Paris, episode 5. In which we make an Olympic return to the city of lights.

After that first walk through Paris together, Mari and I knew we would return.  At least we hoped we'd have another opportunity to visit Paris and definitely hoped that it would last long enough to pack a change of clothes.  Such an opportunity unexpectedly presented itself as I planned our mad-capped Olympics adventure for London2012.  In a previous post (May 2, 2015, Olympics) I attempted to translate into words my exasperated disappointment when I received tickets to only two events after my initial ticket request from CoSport.  Even after we eventually accumulated tickets to additional events, it became clear that there would be a large gap in our planned (painstakingly precisely planned!) two-week itinerary.  With event tickets only available during the second week of the Olympics, what was a slightly (slightly is what I tell the authorities) obsessive list-maker slash travel-planner to do?  Not what I expected, either, because I took our initial two-week London itinerary and turned it into a three-week UK-Ireland-Paris itinerary.  Not one to dwell on disappointment or half-empty glasses of water, I looked upon this once-in-a-lifetime trip across the pond to fulfill a childhood dream as an opportunity to explore even more dreams.

More on our UK-Ireland tour and week at London2012

(including fleamarketing!) in upcoming posts, I promise.

I know.  I know how incredible it was to have this "problem" to solve.  Nothing is ever taken for granted, trust me.  That's exactly why I embraced the opportunity to visit more of the United Kingdom (and Ireland!) and embraced even harder the chance to revisit Paris which, if you recall, is a mere two-and-a-half hour Chunnel ride away.  Also, if you recall, Les Puces de Saint Ouen is a weekend fleamarket, so we made it a peremptory point to be in Paris on our first full weekend.  

We're nothing if not very serious about fleamarket travels.

Our second visit to Paris together may have begun with a partially-submerged train again, but instead of a wearying wend through ancient avenues with a small backpack and borrowed souvenir map, Mari and I found ourselves wheeling ginormous (American abroad alert!) luggage laden with a three-week supply of (mostly wrinkled) creature comforts.  Of those three weeks, however, there would be three weekend nights in Paris and weekend means fleamarket.

During this first weekend trip to Paris, Mari and I (of course) visited the Eiffel Tower again, took an evening sightseeing cruise along the Seine, visited Versailles (a revisit for Mari), and (best for last?) experienced Les Puces for the first time.

I was hanging about halfway out our hotel window to capture this shot of my favorite Paris landmark, but what a view!  I'm going to go out on another limb and highly recommend the Fraser Suites Claridge, too, for its unbelievably scenic central location and thoroughly accommodating service. July 2012 was the first of two weekend stays for us at this beautifully restored and maintained hotel; its luscious location, abundant amenities, and solicitous staff all first-rate reasons for repeat visits.  The full kitchen with dining area (and nearby grocery) were helpful in controlling our budget, but this was definitely a splurge.

Visit the site for temptingly beautiful photos and to sign up for special offers.

paris-claridge.frasershospitality.com/en

Before I get too far ahead of myself (or is it too far behind if this is a flashback?) or too wrapped up in details (I know, I like details), let me share with you our first Paris flea photo.

Yes, really.

I may be un peu (okay, maybe a lot more than un peu) sentimental, but this photo really captures for me the essence, not only of the antiques market at Les Puces, but fleamarket essence itself.  It's not shiny and new.  It's not pristinely sorted and organized.  It is, however, overflowing with the past. It is casually cluttered with well-worn and well-loved second and thirdhand goods of all tempting types and from all groovy and non-groovy eras.  Just makes me want to dive in (or at least belly flop)!

The far north end of Les Puces de Saint Ouen, which houses the meanderingly browsable network of antiques merchants, is a fleamarketer's and antiques lover's dream.  It is impossible to completely cover this shopping mecca in one visit (or one blog post), so I will return with you next time when Mari and I will share with you our first purchases at the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen.

Paris, episode 3. In which we become weary with wonder.

