A Couple More Days in France

Your Head Bones Connected to Somebody Else's Bone...

It's been a couple of days. I'll start with Tuesday. We'd wanted to do Versailles, since it was closed Monday, but the weather had (accurately) predicted rain again, so we decided not to chance it. Instead, we hopped on the RER (one of the metro lines) and headed to Denfert-Rochereau to see the catacombs. Coming out of the station, it was interesting to see how different, in only a few stops, things could be. The catacombs are in Paris, but it's a much less busy part of the city, more residential. After wandering a bit, we found the catacombs and the impressively (depressingly) long line we'd have to wait in to get into them. We stood in a line that (incredibly) slowly moved its way around the block and into the ancient tombs- it only took about 17 hrs. to get there- and paid our 7 euro to make our way down to see the dead.

The hallways to the catacombs are deep underground- the French, besides having perfected the baguette, not working and making out in public, have also perfected the incredibly long winding staircase- and the wind around, old bricks over dirt floors. We walked and walked until we found the grisly scene: bones, simply stacked, about 5-6 ft. tall creating thick walls in many rooms. Apparently, Parisian churches originally had their own cemeteries, but as the city expanded and disease and space became a problem, they moved all of those dead to the quarries and eventually underground to these catacombs. However, the bones weren't laid out by person, because there were so many bodies, but were stacked, according to type of bone, creating high heavy walls with skulls sitting in the center. It was a dark part of the city's history that wasn't as gruesome as it seemed at first, but gave a very tangible link to the people who had once lived here and their customs regarding burial. Unfortunately, that appreciation was cut short by a couple of annoying tourist who kept taking inappropriate pictures (a pile of human remains is not the right place to take the thumbs-up-with-something-famous-in-the-background picture) and constantly touching the bones. I was happy these tourists were not American.

We spent the rest of the day walking and then sitting in a cafe, per usual Paris, talking, waiting for Casey to come home from work. When she did, we went to the grocery store and picked up stuff for dinner. Casey made a rather delicious leek quiche and we sat around and ate and played cards for a while. Afterward, we walked over to what might possibly have been the noisiest bar on the face of the planet. The three of us stayed for a couple hours just doing more catching up and discussing this and that. It's been so nice to get to simply talk with family and realize more and more how cool these people are.


Jewish Falafel in France, It's Good

On Wednesdays, since Casey lives in Paris, she doesn't have to work. Clearly. Sean and I started the day by going to a pastry shop and getting some amazing tarts. We then decided that we hadn't done enough walking, so our goal for the day became making (I think) making the American soldiers' walk at Bataan seem like an after-dinner constitutional. We first walked over to Rue Rivoli, a typically commercial Parisian street, because I was hoping to find some light pants for my trip to Cairo (jeans might suck). However, after two strikes on account of they don't do length/width of pants, but S,M,L,XL and I'm too short for French pants, we gave up on that. We walked around the Mare, the gay district of Paris, which houses some streets that are quintessential Paris (small shops, ivy on the buildings, cobblestone streets) and just walked and walked. At one point, we stopped at a park and sat for a good long while. Since no one works here, everyone is able to sit at the park and, apparently, practically make a new French person right in front of you. One couple sat and made out at a bench opposite us for a good 40 minutes. It got intense. I almost felt obligated to inform them that I shouldn't be watching, as I haven't paid the money for a Cinemax subscription, but instead we just averted our attention.

We had an early dinner at a falafel place in the Jewish section of town that Casey has been raving about this whole time. She was right. It was a tiny little restaurant and the food was simple and quick, but it was pretty amazing. We headed back, stomachs full and happy. After a stop at Shakespeare & Co., the famous bookstore, we grabbed another coffee at a cafe and made a pit stop back at the apartment. Oh, and I bought a really great hat on the way home to keep the angry Egyptian sun (Ra?) off my face.

