December 31, 2011 —  January 1, 2012

Well, we’ve spent two days in Paris now.  It’s probably the single most disappointing place I’ve ever visited.  My “Like-o-Meter” needle is squarely in the yellow zone of ick, and if tomorrow is anything like today, will fall into the red zone of hatred.

First the nice things about Paris:  the architecture is magnificent, and the food is good.

Now for the bad things about Paris:  you can hardly see the magnificent architecture through the blanket of filth clinging to every surface.  The streets smell of raw sewage, graffiti is everywhere, trash, homeless people and stray dogs camped out in conspicuous places blocking the flow of foot traffic, exhaust pollution so thick it’s hard to breathe, gorgeous old buildings ill-maintained, and crowds — oh, the crowds are unbelievable.  We thought we’d avoid the crowds by visiting in January (a month with awful weather) but no.

Yesterday was better than today, by a slim margin.  We first went to the Louvre, as our original plan was to spend the day there.  One look at the crowds and we quickly scrapped that idea, deciding instead to try again on Monday and make sure we showed up right at 9:00 a.m. on the dot when they opened.

Next, we walked to the Hermes flagship store.  It was fantastic … once you got past the stench of open sewer wafting right across the front door, which was so bad Josie at first refused to go in, thinking the smell was coming from inside.

It’s a three-story building loaded with one beautiful, unaffordable treasure after the next, but the crowds are so bad you can’t walk through and it’s hard to see anything.  Most of those people were just looky-loos, too; not very many people seemed to be actually buying anything.  I wanted to buy a scarf and had no trouble at all getting a salesgirl to help me and we didn’t have to stand in line to pay.  I do believe it’s the only place we’ve visited so far that we didn’t have to wait in line to do something.

After Hermes, we walked around the corner and had lunch at the famous Maxim’s.  That place had superb food, but our ability to thoroughly enjoy it was somewhat lessened by the over $100 check — for water, a cup of tea, a coffee, a bowl of onion soup, an appetizer of ham, a salad, and one hamburger that Josie and Holden split.

The prices of food in Paris are staggering.  I expected Maxim’s to be expensive because it’s such a famous place and on the same street as Hermes, Cartier, Lalique, etc. but we discovered over the course of the next day and a half that those prices are par for the course no matter where you go.  I have solved the mystery of why French girls are never fat:  they can’t afford to buy food.

We then hiked over to the Eiffel Tower.  It’s a fairly long walk, so we had a chance to see some of the city.  The Eiffel Tower is very impressive from ground level.  Again, the crowds were so bad we abandoned the idea of going up to the top, and made plans to show up the next morning right at opening time.

That was pretty much our whole day.  We took the train back to our hotel and ate dinner in.  Having a full kitchen in our hotel apartment has basically paid for itself by eliminating two meals we have to eat in restaurants (breakfast, dinner).  Another huge bonus is the washer and dryer.  Being able to wash laundry every day makes life on the road so much easier, and is especially nice after spending all day in the filthy Paris streets.

That brings us to New Year’s Day; welcome 2012!

I cannot begin to describe the putrid, stomach-wrenching nasty mess that is Paris on January 1st.      When you read these words, you will have to rely on your imagination to fill in the sights and especially the smells. I guarantee that whatever you are imagining, the reality is worse.  It’s like trying to remember how awful you felt the last time you had food poisoning; you think you remember how terrible it was, until you get it again and spend a night on the bathroom floor wishing you could die just to get some relief.

The first train we tried to board was splattered in vomit.  I have a hatred of vomit that borders on a clinical phobia, and seeing that mess was almost enough to make me call it day right there.  The second car, also splattered with vomit.  The third car stank but didn’t have puke in it, so we got in and rode into Paris.  To get to the Eiffel Tower, we had to change trains three times, which meant three more attempts to find vomit-free cars to ride in.  We were all grossed out and desperate to get out of the subway system and into the fresh air.

