Mark's eJournal September 6, 2009 – The Misadventures of Visitors

For the past 5 days, we’ve had Lynda and her son, Ross, visiting with us from New York. Katherine, the Field Marshall of Concierge, has it all under control. Restaurants, markets, museums, churches, gardens, you name it, Field Marshall Katherine has it planned. But being a benign FM, Katherine does take requests. And Ross had his heart set upon Versailles.

Saturday is the day. With military precision, Ross and Lynda will arrive at our apartment absolutely no later than 7:45am. This is so we have enough time to buy our “aller-retour” tickets and catch the 8:19am RER train. Katherine’s alarm goes off at 7:00am, then again at 7:05, 7:10, and 7:15. Katherine finally gets up leaving me to lie in but her alarm still goes off at 7:20. So I get up. My job is to get some McMuffins from the McDonald’s at the end of our street. Quelle horreur, you say, eating McDonald’s in Paris??? Well, we feel the same way. I normally go to our bakery on the corner but it doesn’t open until 8AM while McD’s opens at 7:30. Ahhhh, and there’s the rub. They open at 7:30 but they don’t have anything cooked. I order two McMuffin breakfasts, one with coffee and one with tea. The drinks are poured immediately. The McMuffins come about 15 minutes later. You get the picture; cold drinks to go with warm McMuffins.

Lynda and Ross show up around 8 [for Lynda, this is on time]. I lead them to the station and we buy our tickets “aller-retour”. Through the turnstile and we walk to the appropriate platform. Our train is there. We jump on it just before it pulls away. Katherine asks me if this is the right train. “Of course it is” as I, in French ask a fellow passenger, “is this train to Versailles?”. “Oui”…. “I told you it was the right train”. Two stops later we all get off…it’s only a local train. But we manage to scramble onto the right train and we arrive at Versailles at the planned time.

Having heard my nephew Erik’s horror story of waiting on line at Versailles for 3 hours to buy tickets in early May, the Field Marshall had booked our tickets online. We took the audio tour of the palace, finishing it just in time to walk the gardens to music. About 3 times a year, they play music around the water fountains…this was one of those days. There were loudspeakers hidden away behind all of the tall hedges and hidden in tree limbs – classical music wafted out throughout the gardens as the fountains all sprang to life. You can imagine that in Marie-Antoinette’s day, hundreds of small string quartets were installed playing around the fountains for the courtesans.

Speaking of Marie Antoinette, Katherine insisted that we take in the Queen’s Hamlet near the Petit Trianon in Marie-Antoinette’s Versailles estate. We dutifully agreed this was a good idea. And we are glad we capitulated to her encouragements of “you won’t believe what you’re going to see next…!” To get away from French court life, Marie-Antoinette had an entire hamlet built in Norman style so she and her children could amuse themselves and play at French country life. We wandered around the Hamlet, Ross exclaiming how utterly decadent the whole concept was! Vive la revolution!

We trekked back to the Petit Trianon and gratefully hopped onto a bus-train that whisked us back to the palace. But the Field Marshall had just one or two more things that we had to see. First, there was L’Orangerie; an exquisitely laid out garden with potted fruit trees, bushes, and flowers. Then there was this fountain…which upon closer examination turned out to be a bunch of hoses, artistically arranged with Gardena hose bibs squirting out water. I have to admit; if you are going to view a hose fountain, this is the one to see. I also have to admit, I am being facetious. And because there is a water shortage in France [it’s been a very dry summer], the fountains were only on a few minutes each hour. A hose fountain with water flowing is one thing. A bunch of hoses stuck together in the middle of a pond….well, that’s another thing. But our Versailles trip was over and it was time to go home and see what the Field Marshall has planned for us tomorrow.

Katherine and Lynda did “girl” things, perusing the Marche Auguste-Blanqui in the 13th Arrondissement. Ross took off for the Louvre and The Eiffel Tower. I had the dinner to prepare. So we all went our separate ways with a plan for Ross and me to link up and go to the Jardin du Luxembourg [JdL] for some sightseeing and chess. Around 3PM, Ross showed up at the apartment; ready to play chess and explain his day’s excitement.

