New Year's Eve

While most people party on the last day of each year, I traditionally find it a time of introspection and contemplation.  So, here I am, introspecting and contemplating.

Damn, 2014 was a game-changer year.  It all began with Brenda and Steve's wedding on New Year's Day.  A beautiful ceremony on the deck of Sacramento's Delta King, then a dinner reception, followed by drinking in a few discrete locations in Old Sac.  I spent the night on the ship, and managed to escape without much of a hangover.  After a year of marriage, Steve has proven that he is more than man enough to meet the needs of my pal, The Princess.  I couldn't be happier for them.

With the fun of the wedding over and done with, I hit the books to study for my comprehensive Master's exams.  Thousands of pages read over five months, hours and hours of angst poured out to my major field advisor, Dr. Burke, then the marathon writing session that condensed nearly thirty books into five essays produced in five hours.  Grueling as it was, the process taught me a lot about how to read, digest, and analyze many scholary works, as well as how baked goods serve as a comfort during times of enormous stress.

With exams and classwork finished, the graduate hooding ceremony was a blast.  Sitting with classmates Logan and Monica, we sipped from Logan's flask of scotch while waiting for the call to step on stage.  As the hood was lowered over my head, I felt such a rush.  I did it.  What I started in the summer of 2000 was finally complete--I had a B.A. and an M.A.

Summer came quickly following graduation, along with some unwanted news from my doctor.  Abnormal test results led to a hysterectomy on an early morning in August.  The whole process took only hours--I checked in at seven in the morning and was back home in my own bed by noon.  I suffered very little pain, and my recovery came quickly.  Quickly enough, in fact, for me to be ready for my long-anticipated vacation in Paris.

Ah, Paris.  Damn, Yvette and I had fun.  I never did finish my final blog from that trip.  After an amazing last evening in the city, with dinner at a restaurant with a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower, we returned to the Hotel Alane and the ubiquitous noise from the disreputable gay sandwich shop.  I received bad news, right as I sat down after our long day.  My father-in-law, Walter Herbon, whom I absolutely adored, had passed away.  While he had been in ill health and I knew his time with us was limited, the news still hit hard.  What an amazing person he was--and a wonderful father-in-law and grandfather.

The flight home dragged on for hours, but I enjoyed several movies and had time to think about all I had experienced on the trip. After the disaster with our airline reservations brought about by the pilots' strike of Air France, our carefully constructed plan to get home from the airport in San Francisco proved no longer workable.  Riding to the rescue in her trusty Mercedes Benz, sister Tricia braved the horrors of the cell phone lot to gather us up and take us home.  Lots of talking on the trip home, lots of talking when we got home, and my own bed looked really, really good to me.

Throughout the fall, I worked hard on applications for Ph.D. programs in universities across the South.  While this sounds easy, it is soooooo not.  Contact with instructors and students at the universities I was considering, making sure my writing sample was flawless, writing personal statements--argh!  On the bright side, I met my goal of submitting all my applications before Thanksgiving, and believe me when I write that I gave a lot of thanks for that.  Now the waiting begins, as most schools will not notify me of acceptance or rejection until late March or early April.

So, I can look back with some satisfaction on all I accomplished in 2014.  What 2015 might hold remains a mystery, but a mystery with all sorts of wonderful possibilities. I am, as ever, hopeful.

The Last Day

Cafe L'imperial, Sept. 29, 2014

Shopping.  Shopping.  Then more shopping.

Yes, that's how Yvette and I spent our last day in Paris.  Gifts for loved ones back home were top priority on today's agenda.  We began our day by hopping the Metro and heading for the Arc de Triumphe.  From there, we found a little pastry shop--really a franchise place called Brioche Doree--where I had the most yummy bread thing with chocolate and Yvette ate (you won't believe this!) a personal-size PIZZA!!  She munched that thing down with every bit as much pleasure as I did with my bread-chocolate thing.  Thus fortified, we began the long walk down the Champs Elysee.

While it had apparently rained a little in the night and the skies were somewhat overcast, the temperature outside and, even more so inside the stores, soared to what must have been 80+ degrees Fahrenheit.  What's with these people and their need for heat? And, while I'm sweating buckets and wishing I could take off all my clothes and swim in the Seine, Parisians are swearing scarves and jackets.  I think these people need a taste of Sacramento in the summer to attain some perspective.

Beautiful art nouveau Laduree - guess who got a

gift from here, Vanessa Rodriguez?