Which was not so fresh; the Eiffel Tower is where they hold their fireworks celebration on New Year’s Eve, so it also was awash with puke.  And, even though we’d made an effort to get there right when they opened, we were not the only ones with that idea.  The crowds were already lining up and we got stuck “queueing” for an hour to get tickets.  Then another 20 minutes to get through a metal detector and bag check, and on to standing in line for the first elevator.  (There were two.)  You spend all that time with your nose shoved into the shoulder blades of the person in front you.

The first elevator takes you to the second level of the tower.  You shuffle along in a queue to get on the next elevator, and just forget about seeing the view:  you will never shove your way to the railing and still keep track of where your kids are.  We got separated from first Josie, and later on Isabella, because people are assholes and don’t mind cutting in between a parent and a 6 year old child in order to gain a few feet of floor space.  I spent the entire time in the tower desperately trying to keep track of all my children, and it was NOT because my kids were wandering off.

By the time we got to the top, I was heading toward a panic attack. I’ve only ever had two or so, but they are awful.  I was claustrophobic from the crowds of people, worried about the kids, and they have the top of the tower encased in a cage.  You are literally trapped in a cage, way up in the air, with people pushing and shoving and separating you from your children.  Josie hit her head five times on the railing; twice because she was jumping to see over it and caught it with her chin on the way down, and three times because some jerk bumped into her and essentially hip-checked her into the railing which was right at the level of her forehead.  I can’t remember the last time I was so desperate to get out of a situation.  Well, actually I can … it was the ferry between Trinidad and Tobago.  Fully half the passengers were puking from seasickness, and when we thankfully got to the docks, the dock workers were on strike and held everyone hostage on the boat for over an hour. The Eiffel Tower experience is about equal in suckage to being held hostage in a third world country.

That took up half our day.  After another vomit-and-comatose-body march to the areas with the restaurants, we had a nice lunch.

When we were researching and planning this trip, one of the things I was most excited about was the “art market” across from the Notre Dame on Sundays.  I read nice things about it, and according to people on the internet it’s one of the things worth checking out.  I envisioned it being like the art market in Rio de Janeiro, where local artists display their works.  All paintings are originals, and you can meet and buy directly from the artist.  I love markets like that; it’s a great place to get original paintings, and I like the idea of helping to support artists who are trying to make ends meet by doing something they love.

The Notre Dame Cathedral is quite far away from the Eiffel Tower, but we decided to walk along the Seine instead of going back onto the vomit trains.  It took around an hour and half to cover the distance on foot.  Most of that walk was decent (the further away we got from the Eiffel Tower, the less vile the streets became) but there was still enough ick around to have Josie in tears.  She kept wailing in her little Southern accent, “I want t’go back to the hotel!  (hoe-tail!)  Paris is just too gross, it’s making my tummy hurt!  I’m gonna have nightmares! (naght-maires!)”  I suppose the silver lining to this cloud is that our kids got a huge dose of the ugly aftermath of partying too hard.  Glamorous it was not.

When we finally got to the “art market” I wanted to cry myself.  It was nothing but stalls of the same mass-produced-in-China crap that they are selling everywhere else in the city.  There wasn’t a single artist to be seen, but you could buy all the plastic Eiffel Tower keychains you could ever possibly use.

I feel bad for not liking Paris, like maybe there is some fundamental flaw in my character that prevents me from appreciating something everyone else in the whole world thinks is the cat’s meow.  I keep telling myself that my expectations were too high from all the books I’ve read and movies I’ve seen — but even taking that into account, Paris has made a bad impression.  I’ve been to big cities before, so I don’t even think I’m being unrealistic about cleanliness standards (bearing in mind that Paris was filthy BEFORE the New Year’s Day aftermath).  Hong Kong, for example, is nearly spotless.  Shanghai was clean, too.  Atlanta is very nice most of the time.  Chicago is nice, and so is Buenos Aires.  And the cities we were in last week, the biggest being London, were so fantastic I have dreams of living there for an extended period of time, bad winter weather and all.

Compared to any of those cities, Paris just doesn’t hold up.  I’m putting it at the top of my list of Overrated Places to Visit.  (It’s the only place that has made the list so far.)  #1 place that exceeded all expectations is Canterbury, #2 is London.  They just blew me away.  Hong Kong is right up there, too.  I’d dearly love to go back and spend more time exploring China.