Last night, we met up with Mina, an old family friend of Casey's who grew up in Southern France, amongst other places, and is doing an internship in Paris. We hadn't met before, but I'd heard so much about her from Casey, Paul and Jill that it was nice to finally be introduced. Mina brought a friend, Alice (sp.) who brought a friend whose name escapes me now, both of whom just wanted the opportunity to speak English with native speakers with American accents. We all sat around and talked, sometimes awkwardly, due to the language barrier, and had a good time just explaining what we all do in our lives and our new French connection.

Finally, last night, Sean and I made our way to the Eiffel Tower. With wine and cheese in our bag and baguette in hand we boarded the RER, only to have it stop two stops later and make us all get off. We were told by some other passengers the next train would come in 20 minutes. No explanation was given as to why we had to get off the original train. If it made sense, it wouldn't be France. We decided to walk it. It took us about 25 minutes, but we made it to the tower, a brightly-lighted, simply amazing structure. Sure, everyone knows what the tower looks like, but the size in person is just awe-inspiring. We crossed the Seine and walked up the stairs of Trocadero for a good view. We sat on a ledge, opened our wine, dipped our baguette into cheese and watched as the tower sparkled, as it does for 10 minutes on every hour at night. We sat for a long time, just eating and drinking and discussing how awesome we are. In just over a year, we've now seen Dublin, Doonbeg (the town of our ancestors), hiked through Killarney National Forest, seen countless other small Irish towns and cities, the Eiffel Tower, Champs d'Lysees, Arch de Triomphe, Notre Dame, the Mediterranean, drank great coffee, eaten great cheese and bread, and done so many other things most people don't get to do in a lifetime. This travel idea of ours hasn't been too shabby.

This morning Casey woke me up to say goodbye on her way to work. It has been amazing to get to spend time with her again and catch up- though it seems as though time hasn't passed when you see family. It's the morning of my last day and I only have a couple of hours before I need to start packing and heading to the airport. I'm gonna go take a shower.

Pictures #1

I hope this works. These are pictures from Marseille.

http://www1.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=226934550/a=91561454/t_=91561454

And these are from Paris (minus what I shot yesterday).

http://www1.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=226934551/a=91561454/t_=91561454

Eventually I'll actually put captions to these photos so people know what they are. For now, just know that the stuff was old and probably pretty cool.

We Walk A Lot

The plan for Monday was the Palace at Versailles. Sean and I got up and slowly got ourselves ready to take off for the day. We followed Casey's detailed instructions and found our way to the information desk at the RER C train station who told us we needed to go to another window who told us that Versailles is closed on Mondays. Ouch.

Slightly defeated, we decided that pizza would cheer us up. It did. We realized, as we ate our thin crusted deliciousness, that we'd had only one or two truly French meals this whole trip. The French actually eat a lot of Italian food (and they do Italian pretty well), so we've really been living on that more than anything. We continued to plot out our day.

After pizza we headed to Notre Dame. Surprisingly, the line to get into the church wasn't too long and moved pretty quickly. Those who have been inside this building will know that a blog entry description isn't quite adequate and those who haven't been should go. Suffice it to say it was easily one of the most impressively built things I've ever witnessed in person. The ornate and intricate detail is simply stunning and the sheer size of the building immediately instills a sense of deep reverence and reminds you how small you really are. We waited in line to go to the top for a bit, but, unfortunately, that line was long and didn't move quickly. Having seen the city from up high already at the Arch de Triomphe, we decided to see some other things and maybe come back to climb the stairs.

Next we searched for the Church of Saint Chappelle, a building whose stained-glass windows I was told by John and Laura Patterson were absolutely stunning. We walked for quite a while, as we didn't see the church on the map but I was told, roughly where it was. After about 25 minutes we found it and were surprised that what we thought was a little-known gem actually took longer to get into than Notre Dame. We passed- perhaps we'll go back earlier in the morning.