Taking a right on Rue Franklin D. Roosevelt, we made our way to the river for some picture taking.  Heading toward the Place Concorde, we re-visited some of the shops on the Rue Rivoli that we had visited before.  More gifts bought (and, well, I bought myself a new wallet as well), including some original artwork for a certain gal-pal at home who, I hope, will understand the decision to chose this particular piece of art when it is presented to her.  Yvette did not help me chose, so I'm hoping against hope that I did all right.

A statue of Lafayette donated by the

"schoolchildren of the United States"

Now we're, of course, sitting in a little cafe at the corner of the Rue Rivoli and Rue Rouget De L'isle, cafe creme to drink and macaroons from Angelina's to eat.  We haven't quite decided what we're going to do with the rest of our evening here, but I hope its early to bed to catch out 9:00 a.m. plane back to San Francisco.

More later....

After I wrote the above lines from L'Imperial, we sat at the cafe for quite some time, enjoying what seemed to be a little personal fashion show for our benefit.  Of course, it was Fashion Week in Paris.  We saw women (and a few men) in all kinds of fashionable garb, with some spectacular shoes.  Funny, we also saw a "Maddie hat," reminiscent of Maddie's black hat with the little red cat ears.  This hat was blue--but it had little ears on top.  Now when Papa teases Maddie about her hat, she can assure him that it is the latest thing in Paris fashion.

A walk along the river

After leaving Rue Rivoli, with people in amazing clothes, shoes, and hats, we had the bright idea to walk to the Eiffel Tower, perhaps to find a place to have dinner where we could see the Tower lights at night.  Here Yvette learned the lesson that's on all side mirrors on cars--objects may appear closer than they actually are.  Damn, that was some walk. I couldn't say how many miles we trudged, but the distance was considerable.  Nevertheless, we made it.  We walked under the Tower and up the Trocadero.  On the other side, we scored a fabulous table at the Trocadero Cafe, where we watched as night fell and the Tower lit up.  Dinner was fabulous--ravioli for me and a cheeseburger and fries for Yvette (and she got teased about it by our waiter).  

She looks like a postcard, doesn't she?

We were nearly through with dinner when it began to rain.  At first, it seemed we would stay completely dry, even though we were sitting at the edge of the canopy. The rain really started coming down, and we schooched our table back further under the canopy.  Our poor waiter--he was literally dodging raindrops while bringing around the almond cake we had for dessert.

Tomorrow--flight home.

I See Dead People and Unicorns

Bar Cluny (on the Left Bank), Sept. 28, 2014

The sun is setting behind some light clouds, and we are ensconced at a table at the Bar Cluny, not far from the Musee Cluny, which we have just visited.  The Left Bank is lively on a Sunday afternoon, so we have plenty of company here.  Yvette peruses the Musee Cluny guidebook I purchased (yes, I have broken my rule about book buying twice now) while I blog.  

Have I mentioned the weather?  Oh, my gosh, what a gorgeous day to visit the dead!  So, that's what we did this morning.

We arrived at the Gambetta Metro station, ready to give Rick "the Dick" Steves a chance to redeem himself after his disastoruous instructions in Reims. And, I'm happy to report, he is now redeemed.  His tour of Pere Lachaise was terrific--and we didn't get lost once!

Before undertaking what we knew would be a walk of monstrous proportions, we stopped in at a little cafe.  The waiter was a surly, older fellow, so we said he was....

Master of the House

Keeper of the Zoo

Ready to Relieve us

of a Euro or two.

Cafe Americain for Yvette and cafe creme for me, and we felt strong enough (and caffeine high enough) to beard the dead in their den.

We began at the top end of the cemetery, the tour designed by Rick to be more downhill than up.  Prior to our arrival in France, I had developed a playlist on my phone so that my intrepid companion might have a muscial accompaniment.

Cue Si Tu Vis Ma Mere from Midnight in Paris.

Walking up the main thoroughfare, we passed the memorials to the World Wars.

Cue James Cagney and Frances Langford singing "Over There."

At the big Columbarium (where the post office boxes are), we searched in vain for Maria Callas. We know she's in there somewhere, but we're damned if we know where.

Cue Maria singing an aria from Carmen.

Here we experienced our first contact with other people seeking the same dead celebs as us.  In this case, a man followed the music, believing that Maria's voice must be coming from her post office box.  When he discovered it was from my phone, he seemed a little disappointed.

Next stop was Oscar Wilde.

Cue Rod Stewart singing Forever Young.

