Paris, episode 8. In which I surprise Mari again.

Some of you may remember that I'm an old bottle collector (remember friends and grammarians, it's still the bottles that are old) from previous posts.  After those first two collected for my college apartment and thereafter migrated to South Texas, there was this very special trio that found its way into my collection.  This was one of the first (and last--more on that another blog day) Christmas presents ever given to me by my wife.  It's one of my favorite presents.  Ever.  I'm not quite sure how old the glass perfume bottles are, but they have been part of my life nearly 25 years and they were already old when they joined my barely-a-collection collection.  Most couples exchange much perfume and cologne over their happily married years, but I assure you not many husbands would be as thrilled to receive old empty French perfume bottles as this old bottle collector was.

Imagine how surprised and thrilled we both were, then, as we walked past a small, but incredibly fragrant shop just a few blocks away from our hotel on the Champs-Élysées and spied a hundred nearly identical bottles on display!  Sparkling brilliantly on glass shelves at the entrance to Guerlain and overflowing with floral fluidity from within, the new, sleeker (unlike me, the bottles were now less rotund than 25 years ago) bottles, still embellished with embossed bees and topped with that familiar etched round orb, beckoned us in for an olfactory treat.  After a bubble-wrapped transatlantic journey within the folds of my weekend laundry, a small bumble-bee-emblazoned bottle bearing a sufficiently masculine albeit herby fragrance has now joined its ancestral brethren, an ever-fragrant souvenir of our Valentine stroll.

After enjoying our confectious (go with it) treats that afternoon and leaving Laduree with a souvenir box of the beautiful Marie Antoinette tea (honey-citrus-rose petal) we had just enjoyed, Mari and I indulged in a little window shopping at the festively decorated gourmet shops of the Madeleine district, including this vivacious Valentine's display at Fauchon, a gorgeously bright deli and cake shop decked out for sentimental romantics and cheese fanciers alike.  Without a heart-shaped brie on hand to gift her romantic gastronome trip-planner, Mari settled for a ceramic (TSA-friendly) crock of Dijon mustard, knowing full well that any box of chocolates would have paled in comparison.

Visit the tempting site if you dare.

fauchon.com/en

It's still Friday, not quite fleamarket day, and we have one last stop.  I did keep a few surprises from my ever-supportive and always deserving wife and both would be found on Valentine's evening at the top of the Eiffel Tower (or as close to the top as we could reasonably afford).  For the insanely romantic (thank you, I resemble that remark) dinner at the Eiffel Tower on Valentine's Day is a foregone conclusion.  As Mari has said, I'm ridiculous, and I admit it!  I'm not LeJulesVerne (upper level) ridiculous, however, but I am 58 Tour Eiffel (lower level) ridiculous.  

Visit the Eiffel Tower restaurants site for helpful planning information and sample menus.

restaurants-toureiffel.com/index.cfm/page/lid/2/rid/2666

Surrounded by a beautiful evening view of the glimmering city bursting with historic buildings and bustling population, Mari and I relaxed for a few hours, contemplating our surroundings and our blessings.  When a photographer landed at our table and asked if we'd like a souvenir photo, I jumped at the chance to surprise my wife once more.  She wasn't my wife the first time I proposed, but she was now and this time I knew she'd accept.

Would have been an awkward trip

back to Texas if she had not.

I stood up to stand at Mari's side for the souvenir photo and motioned to the photographer with my best French pantomime that I had a surprise.  As he focused, I knelt by Mari and proffered the ring that had been burning a hole in my pocket since I had discovered it about 5 months prior. A bright round moonstone glowed back at me from her finger as I reclaimed the seat across from my wife, brighter than any moon that had ever favored us with its evening dazzle.

That's two surprise proposals now, if you are keeping count.

All romantic nonsense aside, Mari and I have come to the non-romantic revelatory but perfectly happy (and sane) realization that dining out, especially dinner, on Valentine's Day is not worth the hype (or wait).  The food (special menu) and service was excellent at 58 Tour Eiffel and the views and experience unforgettable, but like our previous holiday dining (Thanksgiving Day) experience at Tavern on the Green (NYC, episode 4) we were left somewhat deflated.  You can have a romantic dinner at Wienerschnitzel as long as you are with the right person and as long as she doesn't mind a little mustard with her moonstone.

I promise we'll get to Les Puces next time.  I keep getting sidetracked by silly things like love and mustard, but I've got some fabulous French fleamarketed finds to show you!

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.