In the spirit of giving credit where credit is due, I must report that all of the French people we’ve interacted with have been very polite and friendly, contrary to the stereotypes.

There is one delightfully stereotypical character to be found here, though:  The Snooty French Lady.  There must be a Snooty French Lady Factory somewhere churning them out, as they are all nearly identical.  You can get an SFL in one of two different ensembles; the first is garish lipstick, fur coat, little dog.  The second is garish lipstick, fur coat, giant handbag.  These ladies are always tiny, always over 50, and always wearing a fierce expression that is equal parts determination and disdain, with a dash of irritation thrown in for good measure.  If you’ve seen National Lampoon’s European Vacation, they totally nailed it with the lady on top of the Eiffel Tower; the one with the little dog who jumps off after Rusty’s beret.  (Which, by the way, is impossible now, due to the floor-to-ceiling cage. It’s also one of the few places in Paris dogs aren’t allowed.  No dogs, and no rollerskates.  I was unaware that they once had a big rollerskating problem at the top of the Eiffel Tower, but evidently it was troublesome enough they needed to make a special rule banning them.)

Anyway, I haven’t spoken to one of these women, but I’ve watched them in action.  They get immediate and attentive service in any shop or restaurant simply by walking in.  They don’t have to speak to get noticed.  They also exude some kind of magic force field so that they are always walking around in an invisible bubble of protection; people on the streets instinctively move out of their way. In Paris, that would be a tremendous superpower to have.  I am developing an admiration for Snooty French Ladies.

Tomorrow we’re going to try Paris one last time.  We’ll go to the Louvre and get there before they open.  Maybe being Jan 2 and a Monday, the crowds won’t be as bad.  Anyway, if the Louvre turns out to be an Eiffel Experience, we’re working up a “plan B.”  If we can get out of our hotel (we’re booked for a whole week), Adam has always wanted to see Luxembourg.  If we can’t get out of our hotel, maybe we’ll get in the car and drive to Versailles.  Rouen, which we passed through just quick enough to have lunch and see the cathedral, seemed like a really nice place.  There is more around here than just Paris.

January 2, Monday

Paris redeemed herself … a little.  The majority of the vomit was gone (not all), and most of the passed out bodies were gone (not all) so it wasn’t quite as horrifying to walk down the streets or ride in the subway cars.  Bonus point awarded.

The Louvre was an epic fail.  We showed up early this time, and the line was already so long we never did find the end of it.  We gave up.  If the line to get in was that long already, we could just imagine shuffling along inside, lost in a sea of bodies and not being able to see anything.

We trudged to a nearby cafe to sit down and get warm while we tried to come up with another plan for the day.  Adam got out his phone and started searching around on the internet, and we discovered that a large percentage of Paris is closed on Mondays.  The Louvre was the only museum even open, and a lot of the shops were closed, too, which helped explain the crowds at the Louvre.  Our moods soured further.  A fair bit of sniping ensued, as we had nobody to take our frustrations out on but each other.  As a last resort, we decided to walk over to the Notre Dame Cathedral to see how bad the crowds were … yesterday you couldn’t even get into the courtyard in front.

On the way over, we walked along a street that had some really cool antique shops, but every single one was closed on Mondays.  We had to content ourselves with peering through the windows.   One of them was a gallery selling original lithographs by Miro and Picasso (unsigned), as well as other well-known and lesser-known artists.  They are only open Tuesday-Friday each week, so we are going to go back tomorrow to see about getting one.  Adam is going to research the store (he’s the only one with internet access here) to see if it has a good reputation.

At Notre Dame, our luck took a sudden turn for the better.  Not crowded!  We could walk right in.  Next great surprise; it’s FREE!   The churches in France seem to generally offer free admission, and I guess they are open every single day.  Notre Dame is beautiful and very similar to the cathedral at Rouen.

Thrilled to realize that at least churches were open today, we got on the tube and headed to another part of Paris to see the Sacre Coeur Cathedral.  The steps leading up to it are the ones Gene Kelly parked himself on to sell his paintings in “An American in Paris.”  It was a little crowded, too, but not unbearably so.