Oscar's tomb is a strange-looking one, sort of a modern-looking angel on a low-level flight.  What makes it even more unique are the dozen of lipstick kisses on its granite surface.  Apparently so many people (more men, I'm guessing than women) have paid their respects to Oscar with a little kiss, some falling on the emasculated boy-parts on the bottom of the angel.  To knock this kissing off, a plastic partition now wraps around Oscar's angel--no more lipstick for this guy.  On the back on the tomb, there is an English inscription about how outcasts are always mourning. Makes you feel like, although Oscar's life was lived in abundance, he had a loneliness inside.

Notice the lipstick kisses

Cue Je Suis Sel Ce Soir from Midnight in Paris

Next stop was a visit with Nor Cal gal, Gertrude Stein.  She's got a little, nondescript tomb, but people have left a lot of stones on top, signifying a lot of Jewish prayers.  Of course, she's got Alice B. Toklas in there with her.  I love her quote, "America is my country.  Paris is my hometown."

Taking a moment to: (1) visit with Gertrude Stein

and Alice B. Toklas, and (2) to look like my mom!!!

Not far from Gertrude and Alice, a series of monuments recall the terrors of the Holocaust.  The sculptures on these memorials, all of skeletal figures, evoke a lot of emotion.  I don't know what else to say about these--I didn't take any pix as they are just too sad.

Cue One Day More from Les Miserables

In 1871, the last stand of the Communards as they fought off the right-wing French government came against the wall of Pere Lachaise.  French soldiers killed the last of the fighters right against the cemetery walland buried them where they fell.  There is now a nice memorial on that wall.  I know that "One Day More" takes place during the Revolutions of 1848, but the overall theme works for the Communards as well.

Cue Edith Piaf singing La Vie en Rose

Edith was surrounded by well-wishers when we found her.  While I had the volume on my phone turned down low, it was still audible to some young girls standing beside the tomb.  They, like the man in the Columbarium, seemed to think the music was coming from Edith herself until I set them straight by waving my phone to indicate that I was causing the singing. To her credit, Yvette did not seem embarassed by my behavior but rather simply rolled with it.

Yvette says, "Only Lorraine would bring music to a cemetary and dance amongst the dead."

Cue the title theme from the film Moliere

We found Moliere also surrounded by people (these are apparently very important stops along the cemetary pilgrimage).  What was sad about Moliere was the story we read in Rick that talked about his final performance: Moliere was a sick man at this point but one whose doctors thought was a hypochondriac, and he played a well man who was a hypochondriac in his final play.  He collapsed on stage, truly dying, while the audience cracked up.  Rick has a good Moliere quote, "We die only once, and for such a long time."

Cue Love Her Madly by the Doors.

Yes, like Americans for the past 40 years, Yvette and I paid homage to Jim Morrison.  While there was no security guard in place (there had been one when Reiner and I were here in 1996 and Rick seemed to think there would be one), the tomb was still pretty blocked off.  I feel sorry for the other people "parked" here for eternity--Jim's admirers are many, and I saw several selfies taken with him.

Maddie--this picture of a crow is for you; they were all

over the cemetery!

Cue Nocturne by Frederic Chopin.

Here's another musical genuius who attracts a big following.  A tomb marked with candles and flowers, "Fred" Chopin is apparently best known for his funeral dirge.  You know the one, "dum dum de dum dum de dum de dum de dum."

If you look closely, you can see the Eiffel Tower in 

the distance

Cue the hymn, O What Their Joy as sung by the Manchester Cathedral Choir.

This was my favorite part--the tomb of Heloise and Abelard.  Talk about romantic (sigh).  There they are, in effigy, laying side by side, together for eternity as they could not be during their lives.  Their tomb is beautiful, their story inspiring, and a sculpture of a dog laying at Abelard's feet denotes the fidelity of their relationship.  With the beautiful hymm playing in the background, this proved the most inspirational visit of all those we met at Pere Lachaise.

Cue Maurice Chevalier singing Thank Heaven for Little Girls

The great Colette!  I read one of her Claudine novels the last time Yvette and I came to Paris.  Of course, we know her best for her novel, Gigi, and the wonderful screen adaption.  I believe she would have liked "Thank Heaven" playing at her grave site--or not, and she would have rolled her eyes and thought, "please, not that damned Chevalier again!"

While I had songs for the last two graves, that of Rossini the composer (the William Tell Overture) and Baron Haussmann, I played Baron Haussmann's song, Ella Fitzgerald singing I Love Paris, as we walked out through the main gate of Pere Chaise, both of us smiling with sincere pleasure at having had such a nice walk with dead people.