Although I’ve written about this before, Ross had a strange encounter which bears repeating, especially for those of you planning to visit Paris any time soon. While he was walking along by the Seine, taking in the gorgeous views and quietly minding his own business, a woman picked up a gold ring and asked if it was his. Despite his protestations, she made him take the ring and as he looked at it, she started walking away. Then she came back and asked Ross if he could give her some money for a sandwich. Ross is a prince and since there was a sandwich place right there, he offered to buy her a meal and a drink. She said no, that she wanted money to get her own sandwich so Ross repeated the offer…with the same response. Then the penny dropped and so did the ring, which Ross put back on the ground. That’s when the woman starting cursing him out and hitting him with her sweat shirt. And as Ross walked away, he saw several other women picking up gold rings in front of other tourists, and smiled…

We got to the JdL. And before we got to the chess tables, we walked around the garden; me showing Ross Le Senat, the main fountain, the petanque courts, the Statue of Liberty, and this strange game called “Longue Paume”…a sort of cross between tennis and badminton only there was no net, just red lines on the concrete court and what appeared to be a plastic ball. Nobody around us could explain the rules so we moved onto the chess tables. All the tables were taken so we made a table with cardboard and a picture that Ross bought as a gift. I don’t know what the attraction was, there were certainly more exciting players and games going on but for some reason we attracted a few folks….some of whom actually offered us alternative moves! Ross is a good player; I lost all my games….even the ones we played later. By now Lynda and Katherine had joined us; apparently they had been observing us for a few minutes. So we wrapped up our pieces and went home to dinner except that Katherine said she had one more little surprise.

As tired as we all were, we reluctantly agreed (don’t mess with the Tour Guide formidable!)…We entered L’Eglise Saint Sulpice, despite all the scaffolding that surrounds it’s much-needed multi-year renovation, and she guided us to a point just left of the altar. There it was – Dan Brown’s “Rose Line” as featured in “The Da Vinci Code.” Never mind that there are several notices mounted on the church’s walls that condemn any or all claims by a “certain recently-published novel of some commercial success” that this is not in any way a Rose Line nor is it connected to the Priory of Sion. Nevertheless, we followed the line across the church and imagined the chase and dastardly deeds that Brown described here in this church in “The Code.”

But all good things come to an end. Lynda and Ross’s time in Paris was coming to an end. The one thing that struck me was seeing Paris through their eyes. We’ve been living in Paris for 4 months but so much has seeped in unconsciously. During our walks and talks with Lynda and Ross, the stuff that came out of our mouths about Paris, France, the customs and mores, the food, the people, etc., just shows that we are truly absorbing it all. I just hope that the next time Lynda and Ross come to visit that the stuff that comes out of my mouth comes out in French…

Mark's eJournal August 24, 2009 – Glasgow

The French take their summer 4-week vacation usually between July 15th and September 15th. It’s known as Les Grandes Vacances. They desert Paris and leave it to the tourists. Restaurants put signs on their doors stating the dates they will be on vacation but these dates are merely suggestions. Check before you decide to walk to your favorite restaurant. That “back August 15th” sign is approximate. It could be the 17th, the 20th or even September 15th. This long vacation ends with “La Rentree” [or homecoming]. No more telephone messages stating that due to the short-staff situation no calls can be answered or returned at this time. Revived, reinvigorated, and refreshed after La Rentree, the French return to work on all cylinders. Instead of the short staff excuse, it’s “why don’t you call somebody who gives a merde”…..

So it comes as no surprise that we too, being Parisians, decided to leave for a fortnight’s holiday in Glasgow.

Stepping off the plane, it is hard to not make comparisons. Leaving the dry, hot weather of Paris and landing in the cool, moist weather of Glasgow; the 90’s of Paris for the 60’s of Glasgow [or 30’s of Paris for the teens of Glasgow for you metric-minded folks]; is like night and day. It’s refreshing. It makes my long runs easy. And then you notice that instead of the calcareous pebbles that dominate the paths and fields of the gardens and parks of Paris, the pavements and paths are dominated by tarmacadam…..which is not surprising since the Scot John MacAdam invented the stuff. We arrive at Katherine's sister May's house in Glasgow and immediately notice how green & lush her garden is.

And while you’re running, you make another observation. The Scots are friendlier than the French. Now, don’t get me wrong. The French friends we’ve made are every bit as friendly as our Scottish friends. Even the shopkeepers whose local shops we frequent are as friendly as their Scottish counterparts. But the French don’t go in for “glaikit” smiles, eye contact, and good morning to passing strangers. The Scots, on the other hand, encourage it. French runners don’t even acknowledge other runners. The Scots nod their head or wave a hand. Pass a Scot walking their dog or just walking in the park, and they’ll say good morning to you. Not so the French.

But the most shocking comparison is prices. After years of traveling to Britain, we usually pack the grocery advertisement section of the papers so that we can compare prices between the US and the UK. The UK is always more expensive. It’s always dollar to pound ratio. Now living in Paris for 4 months, we know that Paris is expensive but not by how much. What the UK prices are to the US prices is what the Paris prices are to the UK prices!!! With the exception of wine prices, it’s amazing how anybody living in Paris can afford anything…..including us.

But the silver-lining in Scotland is the beer prices, easily half the Paris prices. So it’s wine in Paris and beer in Glasgow…..and that’s it from me, I’m off to the pub.