The Marais, Trains, Boats and The 7 Moons of Paris

Saturday, October 13.

Paris is like a gay man on testosterone. It is big, flamboyant and in your face, but with feminine undercurrents; it has a softer side. Paris is not agressive, it's exciting, and it beckons you to join in, to listen for her secrets, to notice her, to love her. I wish I had more time here to stroll aimlessly and without intent, and see where I end up.

Paris is like a gay man on testosterone...big, flamboyant and in your face, but ...it has a softer side

My first day in Paris! I only have a couple days, so I have made plans.  After my wanderings last night, I want to see where I am and what the Marais has to offer. My hotel is on Rue De Turenne which runs north-south and parallel to the Place Des Vognes and the Bastille. No wonder I couldn't find anything last night, I needed to make a right turn somewhere!

Just a block to my left as I exit Hotel Des Chevaliers, is Rue Francs Bourgeois. This is a great street to walk on. One direction takes you to Place Des Vognes, which is a beautiful sqaure with a park in the middle, surrounded by a wide boulevard and aristocratic architecture. The other direction takes you down a narrow cobbled lane past charming shops, designer boutiques and gated mansions that have been turned into apartments. Very Paris chic. A few of the gates are open and I peek inside, surprised to see large courtyards that once were private gardens. It's Saturday and the sidewalks are crowded with fashionably dressed couples hand in hand, baby strollers and the men in tight tight jeans walking their teeny chiens (dogs).

The Marais looks like Paris in the 1800's. Medieval architecture,grand mansions, gardens and sepentine lanes that suddenly lead to a square with a fountain and the awnings of outdoor cafes, metal chairs tucked neatly under tightly packed tables.This area was originally a swamp, which is the meaning of "marais", but the wealthy flocked here in the 17th century to build their fancy homes and be near Henry IV, whose palace surrounded Place Des Vognes.

I am in search of a post office, because I know that I have to mail one more box home before I leave on Tuesday, and the post offices close between 12 and 2 just like almost every other shop (you are suppose to be eating then, long leisurely lunches with dessert and tiny cups of coffee). I don't want to miss my window of opportunity to find the location and buy the box. I also need to find the Gare Du Nord (one of six railway stations in the city), because I bought my Eurostar ticket to London online, and I need to pick it up in advance. Judging by the lines I have waited in for any services here in France, I want to do this now and get it over with so I can get on with my day. There is a tourist office at Gare de L'Est which is closer, so I head in that direction in hope of getting a map of the metro and a little instruction on how to use it.

I walk about 10 blocks to the Gare de L'Est, but it's an easy walk, like being in New York City. There is so much to see that you don't noticed how far you've gone; wide boulevards and secret side alleys, monuments,churches and plenty of action. The traffic is erratic and noisy; they love to use their horns, and little cars weave around buses and cut people off, turning left from the right lane, and gesturing to other drivers like everything is somebody elses fault. I have made a good choice deciding not to drive in Paris. I finally get my metro map, going to a window to buy tickets ( again, here in France, many public payment facilities don't work unless you have a french credit card, so I can't use the kiosk to buy tickets). I buy a "carnet", which is a discounted set of ten tickets, little purple squares with a brown stripe on the back, which are probably worth a couple of dollars each. These work much like the subway in New York, you feed the ticket into the slot at the entry gate for your train, and it spits it back out at you as you enter. The metro lines are designated by a number or a letter, and the direction is named by the final stop on the line. I take the "D" line and ride on a double decker car, arriving in just minutes at the Gare du Nord.

These train stations are huge, like small cities. At the major stations , like Gare du Nord, there are metro trains, RER trains, and "Grand Lignes"...trains that take you out of France, to Amsterdam or Italy. I walk for a long time to find "Eurostar", and then wait in line for at least an hour to pick up my ticket (which takes all of 1 minute!). I will leave very early on Tuesday, at 6:22 am, and I would have been a wreck waiting for a ticket on the day of my departure. I am so glad I have taken care of this!