All that walking made us hungry, and we scored a table at a cafe.  You must think we do nothing but visit cafes, and, in a way, you're right.  Cafe sitting, sipping on a drink or munching on a little lunch, is one of the grand joys of this city. You see all manner of people when you take a seat at a cafe.  For example, as I write this, there is an obnoxious man beside us, maybe Italian or Spanish (he speaks a heavily accented English but apparently no French).  He has ordered himself a plate of escargot, perhaps in an effort to please the lady he has brought in with him.  First, he told the waiter about how the escargot should have been prepared, then he proceeded to demonstrate a stunning lack of skill with the little escargot holder thingys.

But I digress.  Back to my story.

The next item on our travel agenda was the Cluny Museum of the Middle Ages.  Located at a site that was at one time or another a Roman bath, a Clunaic Abbey, and the townhouse of an art collector, it has been a museum since the mid-nineteenth century.  A lot of its treasures are of a religious nature, but the star of the show is the "Lady and the Unicorn" tapestries.  So lovely.  Five tapestries explore the five senses, while a sixth is thought to refer to the "sixth sense" or the moral and ethical heart of a person.  The detail in these tapestries is amazing, and one cannot imagine the time and attention required to create such an object.  In fact, all of the tapestries at the Cluny were remarkable, and I'm so glad we got see them (in spite of the fact that the temperature of the museum felt like it was in excess of 90 degrees Fahrenheit).

I also loved the room dedicated to armour and other accoutremont of war.  My first sighting of chain mail, up close and personal.  And I thought I was hot wearing a short-sleeved knit sweater!

Chain mail = cool!

Early Christian nesting dolls?

Finishing the Cluny led us here, to the Bar Cluny, where the escargot man (confirmed as from Spain) continues to hold forth for the edification of his companion and our poor beleagured waiter.  

Les Deux Magots for dinner....

Hotel Alane, Sept. 28, 2014

Back in the room, with a sigh of relief as the shoes come off and a cool shower cools both blisters and enormous hair.

It turns out that getting to Les Deux Magots for dinner was no easy feat (or easy on the feet).  As the map said it was only half a mile, we determined to hoof it rather than catch the Metro.  A gallant thought on our part, except that we walked in the exact wrong direction.  The half-mile walk turned into something closer to a mile and a half, and I insisted that we give up and catch a train.  Yeah, I'm wearing down....

Les Deux Magots was not quite as I remember it from last time.  It is far more luxurious and expensive, with a more limited menu.  Hemingway would never go there now.  But, we settled in and had a delicious dinner, wine, dessert.  The people-watching was as fun as last time.  Next to us, we had Jim's wife, who spent the dinner hour telling her companion all about the trips she's made to Paris in the past and how those affected Jim. We saw one guy how may or may not be a famous jockey.  And we saw Miss Cool.  Miss Cool was wearing a tight-fitting beige dress and these killer shoes, which may or may not have been Manolo Blahniks.  She wore her dark hair sleek against her head, and every move she made was elegant. She took a table, ordered a bottle of Perrier, and proceeded to look at her phone.  Sadly, though, as time passed and she continued to sit there alone, she became less elegant.  She crossed her legs in an ungangly way and then rubbed her foot (that's when I felt Miss Cool and I had something in common). Still, when she departed, alone, we felt bad that she had been stood up.  She was so elegant.

Speaking of elegant, Yvette and I are using this time in Paris to improve our dining skills.  Watching Europeans eat, we notice that they tend to always hold a fork in the right hand and a knife in the left. They use the knife to help them put the food on the fork, and it looks very chic.  I ate my salad that way tonight, and I feel I am a better person for it.  

Tomorrow is our last day, and we really don't have anything concrete planned--besides doing some shopping.  Until then,

Au revoir....

P.S.  Yvette says "It's official!  Lorraine Herbon is a coffee drinker."

Carafe d'eau, si vous plait

l'Escurial cafe, Sept. 25, 2014

Today's big achievement, no matter whatever else happens, will be that Yvette correctly ordered a bottle of tap water for our table at a cafe.  After asking for tickets to "Chartreuse" and yesterday asking for a "cafe" of d'eau, Yvette sprang up today as a fully-formed French speaker. 

I'm enjoying success also today.  I managed to get us here, to the Marais, without going the wrong way on any train, and we walked right to the Carnavalet Museum.  We've stopped in at this cafe for a little later breakfast--at 2:15 p.m.--thanks to last night's abundance of noise from the disreputable gay sandwich shop patrons that made sleep for Yvette pretty elusive. 

Oh, my Nutella crepe has arrived, which I will be enjoying with my first-ever cafe creme.

More later....

Hotel Alane, Sept. 25, 2014

Oh, yeah. I had cafe creme and a Nutella crepe--and it was hella good!  

My first cafe creme--look, Dad, I'm drinking coffee!