Finally, we made our way to Luxembourg Gardens. This royal backyard is a beautifully manicured and well-used green space in the city. Statues stand watch over meticulously handled landscaping and Parisians sit about, reading, talking and, of course, making out. We walked a bit, snapping photos and then stumbled across some old men playing Patanque, a French game that's almost the exact same as bocce ball. It was nice to sit for a while and just watch the way the older men (and some young ones) use their ample free time in Paris. On our way back to Casey's apartment we stopped and sat a while at a cafe. Paris has a wonderful cafe culture where one can sit for hours with a tiny cup of coffee and just stare out as the city goes by. Sometimes it's nice not to be rushed.

We took Casey out for Mexican, which is what she'd been craving. Let me tell ya, Parisians clearly don't take many trips to Mexico. After munching on some guacamole and off-brand Dorito's, Sean ate a tamale, and Casey and I both dined on a quesadilla smothered in imitation nacho cheese. Nice try, France.

We finished our day with a trip to "le cinema" where the French infatuation with inefficiency became all too clear. After a trip up the escalator and then back down to buy tickets from a well-hidden window, we made our way back upstairs to wait in the biggest poorly-formed line ever. This crowd wasn't moving anywhere, oh no, we all had to stand until 8:05p (our actual movie time) anxiously awaiting what, for everyone else, would be Harrison Ford kicking Soviet ass and chasing South American alien treasure in French subtitles. After the ropes came up and the crowd pressed its way into the theater, the Frenchies took all the seats (TO A MOVIE THEY DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND) and 25 or so people were left scrambling for a viewing spot. The three of us finally had to split up and enjoy the corny fourth installment of the Indiana Jones series by ourselves. While France is a beautiful country, they literally are the most inefficient people I think I've ever seen, which, I believe is why Casey straight-up hates everyone who lives in France besides St. Julien d'le Tracteur.

Sean and I are planning our attack on Tuesday as I write this. It's raining so Versaille's out again. More to come (and photos when I actually take the time to get the up).

Marseille

It’s O.K., We’ll Just Sit with the Luggage

So apparently the French don’t work. Ever. We left for Marseille on Thursday evening and got to the train station a little early. After a little panic at not seeing our train on the board, we were told that due to a strike, our train was cancelled. We could get on the earlier train, but didn’t have seats. It was a good hour sitting on the luggage racks before we actually got seats. However, once we actually got a seat, the scenery of the French countryside was really beautiful. Oh, and I ate a baguette sandwich with some suspect brie. Surprisingly, I turned out O.K.

Julien Lacroix, the Saint and his Tractor

Julien Lacroix is a friend of a friend. He’s a Marseillaise who studied abroad at Loyola and lived with my buddy Erik. While in Chicago, Julien and I met a few times and I when I knew I was going to Marseille, I asked him of some good places to see. He immediately became our tour guide. He “collected” us at the train station in his “tractor,” a tiny gray machine (it’s a car) that rattled when it idled and whizzed down tiny streets at an alarming speed. We drove through dark city streets in what looked like a typical, working class city until we got to our hotel. It was closed. We were told by another guest that no one at the hotel works after 8pm and we were pretty much screwed. It was then that Julien got on the phone and made our arrangements. We could stay at his parents’ house, but they spoke no English.

We made the 15 minute trip to his parents' house where they welcomed us in with, literally, open arms. They insisted we eat and gave us a salad of tomatoes, onions, green peppers and vinegar & oil; baguette; cheese and mousse in a plastic cup that was better than any I’d ever eaten before. We slept on mattresses on Julien’s floor. In the morning, we woke to a breakfast of French toast (made with baguette and sugar, instead of syrup) which is called “lost bread,” cereal, coffee and toast with jam. We took showers and made our way out for the day. These people might have been the nicest I’ve ever met.

