING.
I didn’t want to leave, but I just knew we had things to do. So, we took pictures for posterity:
To, any who believe that the French are rude, I say this: anyone can be rude. And anyone can be nice. These people opened their hearts and their homes to us. And I feel if you make yourself receptive to it, the possibilities open up for you. It’s just my thought.
It was yet another amazing highlight to an already life-altering trip.
A bus ride to nowhere
As we bid our farewells, Jean Pierre walked us outside and insisted we take the bus down to Place D’Opera where there were some nice buildings.
At this point, I wanted to head back to the Latin Quartier where, nearby, was Eugene Delacroix’s museum. As it turns out most of Delacroix’s work is located at the Louvre AND on top of that you can’t take pictures in his museum (also his old home). But I enjoyed his work and my fondness stems from the fact that MANY impressionist painters owe a debt of gratitude to Eugene; he was a primary source of inspiration for them.
Well, we got on the wrong bus. We went by Joelle and Jean Pierre’s place, almost as far as Sacre Coeur before realizing, God damnit we’re on the wrong bus!
An hour we could not retrieve. Ah well, can’t be perfect all the time, right? Hehehe
After Delacroix’s museum we went back to the Musee D’Orsay for round 2. Our Museum passes expired tomorrow, but we would be in Giverny most of the day. So this was my last shot to re-visit my favorite rooms and take more pictures:
Cezanne, probably my 2nd fave by him
Vincent is a genius
Monet’s bridge at Giverny; we’re seeing this for real tomorrow!
This one is probably Renoir’s most famous.
The Musee de Moderne Arte
Then we headed to one of Christina’s must see’s, the Museum of Modern Art. Located at the Centre Pompidou, this incredibly clever building that was, at its idea’s core, inverted. All the ducts piping, air conditioning, electrical and more were on the OUTSIDE of the building!
Lots of Cubist era Braque, Picasso, along with Matisse, some Dali’s, a Rothko, and many, MANY others. But perhaps most impressive were the installations:
(Chance sold separately)
Some paintings:
Picasso
Matisse
L’Escargot
Now, when we heard the name of this restaurant, we just had to go.
The day had been such a great time, we headed back to the hotel to get ready. Funny thing was this restaurant was maybe two blocks from the Museum we were just at! So, sort of a waste of metro’ing if we cared.
It was maybe 9:30, we sat down and the waitress ruled. Outgoing, gregarious, all the above, and not afraid to speak English. She presented the menu, and although the did have other things for eating, our mark was true: we were eating the big plate.
The big plate was “36 snails” available in 3 flavored varieties: Regular (garlic, butter, and parsley), curry, and Roquefort cheese! HAHAHAHAhA LOVE THIS!!!!!
I should have taken a picture of our plate, but alas I did not.
So, the close of a most exciting and arbitrary day.
EDITOR’S NOTE:
About 3 days ago, I e-mailed Joelle and Jean-Pierre thanking them for their hospitality.
Today, during the course of me putting together this day 6 story for you, and literally 5 minutes after completing the last paragraph of their part of the story, Joelle e-mailed back.
She has offered to let us stay in their flat (upstairs) the next time we come to Paris!!!!!!!!!
Kids, what comes around…goes around. I am almost completely beside myself in glee. Time to start planning Paris Part Deux!
Day 6 Complete.
Next up: the breathtaking Gardens of Giverny.