I'm a grown-up now!

After our snack, we turned our attention toward the Carnavalet Museum on the history of Paris.  What a treat this place was.  It covers the history of the city from about the 15th century forward, with also a little section on archaeological finds from the Roman era.

The history is told with artificats and also with works of art, including lots of paintings. We saw paintings of nearly everyone important in France over the centuries--except for Francis I, Catherine de Medici, and Mary, Queen of Scots.  That section is under renovation, damnit.  But even without those treasures, which I'll just have to see online, the museum was wonderful.  Here are some pix....

Here's Lafayette, American's Pal

Yvette poses like a nice little lady

Ben Franklin was a hit in Paris during

the Revolutionary War.  

Taking this goofy shot got me scolded, but

when I correctly said I was sorry--in

French--I got a big smile from the guard

Just loved this painting of Paris--no 

particular reason

Marcel Proust's bedroom

Just seconds before I fell to my death

This is for Reiner.  The people of France, where

ladies went topless, are fleeing the demon of

tyranny

Finishing up at the museum--and we found ourselves thirsty again.  Off to another cafe for some decent-sized glasses of wine and a lot of people watching.  The Marais, as foretold by our pal Denise, has a little bit of everything. Lots of shops line the streets, along with cafes and restaurants. It retains some remenants of its role as Paris' Jewish Quarter, and we saw Orthodox Jews moving along one of the narrow streets, bearded and dressed in black.  

While enjoying our cafe time, we pondered why some of our friends have questioned our coming to Paris when we've already been here before.  If those of you who ask this question could sit in a cafe in the Marais, sipping wine, seeing all manner of people going to and fro, having just come from a museum that combined history and art--well, you wouldn't ask the question.  It's special here.

Cheers!!

Fortified with wine, we told ourselves we would take our weary bodies back to our little Gare de l'Est for dinner at an Italian place that Yvette had picked out.  But no.  Wine seemed to have cured blistered feet and aching legs--so we shopped.  We both found gifts for loved ones back home, and even got a few little things for ourselves, including big cookies from the most amazing confectionaire.

We arrived back at Gare de l'Est and stopped to get our train tickets for tomorrow's journey to Reims. Then it was time for dinner.  Sadly, the place Yvette wanted required reservations.  So we found another place, and I enjoyed a delicious veal Milianese with Provencal sauce and a side of fresh Parmesan-topped polenta.  Yvette, frustrated in her desire for Italian food, settled on a filo-wrapped goat cheese with vegetables along with a chicken ceaser salad.  Red wine all around!

Caught a cab back to the hotel, and we're tucked in and ready for sleep.  Tomorrow we're off to Reims for the cathedral, the Museum of the Surrender, and plenty of champagne tasting.

Old Lady Noises or My Hair is Seven Times Bigger than in Atlanta

The Hotel Alane, Sept. 23, 2014

My hair is HUGE!!! I thought that, in Atlanta with its world-renown humidity, I had stretched the bounds of big hair to its limit. I was wrong. I'm sporting an Afro that would make Wilt Chamberlain back in the 1970s envious.

Meanwhile, Yvette is having an unprecedented run of good hair days (two in a row now).

What the hell?

Today got off to a slow start.  After yesterday's record-breaking walking/stair-climbing activities, we slept until after ten.  Slowly, we roused enough to get dressed, coiffed (yeah, for me that was easy), and out the door.  First stop, "our" Metro station, Gare de l'Est. It should have been an easy business to get to the Orsay RER stop.  Get off the Metro at Austerlitz, hop the RER and end up right underneath the museum. Yeah, that didn't happen.  Onto a train going the wrong way, damnit! But, wait, it gets worse.  Two old men from deep in the heart of Dixie asked me if they were boarding the right train to get to Versailles.  I said "yes," with my best smile.  But "no" was the correct answer.  These two old guys, whom we labeled as Bartels and James, will go home to the South and tell everyone that they got screwed over by a hot American redhead and her exotic Polynesian friend.

Anyway, we got turned around (and I presume Bartels and James eventually arrived at Versailles). Arrived at the Orsay and found ourselves welcomed by none other than Lady Liberty.

How nice!  Ironically, I'm taiking a picture that also includes another woman taking a picture, and I promise you we weren't two feet from a sign that read "no photography."

We feasted on the works of Ingres, Daumier, Millet, and Manet.  Then, before hitting the Impressionist superstars, it was time for another kind of feasting. Next stop--museum cafe.

