In The Station Of The Metro

Post Louvre, The Pants and I took a stroll through the adjacent Jardin de Tuileries. Parched and dying of hunger, we stopped at an outside café and ordered Crocque Monsieurs. She also ordered ice cream to the tune of $12 CAD. Slaking our thirst was not an option as drinks started at 6 Euros and I flatly refused to pay $8 CAD for 250ml of Coke. Even I have some principles. This is also where The Pants’s mild fear of pigeons took on a new and more horrifying meaning. Turns out the little b*stards can smell fear and would torment her by pecking and bobbing precariously close to her already mangled feet. This induced no end of terror on her part, but at least I was amused. She particularly hates their little red feet. I think that's a bit of projection, but we'll PopPsych my sister at a later date.

At the end of the Jardin is the Champs Elysees (tried not to cringe when someone asked last week if I made it to the "Champs [to rhyme with stamps] El-eese") and a lovely photo-op of the Arc du Triomphe.

That evening, after wandering around St. Germain area, we took a cheesy boat ride down the Seine, which was a perfect way to wind down. Our guide had the most bizarre accent, as if he'd learned to speak English in the Ukraine. Sort of like the narrator of the film version of "Everything is Illuminated". It was the perfect night to be out on the river - warm spring breezes and such. Parfait.

The next morning we went to Montmartre to find a supposedly excellent market, but no luck. We ended up in the dodgy bit and left broken hearted. But we did become officianados of the Metro system. I finally understood what my friend Ezra Pound was talking about. So, to the Musee D'Orsay we went. We waited in line FOR-EV-ER but The Pants was pleasantly surprised to discover that she got in for free, being under 18 and all. Lucky. The clock that hangs in the musee is gigantic. Doesn't look like it here, but holy crap. The Pants preferred this museum to the Louvre, which I think is ridiculous, but to each her own, I suppose. We split up again whilst we roamed the musee, which was once again the best idea ever.

A Klimt.

Van Gogh - La Salle de Danse a Arles. Mucho Van Gogh ( and Impressionism on the whole, really) at the Musee D'Orsay, but to try and get a glimpse of Starry Starry Night was near impossible. Lots of Rodin sculpture here, as well.

Degas - Danseuses Bleues. I love Degas so I was happy to see an original. M. Degas once caused a mite of controversy in the house I lived in during University. Apparently partial nudes are not to everyone's tastes. Philistines.

Everyone smokes in Paris. I've never had such an urge to breathe toxins into my shiny pink lungs in my life. All those chic little Gauloise cigarettes and a certain unaffected air, c'est parfait. I'm sure I'd fit right in with the 1920's Gertrude Stein crowd, right? Also, cigarillos are very popular, as seen here. Giving our poor feet a much deserved rest outside the Musee D'Orsay, we caught sight of this gentleman relaxing and enjoying a cigarillo. The Pants was delighted with him and demanded another random picture, so in all my photo sneakiness, I managed to catch him unawares. Merci, monsieur.

The Pants, admiring the Degas print she bought at the gift shop. Perhaps the most crowded gift shop in all of Paris. Side note - we, or I, managed to get by on Junior High French quite well. Being Canadian has finally paid off! Granted, much of the service industry speaks passable English, but the waiters tolerated my attemps to speak their language with a certain amount of feigned comprehension, for which I am grateful. But really, how difficult is carafe du l'eau?

After another particularly inappropriate film, Chromophobia, we wandered the Latin Quarter and had dinner at a streetside cafe, absorbing oodles of ambiance. Our conversation revolved around how we would find a way to live in Paris, and quickly. I've discovered that there is nothing like the peace of observing Paris nightlife from your seat at a cafe. Au revoir, Paris.

Next (and last) post: London/Brighton