It’s in a rather scummy area of town, however.  We thought that since it was in a much lower-class area that the food prices would be cheaper … but no.  They were about the same as in the tonier areas.   We ate a very good lunch in a cafe, right next to a gorgeous and well-behaved golden retriever.  I do love that doggies are allowed just about everywhere, both in England and in France.  It’s one thing Europeans do that is cooler than what we do.  In my opinion, dogs should be allowed everywhere.  After all, they are people, too.

Our plans for tomorrow are to try the Musee d’Orsay (where all the Impressionist works are) and perhaps go back to that art gallery with the Picasso lithographs.  We’re hoping that on a Tuesday with everything open (except the Louvre, which is closed on Tuesdays) the crowds will be thinned out some.  Our fingers are crossed.

January 3, Tuesday

Finally, SUCCESS!!  Our last day in Paris was by far the best one.

We showed up at the Musee d’Orsay about 15 minutes before they opened.  We had to stand in line for about an hour, but once we got inside it was big enough that the crowds were able to disperse. We hustled over to the Impressionist exhibits and got there before the rest of the crowds and were able to really enjoy the paintings.

Isabella and Holden were a little bored, but Josie surprised me by being a girl after my own heart and got into the art in a big way.  It was worth suffering through the vomitorium that was New Year’s Day just to see her get so excited over the paintings that I’ve dreamed of seeing since I was first truly exposed to them in a college art history class.  She prefers the post-impressionists, and is a bit of a prude.  She did not approve of all the naked people — her explanation for them was that “the artists must not have been good enough to paint clothes” and the nudes were merely a form of practice. She really admired well-rendered fabrics, such as ladies’ dresses, lace, curtains, tablecloths, etc.

We spent probably three hours in the Musee d’Orsay (you have to keep things moving along at a brisk pace with three kids) and then headed over to Les Invalides.  It was at one time the medical center of France, and the place where modern Western medicine was born.  Now it is a French military museum, and a dome-like churchy building was tacked onto the end of it to house the corpse of Napoleon Bonaparte.  He has been consecrated in high style; easily the most impressive burial site I’ve ever seen.  The floors are made of exquisite, intricate stone inlay with more detail than you’d think possible.  Marshall Ferdinand Foch is entombed there, as well.  I’m used to thinking of Napoleon as the bad guy, so it was weird to see how revered he is here in France.  They are really proud of him and have given him a hero’s treatment.

According to a quick internet search on Adam’s phone, Napoleon died either of stomach cancer, or of a slow poisoning by arsenic.  His body is right there in that casket; why haven’t they opened it up and set a CSI team on the body?  They could solve that mystery in no time.  For all I know they have done exactly that, but I don’t have the means to research it here.

The rest of the museum was more interesting to Adam than to me.  He knows a lot more about French military history than I do, and I’ve never been interested in wars and such … I am much more interested in the day-to-day lives of regular people.

Les Invalides has an impressive collection of war stuff — weapons, uniforms, armor, etc.  One downside is they don’t have English translations on most of their exhibits.  Sometimes it’s hard to figure out what you’re looking at.  Holden was a lot more interested in this museum, though, and finally perked up.  He thought he was “gonna die of boredom” if he had to look at one more painting.

After a late lunch, we headed back to the little shop selling the Picasso lithographs.  It was the neatest little store, and I do mean “little.”  It looked like an episode of Hoarders — there wasn’t enough room for all five of us to stand inside at once, the space was so packed with stacks of paper.   The owner specialized in old maps, but I don’t know how you’d ever find what you were looking for.  They were stacked six feet deep and you had to maneuver through a maze to get around.

Anyway, we ended up buying three lithographs:  one by Joan Miro, one by Salvador Dali, and one by Yves Brayer.  I am beyond thrilled.  I can hardly wait to get them home and framed, and safely hung in our house.  Adam has claimed the Miro for his office, to go with the Miro 1969 Chateau Mouton Rothschild wine label he already has framed above his desk.  I don’t know where the other two will go yet.  I went back for the Picasso, but liked the others better once I got inside the shop.  Yesterday I could only see the things visible when shoving my nose against the window glass.