Here we will send a shout-out to two of our most devoted readers--Anita and Dorian.  Anita, Yvette wants you to know that she drank coffee from a place other than Starbucks.  Dorian, when I proclaimed my mocha the best I'd ever had (and it so was), Yvette laughed and said I sounded like you.  You are clearly a woman of the most refined linguist prowess.  

Coffee not from Starbucks and the

best mocha EVER

A salad for Yvette and mini-eclairs for me (I'm living on sugar while I'm here), and we moved into the colorful world of Monet, Renoir, Degas, and others.  Then Gaugin came along with his beginning steps into post-Impressionism, followed by Van Gogh and Cezanne. We looked at sculptures by Rodin and others, especially enjoying Rodin's Gates of Hell. And we got some amazing shots that show just how beautiful the Orsay actually is.

Yvette could get a job doing the cover

art for the Orsay guide book

This woman is wondering why she

came to Paris with such a dud

Hot satyr ass

Strangers in a pretty background

Me in a pretty background

From the Orsay, we ventured off to conquer the next artistic époque--modern art. And I have a few comments to make about the Pompidou Center.  Really, it sucks!  It is ugly outside and inside.  It is confusing as hell, with galleries on two floors that are difficult to access.  The art is laid out without rhyme or reason, the layout of the galleries are confusing and lead to dead ends, and there is a lot of wasted space.  

Still, we saw some good works of art.  We saw works by Mondrian, Picasso, Leger, Kandinsky, Klee, Matisse, and Dali.  We looked at Jackson Pollock and were unimpressed, and Max Ernst reminded me that he was one of Peggy Guggenheim's lovers.

Yvette was pretty much enraged the moment we got to the museum by the publicity posters up everywhere for a special exhibition of the works of Marcel Duchamp. The modern art didn't impress her much, especially the stuff that was non-representational.  But I found pieces that I could admire, and Yvette liked Matisse, so we did O.K.

Yvette took charge of dinner arrangements tonight, so we caught a cab to take us to Blend, reviewed by both Yelp and her Paris guide book as having arguably the best hamburgers in Paris. Those reviewers were accurate.  The burgers were totally yummy, and the company was even better.  In such a tiny place, it is not unusual to be seated at the same table as another party.  We sat down with a young couple from, you won't believe this, Chapel Hill, North Carolina!  She's some kind of chemist, and he works for a software company.  They are amazing world travelers, who last year went to Peru and have been to London and Rome among other spots.  We enjoyed the best dinner conversation with these young people, talking about travel, about home vs. abroad, about San Francisco weather (too unpredictable and too cold), and about the weird gun culture in the U.S.

Our dinner companions

Back in the cozy confines of the Hotel Alane now. Through my keen historian's eye for detail and Yvette's analytical deductive reasoning, we have determined that the disreputable sandwich shop is actually a disreputable gay sandwich spot.  When only men frequent the place, and some of them are dancing, you gotta think some hooks up are being made.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.

So, good night from Paris, the city of lights, the city of lively conservation in burger joints, the city of thought-provoking art, the city of disreputable gay sandwich shops.

P.S.  Yvette says, "Who knew you could find a great burger in Paris!  The experience only made more great by the wonderful company we had for dinner."

Riding the Rails

The Train, Traveling from Chartres to Paris, Sept. 22, 2014

Oh, my.  I'm almost (yes, almost) speechless when I look back on this day.

The day began with a bang--or what I thought was a bang.  I was sleeping peacefully, having one dream or another when I was jolted awake by the sound of an explosion.  I hastily asked Yvette, "Are you O.K.?"  "It was just a sneeze," came back the somewhat bemused reply.  Yes, Yvette's sneeze at 6:30 this morning woke me with first a scare and then a laugh.

We followed our traditional routine, begun those many years ago when we came to Europe the first time.  Yvette was up first, showered and went down to breakfast.  I lazed around a little before hauling my own lazy ass out of bed, got ready, and snacked on a Slim Fast bar and a warm Diet Coke.  But, we were up early, and hit the rails.

The view from our window (not looking at the

disreputable sandwich shop)

We bought some Metro tickets and headed in the general direction of the Left Bank.  I say general, because I hadn't really thought through our travel plan. But, after a few missteps, we finally headed to the correct platform.  As we came down the stairs, we could see that there was a train just about to leave.  I didn't think twice before jumping through the closing doors, getting a little squeezed in the process.  Yvette, however, was not so lucky.  She remained behind.  Now, for most people, this wouldn't be a big deal--they'd know they could just get on the next train and meet me at our stop. And Yvette did that.  But not before she suffered a "Buffy and Jody Moment."  Yes, as a child, Yvette was scarred by a hellish episode of the television show Family Affair.  Apparently, on a trip to Paris, Buffy and Jody were separated from a frantic Mr. French--and Yvette never got over it.  Add "a Buffy and Jody Moment" to our own personal lexicon for this trip.