On Friday, we toured the city with our new tour guide, after checking into our hotel and getting diesel in the tractor- something Julien wasn’t sure we could do, since there was a strike on gas. We first made our way to “the Palace,” a giant sculptured fountain built into a hill and surrounded by lush fields of grass and palm trees. It stood tall over the tiny city streets and pastel houses roofed with red terra cotta. As we looked out from the top of the fountain, we saw the city, the mountains surrounding it and the beautiful blue Mediterranean. Behind the fountain hides a lavishly green park- not what you normally hear about “dirty Marseille.”

Next we made our way to lunch on the Corniche, a road that follows the steep cliffs next to the Mediterranean where the rich houses sit. We sat in front of a beach and the bluest water I’ve ever seen, eating crepes and drinking wine. No lunch should be less than that.

Our tour continued as we wound up the giant hill to see Notre Dame de le Garde, the church which sits on the highest point in Marseille and which houses Bonne Mere, a statue of the Virgin Mary which the Marseillaise say watches over the city. The old church was gorgeous and showcased an amazing view of the entire city. Inside are intricate stained-glass windows which allow colorful light to seep in onto delicately laid mosaic flooring. On one outer wall of the church are huge bullet holes from the American effort to oust the Germans from the city. The holes still stand as a visible reminder of the city’s history and sit deep within the wall, as if the bullets were at least 20 calibers fired from large guns at the bottom of the hill.

Our final destination was the Old Port, a part of Marseille originally founded by Greek sailors as an economic port before the time of Christ. Large buildings loom over a small port with tall masts in long rows. This where the heart of Marseille is, with tiny shops, cafes and brasseries strung along narrow side streets, all with a link to the city’s maritime past. We sat and had a coffee at a café and made our way back to the hotel and parted ways with our amazing tour guide.

For dinner, we decided to save some money and head to the grocery store. On our tiny stove in our room, I cooked up some pasta with a sauce of oil, white wine, sun-dried tomatoes and artichoke hearts. We also had some baguette, obviously, and lots and lots of wine. We sat around all night drinking, talking and laughing. It was a great end to the evening. Little did I anticipate the horror to come.

Look, the Calanques!

Saturday came with a headache and a queasy feeling. I found the wrath of the French love of wine. Casey had hit the hay pretty early so was her usual chipper self. Sean, ever the level-headed one, had made sure to drink plenty of water with his wine (and beer). I, on the other hand, woke up with a not so great feeling all about me. However, we had a big day planned and a showered up, rested a bit and then we headed down to the Old Port. We found a ship headed for the Calanques, a series of giant cliffs along the coastline which have been formed by thousands of years of a rough ocean. Before boarding we were told, as it translates, “it’s windy, the sea is agitated.” Oh well, we said, you’re only here once, and we climbed aboard. Bad call.

The trip through the port was nice and calm, we watched the city fade into the distance and saw the island which houses the Count of Monte Cristo’s prison. However, about 25 minutes into our 3.5 hour journey, the sea was indeed agitated. As the giant waves began to rock the boat back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, I started to realize what a poor choice I’d made. I took a seat inside with the rest of sea-sick sailors and began my immediate and painful descent into nautical hell. About half of the passengers sat inside with me, all of them clutching white paper bags (and brown bags after the boat ran out of the standard, white puke bags) trading off between just looking miserable and paying their stomach’s due to Poseidon. It was incredibly awful. The boat rocked up and down, back and forth, and the passengers spewed their guts out all over the place and the captain got on the P.A. and said useless shit about the big cliffs that nobody cared about anymore in a language that not only confused, but by this point enraged me. It wasn’t until I fell asleep on the table in front of me that I got a little relief. Thank you, Casey, for the support and the puke bags. Thank you, my fellow passengers, for going through that with me and not judging.

We later walked the streets near the Old Port and found a tiny little pizzeria, Le Marmite, which was nice and cute, but due to my foul mood, was nothing special. The night finished off while watching EuroVision, a European song contest where 25 countries send a contestant and each of the 46 European countries votes via text message to decide the winner. After 2 hours of songs that make your little cousin’s garage band sound good, Europe took about an hour to tell us the Russia’s Enrique Iglesias, his violinist and the ice-dancer that accompanied them, reigned supreme. It was amazing.