There are certain things we take for granted as Americans and as tourists.  We're adults here, right?  We all have adult needs?  After an early morning Chunnel ride from London and after a leisurely stroll to the Arc de Triomphe from the Eiffel Tower, there were certain needs that were making themselves more and more needful as our Parisian afternoon unfolded.

We both really needed to use the restroom.

Although armed with some spending Euros for the day, we hadn't really planned on perfecting the pocket change necessary for payment at public restrooms (which were not as readily available as your guidebook will have you believe).  Even hotel lobbies with their presumably spotlessly scrubbed facilities along the way of our meanderings were not open to tourists.

Once Mari and I figured out how to safely get across the mammoth gap between the Arc and the Avenue Champs-Elysees, we ran for our lives (snapping this photo to mark our tourist territory) and began our southeastern trek across the one and a half miles of richly dappled shopper's paradise that would take us to the Place De La Concorde and the entrance to the Jardin des Tuileries and (eventually) the Louvre.

We had stopped briefly at a busy boulangerie/patisserie for a cheesy, gooey, toasty croque-monsieur to tide us over until later that evening (no time on a 10-hour walking tour of one of the majestically oldest and exquisitely busiest cities in the world to experience fine dining) so we weren't looking to sit and dine (maybe just to sit and unwind).  As we walked the first block or two onto the famous shopping avenue, Mari and I were both struck (silly) simultaneously with the unexpected juxtaposition of trendy designer names like Swarovski, Montblanc (have I mentioned my pen collection?), and Hugo Boss with perhaps the most famous, least-designer (most-comforting) brand name that has ever crossed our gaze.

McDonald's gave us the break we deserved that day!

During our brief, but much needed respite under the Golden Arches, we also learned to ask for a cup of ice at the McCafe to complement the unfathomably warm soft drinks dispensed to customers at the fast-food counters.  I'll save my treatise on why Americans have come to rely on a higher ice-to-beverage ratio than any other world tourists for another balmy day, but just know that the glistening icy jewels were a welcome little luxury that afternoon.

As you make your way down the Avenue Champs-Elysees, you'll have plenty of opportunity to people watch and window shop, reminiscent of a walk down 5th Avenue or the Magnificent Mile, only it's not New York or Chicago or any other city you know because it's freakin' (pardon my French) Paris! Stores and designers both familiar and foreign, restaurants and pastry shops both chain and unique, buildings and sites both modern and historic line your paved promenade so be sure to linger as you stroll your way down the famed avenue and eventually through to the Champs-Elysees Park where you will exit at the Place De La Concorde, the largest public square in Paris.

It is impossible to miss at the square's center the giant hieroglyphics-decorated obelisk, a gift from Egypt that originally marked the entrance to Egypt's Luxor Temple.  From this now French landmark you have approximately a one mile stroll through the Tuileries gardens to reach The Louvre, the penultimate stop on our Best-of-Paris-in-10-Hours-Walking-and-No-Stopping-Tour.

Upon entering the striking Tuileries with its gravel-lined paths crunching beneath your (tired!) feet, you'll be greeted with layers upon layers of geometrically landscaped greenery, still slumbering peacefully during our pre-spring stroll. The enormous palace gardens became public after the French Revolution and even on an early not-quite-spring day, the paths and benches and carefully crafted quiet corners were being enjoyed by the public and tourists alike.

Vive la révolution!

I was fortunate on my first Paris visit to be with an "expert" although Mari would never claim that her prior visit nor her high school French qualified her in any way as an expert, but she was MY expert and my personal tour guide through the streets of Paris, souvenir photo map in one hand and supportive and adventurous (albeit a bit clammy) hand in the other.  That very (very very very) long walking tour is forever memorable to me for Mari's confident lead and for her contagious overwhelming joy at revisiting a favorite memory and a favorite city.

While my wife had enjoyed a planned and educational afternoon at the Louvre as a teenager 22 years prior to this return visit with her 40-year-old husband, it had been obvious to us while planning our day trip and especially now, after a very (very) long day, that we would be unable to spend more than two hours immersing ourselves in the breathtaking breadth of French art history displayed throughout the Louvre.