Montparnasse Tower

Anyway, we finally managed to wend our way to the Montparnasse Tower, not where we originally intended to go but where we ended up anyway.  The views from this skyscraper are amazing.  While there was some haze in the air, we could see the Eiffel Tower, Les Invalides, Sacre Cour, and what I thought was a giant parking lot.  Well, in my defense, it was a giant parking lot--a permanent parking lot--by the name of the Montparnasee cemetary. 

The Eiffel Tower

Having a good hair day!

Les Invalides--where Napoleon lives

Besides the views,Montparnasse excited us because of the guys and gals rappelling down the side.  Yes, you can rappel down the side of this 59-story building. 

Amazing!  This guys were going all Spiderman!

We then walked a beautiful pedestrian walkway from Monparnasse to the entrance to the catacombs.  The line was enormous--and as slow moving as molassas on ice.  Believe it or not, we waited for over two and one-half hours!  While Yvette stood the whole time, my legs rebelled.  So I, like many others in this queue that never ends, perched on a wire fence that ran alongside the sidewalk.  I believe that tomorrow I will find some interesting bruises on my deriere thanks to that wire fence.

Here I will break from my story to talk about music, in honor of my friend Anita.  While on the Metro, we listened to an accordian and tamborine combo play La Vie en Rose--one of my favorite French songs.  In the queue for the catacombs, a man with an electric guitar performed for all of us brave (or foolish) enough to wait in that long line.  His playlist was impressive, with tunes like "Bad to the Bone," "Knock, Knock, Knocking on Heaven's Door," and then that baffled me--"Sweet Home Alabama."  Yvette, a quick thinker, cued me in to the line "Lord, I'm coming home to you."  When the guitar player veered over to a James Brown tune, I was again confused.  I decided to myself that, like the six million Parisains in the catacombs, James Brown was, in a word, dead.

This top, corner apartment, looking down on

the lion statue, is my dream home

Initially upon entrance, the catacombs seemed a little disappointing.  It was a walk down over 100 tiny steps on a steep, curling, enclosed, stone stairwell. Once, I expected to fall to my death.  Then, once the stairway was safely transversed, the initial tenth of a mile or so inside the catacomb was a mere walkway through a long set of limestone corridors.  

Then we came to some lovely limestone sculptures.  Reflecting the French fascination with its newly acquired colonial territory, Egypt, these represented some of the sights to be found in that ancient empire.  

Finally, we saw the sign over one hallway:

That's right. We entered the city of the dead (note to Maddie Herbon and Matthew Fisher:  CATACOMBS!!!)

Yeah, I'm telling these Parisians what's what!

O.K., I'm usually a very good girl in museums and historic sites.  But, I couldn't resist.  I touched a skull!!  And I liiked it so much that I then touched another!!!  To my knowledge thus far, no spirits have attached themselves to me, nor did I, when in the catacombs, have any problem with some guilt from my past (maybe smacking my sister when I was little?) came back to haunt me.

This whole place proved hard for both Yvette and I to wrap our heads around. At first, for Yvette, it seemed disrespectful.  And I concur.  I mean, how weird is it to dig up the dead out of your city's cemetaries, separate each person's bones to be mingled with other bones of the same type, and then to make designs with them deep in an old limestone quarry?  But, when you think of it, it can serve both Christian and Enlightenment reasoning (remember, this plan was hatched during the period of the Enlightenment).  For Christians, the mortal person, the human flesh and bones, meant nothing.  This body of ours was the site of original sin, after all.  It was the afterlife of the soul that mattered.  For Enlightenment thinkers, I expect that they, too, did not find use in the physical being. For them, living in an Age of Reason, the mind was predominant.  So why not do this, make these catacombs.  These bones were buried with all due respect, and they remind us that we are, after all, mortal beings.  As we lived, so did they.

The walk through the catacombs was treacherous at best.  The floor had been worn smooth, was damp and slippery.  More than once, I had to catch myself as my oh-so-comfy Sketchers threatened to put me on my ass.  This, along with the rapellers we had seen earlier, gave Yvette and I a subject upon which to reflect.  We both agreed that this wouldn't be possible in the U.S.  Disability rights activitists would have a fit because there is no way anyone with any sort of physical disability could make it through those catacombs (I won't write about how I managed to climb up the 86 stairs at the end, but let's just say, it wasn't pretty).  And rapelling down the side of a building?  Are you kidding me?  Think of the liability!