Rain Makes for Rummy

Finally, today, we all woke up ready for the beach and nature said “no.” After checking out of our hotel, which was a great little place, we made our way through the light rain and chilly weather, to Le Kilt, a Scottish coffee bar/restaurant where we whiled away the next few hours talking, playing a long game of rummy, and eating the richest food ever. I ordered a salad, which came with fries and what was easily a half-pound of melted, fried Camembert sitting prominently in the center. Needless to say, I didn’t get through much of the cheese. After we finished, St. Julien picked us up and drove us to the train station. He mentioned over and over how much he appreciated us hanging out with him (this guy is unreal) and how it “made my day, you have this expression?” to spend time with Americans and get to speak English with us. He also told us how much his parents loved us, though only Casey could communicate with them and that we had stay in touch.

We rode the train back to Paris, uneventfully, as the strike has since been settled. After a couple pints in the local Irish pub, we grabbed some surprisingly great falafel sandwiches and walked home. It was a great weekend, sans Saturday, in a place which surprised all of us. While Marseille is a bit rough around the edges in its more residential areas, the seaside is beautifully Mediterranean and sits peacefully as a mirror of its Italian and Spanish neighbors. Definitely a great part of France, vastly different from Paris. Tomorrow brings new adventures.

France, the Land of Stereotypes

I'm here! I'm alive! Stop worrying!

So after a rocky beginning- our pilot trying to takeoff from the wrong runway and causing a near-collision at O'Hare- I'm in Paris. The commute was a relatively easy one, despite the portly fellow who took his seat next to me and the lion's share of mine as well. I made it to Paris at about 1:30p yesterday and the stereotypes began.

After getting out of the airport and changing some money, I found the train to the city pretty easily. I hopped on and we started a ride through a graffiti-tagged path and it wasn't 5 minutes before an accordion player was on the train, directly behind me, Frenching it up. That's right, an accordion player. Imagine riding through Paris on a train with accordion music playing in the background; it was a little ridiculous. I got a bit nervous when the train didn't stop for the first six or so stops and wondered if we were actually going to slow down at Saint Michael-Notre Dame enough for me to bail off. We did. I did get a mean look from a Parisian who wanted to sit where my 1,500 lb. bag had already taken up residence. I felt it fair, but she disagreed in an angry couple of sentences. I realized then how my dog always felt where you can't tell what the hell the person's saying but you're pretty sure it's nothing good.

I got off at Saint Michael and out of the wrong side of the station. The fountain Casey told "You can't miss" I missed. However, I asked someone on the street, she said a bunch of stuff in French and then finally pointed. I met up with Casey and Sean shortly thereafter.

Paris is old, cobblestone streets with lots of people making out and tons of bikers (bicycles, not Hell's Angels). It didn't take long to find someone eating a baguette, they literally eat them everywhere, just walking down the street munchin' on some bread. Sean also pointed out a beret and my stereotype list was pretty much complete. I'm still hoping for someone to shout out "Merde!!" to something I do or to see a mime, but I'm not getting my hopes up.

The bustle is great and the three of us went out in search of the perfect French restaurant. We walked and walked, Casey explaining why each place wasn't good enough, us amazed by that fact, since each one looked great. They really are just all little cafes with seating on the street and people looking out at everyone as they sip tiny coffees and eat crepes (which are delicious). We settled on an Italian restaurant and I had some very good, very fresh pesto; but don't worry Mom, it wasn't close to yours and they use pine nuts. We walked a bit and ducked into a pub for a local beer, which was fancy-named Budweiser. We talked for a while and just wandered, eventually making it to a creperie before calling it an early night.

Sean and I are about to get started on a day of walking about and sightseeing. We'll have a short day as our train to Marseilles leaves at 6:45p. We're totally screwed in the language department, but I guess we'll make-do.