That meant Mona Lisa for me and crown jewels for Mari with a few tchotchke inbetween like Winged Victory and Venus de Milo.

Seriously, the moment you share with the Mona Lisa (you will have to find a way to be "alone" with Mona in the small gallery with about a hundred other tourists slash art lovers) will eternally linger with you.  Finding my way to her through the thronged room that was her private home and gazing (not with my usual collector's gaze, unfortunately) at the framed and isolated masterpiece was like looking through a window into the past.  She was colorful and alive in a way that only an artist's vivid imagination could convey.  The only other time I experienced a work of art in this same way was looking up at the glorious ceiling of the otherwise dusky Sistine Chapel--another trip for another blog day.

Still a bit over a mile before our first Paris visit's final stop (and miles to go before I sleep) next time.

Paris, episode 2. In which I'm blindsided by beauty.

This was my first ever (live) view of the Eiffel Tower. It was March 15, 2007, not quite yet spring, and there was a morning chill still hanging in the French blue sky.  After emerging above ground at the Champ de Mars (Eiffel Tower) metro station, you open your eyes wide to see an elegant old city radiating towards the majestic (still unseen) Arc de Triomphe across the Seine--choice of bridges to be crossed later, but first we needed our moment.

Actually, this is my moment.

Mari has had her moment with the Eiffel Tower almost exactly 22 years to the day, but after walking along the Seine a few minutes, this is the view that first met my gaze just past a large, long, ancient row of apartment buildings.  Not technically awake for spring, the barely budding branches beautifully frame my view.

No matter how many times you've seen it on TV or in film, the Eiffel Tower still takes your breath away. No other non-cliché way to describe it.

I stopped, stunned, and gawked like a tourist until I remembered that yes, I was a tourist (with very limited time, remember?) and started looking and looking and snapping and snapping away on my new-for-the-trip and first ever digital camera. Needles to say, lots of photos of the Eiffel Tower.  The thing is, no matter how many times you visit Paris you will always take another photo of the Eiffel Tower.  This was my first and certainly not the last.

I wanted to show you Mari's first photo (March 1985) side-by-side with the photo from her second (with me!) trip, but we are deep in the midst of some remodeling and the scrapbook cabinet (yes, really) has been blocked by several layers of furniture.  Of course, she's being silly and recreating the pose from her earlier trip, but who can blame her for being silly in Paris for the silly man holding the camera?

After some time marveling at the elegant beauty of one of the world's most recognizable landmarks and Paris' most famous site, we set out on foot to sight a few more before our evening train back to London.  Heading towards the Arc de Triomphe, we made our way to the Pont de l'Alma.  This festive little chocolate shop just happened to be on the way and I was drawn in by the sunny spring display (and the colorfully wrapped chocolates, of course).

Crossing the bridge, we stopped to photograph the Flame of Liberty Memorial, a full-size replica of the flame atop the Statue of Liberty.  It was comforting to see a reminder of home and a symbol of the bond between the US and France.

In the distance (already) is the Eiffel Tower we had just left behind as we ambled our way north along the Avenue Marceau towards the Arc de Triomphe.

Mari and I had planned (of course we had a plan!) a walking route that would take us to as many legendary landmarks and illustrious institutions as we could squeeze into our ten hours.  We were navigating via a colorfully labeled tourist map with famous sites pictured throughout, a borrowed travel souvenir from a good friend and colleague who had visited Paris a few times in the past and had nearly memorized the map herself.  She was thrilled to have the map make yet another transatlantic journey to a cherished city and, I'm sure, just as thrilled upon its safe return.

This is our first (of eventually many) view of the Arc de Triomphe, probably my favorite Paris monument.  It's impossible to describe, even with a photo, the vast greatness of this veterans' memorial, home of France's Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  It stands at the center of an enormous and enormously busy turnaround, a dozen streets intersecting intricately around its base.  On that particular Ides of March, it was a breathtaking breather for two American tourists who had just completed their first mile-and-a-half point-and-shoot gawking-and-walking tour, yet it was just the beginning of our day.

Next time, how a familiar institution showed us that we deserved a (bathroom) break that day.