We Americans are a litigious people.  If something happens to us, we need to have someone to blame, someone to compensate us for our misfortune.  Skyscrapers in the U.S. couldn't afford to allow rapelling due to the costs involved--one person falls and that's the million-dollar ballgame. And, while I know the Americans with Disabilities Act exempts historic sites, there still remains a lot of pressure to make everything available to everybody, no matter what.  In Paris, as far as we can see, that culture of lawsuits and accessibility doesn't exist.  Believe me when I tell you, the little cafe we stopped at for an afternoon treat (and to recover from the catacombs) had a bathroom so small I could barely turn around in it--not to mention a urinal right there by the sinks, out in the open. Thank God no gentleman felt the need to pee when I was in that bathroom.

Yvette photobombed my ice cream (which, I must

say, had the most amazing REAL chocolate

sauce)

SoYvette got her own photo

Back to the Metro and back to the Montparnasse train station.  While it was a little late in the afternoon, we decided on our trip to Chartres.  This little outing started out pretty damn funny.  Yvette walked up to the lady at the information booth and politely asked where we could get tickets to "Chartreuse." The color yellow being unavailable from this station, the lady was then asked where we could buy tickets for Chartres.  To her credit, the lady never blinked an eye, but I could tell what she was thinking--"crazy Americans!"

Once safely on the train, Yvette was like an infant in a car--zonked!  While I enjoyed the scenery of the French countryside, livestock, and some adorable buildings, she sat with her eyes closed.  Once we arrived in Chartres, though, she perked up enough to recommend that we take a cab to the Cathedral.  While for Rick Steves it might be a five-minute walk, there was no way our weary legs were going to take us up that hill.

The Cathedral was everything I could asked for and more.  I wish I could have taken some photos of the interior....

I must break here--a man just walked through our train car and farted. WTF??

....but Mass was underway.  The stained glass glimmered as though it were not 800 years old, the designs were vibrant and beautiful, and the massive arch ways and other Gothic elements made both Yvette and I feel overwhelmed.  This is one of the biggest Cathedrals in Europe, and it was well worth the hour and one-half long train ride to see. The fact that Mass was being held and we could hear the music echoing throughout just made it that much more special.  

The Cathedral, according to Rick Steves, became a hot commodity for pilgrims of the Middle Ages because of its unique sacred relic--Mary's veil.  This is claimed to be the garment Mary wore when she gave birth to Jesus.  And there it was.  Behind a locked little gate, but still right there for everyone to view.  It was amazing.  Rick says that it has been tested and is a garment from the right time. Whether it is authentic or not, its very existence makes it special and amazing.

Next to the little alter with the veil stands a special sculpture on a tall pedestal.  It is Mary holding the baby Jesus, both wearing bejewelled crowns and holding sceptors.  Even an atheist like me is not immune to the power of that statue.  Many people come to the Cathedral to seek the Virgin's assistance, and it is the custom to kiss the pedestal beneath the sculpture.  We saw a lady do this--and she had her lips there for quite a while.  While that was disconcerting, I did press a kiss to two of my fingers and then pressed the fingers to the pedestal. I mean, really, why not cover all bases?

At the Serpentine Cafe, right across from the Cathedral, we stopped for dinner.  And, true to the promise I made to myself when I planned this trip, I tried escargo.  Now, it wasn't bad, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't good.  The butter and garlic was delicious, but the snail was a little tough to chew and really tasted like mushrooms.  Oh, and it's as hell to pry the damn thing out of its shell.  Like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, I had to learn to use the holder thing--I did not toss one as she did, thank goodness.

Yvette is the witness and here is the

photographic evidence

The meal was good, the wine excellent.  

Time to stop, we're pulling in to Paris again....

Hotel Alane, Sept. 23, 2014

Back in the hotel after a quick trip from the Montparnasse station to our  home station, Gare de l'Est.  So, we had a great meal and then asked the waitress to call a cab. When we stepped outside the restaurant, both our jaws fell to the floor.  On the north side ofthe Cathedral, right in front of us, was the most amazing light show.  I mean, amazing!  Thankfully, Yvette got some good pix.

Upon returning to the hotel room, I was given my graduation present from Yvette.

So, this has been a lot of blog for one day, and it's nearly 12:30 a.m.  I'm going to finish up and then get a good night's sleep.  Art, both modern and Impressionist, tomorrow.

P.S.  Yvette says, "Lorraine tried to kill us today with her high energy; we will be dialing it down to third gear tomorrow."

P.P.S.  Lorraine says, "Just leave me in the catacombs to die."