It looks like we will not be spending a day at Disneyland Paris after all.  The weather just isn’t good enough.  Trying to do roller coasters in freezing rain and high winds sounds awful.  The kids are all in tears, but them’s the breaks.

Tomorrow we’ll head to the palace at Versailles.  I think on Thursday, our last day in France, we’ll go check out Reims.

Now that we’re done with Paris, my impressions are not quite as bad as they were at first.  I don’t, however, have a burning desire to come back.  If the opportunity to return for another visit presents itself (like a work trip for Adam or something) I’d take it, but when we’re planning our family trips and have the whole world to choose from, I’d rather see other places.

I don’t feel the least bit done with the UK — I’d love to spend several weeks or months exploring England and Northern Ireland in depth; based on how much I’ve liked those two, I think I’d really like Scotland, as well.  The other place I’d love the chance to spend more time is China, although I think 10 days at a time is probably a more realistic way to see it.  China can be a tad overwhelming after awhile.  I think we’d enjoy it more in several small doses rather than one big one.

January 4, Wednesday

We spent today in Versailles, and I’m happy to report that Versailles is everything we hoped Paris would be but wasn’t.  It simply oozes old-world charm, and everything is well maintained and clean. As Isabella remarked, “Versailles is SO much nicer than Paris, why don’t they do all their government stuff here?  They should make this their capitol.”

Versailles is basically a suburb of Paris (about the same distance from Atlanta as Marietta or Acworth) but you’d never suspect you were that close.  It just has a much more pleasant vibe.  There are a lot of antique shops and galleries, but the prices are sky-high in all of them.  You’d have to be a serious buyer, but anyone with the means could get some truly gorgeous and unique items here. Looking through the windows is much like looking into museums.

The Palace itself is truly impressive.  One opulent room after the next, although I definitely would not want to live like the Royalty did back then.  The King’s and Queen’s bedchambers were separate, and each one had a short gilded fence in front of the bed.  In front of the fence were about a dozen chairs … for the people who had the job of sitting in the bedchamber to watch His-or-Her Majesty sleep.  The King had some kind of rituals that were done before he went to sleep and when he woke up.  There would not have been one moment of privacy from the time you were born until the day you died.  Can you imagine having a dozen people help you use the chamberpot, or stand over your bed watching you sleep every night?  (And what about marital relations?  Ew.)  You’d never have a private conversation with your spouse or your children, or pick your nose or pass gas without an audience.

In addition to this lack of privacy, the official government meeting rooms where the King met with all the other big wigs were attached to his bedroom.  You’d never be more than 15 feet from your office, where people felt free to sit and wait for you to rouse from your royal slumber.  No wonder they were all a little bit crazy.  No thanks.

The only time on this trip that I’ve really wished we were here in spring rather than January was touring the Versailles Gardens.  They are stunning even in dormancy.  I can only imagine how spectacular they would be in full bloom.  If we ever get back to France in spring or summer (or even fall) I’d like to bypass Paris and head straight to the gardens at the Palace of Versailles.  They go for miles and if you had a mind, you could easily spend an entire day just strolling from one area to another.

Back in college, I took a history class that I barely remember now, but one story has stuck in my mind all these years.  (Details are sketchy, but I’m pretty sure the gist is correct.)  It was about Marie Antoinette and her insanely extravagant parties.  She’d have the gardens around the palace all planted with one color of flower (say, red) upon the guests arrival.  When the before-dinner stroll was over and while everyone was feasting, she’d have every flower ripped out and replaced with a different color (say, blue.)  When the guests came out for their after-dinner stroll, they would find the gardens completely transformed.  This colossal waste of money enraged the French commoners so much it led to poor Marie Antoinette getting her head chopped off.  Once I saw the size of the gardens, I was appalled by her myself.  I think they may have gone a little easy on her.  A more fitting punishment would have been to make her live like a commoner for the rest of her life; a reverse Cinderella, with no fairy godmother.  (And only one color of flowers.)