By now I am starving, so I take the number 4 train to Les Halles/Chatelet, by Notre Dame, stopping to have lunch at Cafe' Zimmer under hand painted ceilings and decorative carved wood panels. The waiters are dressed all in black and move like greased lightning! For a change of pace I have a green salad and 3 cheese raviolis with a nice glass of Sancerre ( I mention this so you will know I am not eating goose liver at every meal). Vegetables are hard to come by here, but in Paris I even see vegetarian plates listed, which I assume are more than pommes frites, even though that seems to always be the vegetable du jour.

Notre Dame is located on Ile de la Cite', a small island in the middle of the Seine, connected by 9 different bridges from the right and left banks. There is a special service of some sort today, and a long line of people waiting to get inside. I'm much more interested in the soaring spires, flying buttresses and mutitude of gothic and religious carvings over all the entry arches. There are pagan as well as christian stories engraved around the columns and doorways, and I use a guide book to explain the meanings to me. There is Adam, Eve and the serpent with apples, Mary and baby Jesus, biblical kings and St. Denis, who had his head chopped off but miraculously ran all the way to Montmartre before he died, as legend has it. There was a Roman temple here on this very spot before Christianity gained its converts, and Montmartre is said to come from the Roman "Mount of Mars" ( All the planets were very important to the Pagans, and they worshipped Venus). I discover that the same architect responsible for restoring Carcassonne is also resposible for restoring Notre Dame, Eugene Viollet-le-Duc. That guy was a very talented overachiever.

There is a flower show in the center of the square, and thousands of people milling around, enjoying this sunny Saturday. An Asian girl is having her picture made with two fellows from Great Britain sporting walking sticks, their faces painted with the Brish flag and their heads topped with old English bowlers. France and Britain are still in the running for the Rugby championship, and there are lots of flags hanging from pants pockets, being worn as capes and being waved in the air. It's done with good humor and there is a festive feeling among the crowds. One good looking Brit strikes a funny pose, and I take a picture of him as everyone laughs. I don't make the connection until next Tuesday, on my way home, that this is the pose the British kicker makes when he is trying to calm his mind and get into the zone before kicking a field goal.

Next I go underground to the Archaelogical Crypt which is located about 100 yards in front of the Cathedral. Here the original foundations and ruins built by the Romans have been preserved, most of the above ground buildings and Notre Dame having been built directly on top of these. The street leading to the Cathedral was once much narrower, and you can see the original outlines of it as well as the entire medieval village that was the beginnings of Paris as we know it. The city started right here, a perfect fortified city, and expanded from this island. The ruins are glassed in and well lit, and there are explanations in English so you know exactly what you are looking at. The wider street, as well as ALL the widened boulevards in Paris are Napoleon's doing. He wanted streets wide enough for his army batallions, and in victory, his massive parades. In fact, later in the evening I take a barge ride down the Seine, and half the bridges were built by Napoleon in honor of some victory. Little man, big ego.

Behind Notre Dame is Pont St. Louis, a short wide bridge that leads to the much smaller island of Ile St. Louis. Once a swampy mess, it wasn't developed until the 18th century, and now is a delightful residentail area with chocolate shops, and boutiques. There are street performers everywhere...a guitar player singing in soft quick jazzy french, a lone saxophone player pacing along the Seine tooting out a low mournful song, a trio dressed in zoot suits WITH their piano in the street banging out honky tonk, a mime doing funny things behind unsuspecting people's backs. There are roller bladers with their shirts off putting on a show of their skills, whipping in and out of closely placed cones, backwards, synchronising their smooth steps and finishing in perfect death spirals, one hand on the ground. In the middle of the bridge is some kind of wacky one man show accompanied by mechanical moving children's toys, a red pom pom glued to the top of his bald head, and a "do not enter" sign on his butt. I am immersed in the variety of sounds, the feel of the warm sun on my shoulders, the children laughing, the movement of the crowd. All my senses are engaged; I am totally entertained.

On Ile St. Louis, everyone is eating ice cream cones. There are wine tasting bars, and a candy shop with a machine in the window bubbling over with melted chocolate like a brown champagne fountain. The boutique windows are draped with colorful neck scarves and jeweled bracelets, antique chairs and tapestry pillows. It makes me think of the tempting carnival that Pinnochio was taken to when he was stolen from Gepetto...it's exhilarating but you can't have it all or you will end up with a bellyache. I must admit, I really liked it there.

It's dusk by the time I finish looking in every window, and I cross the Pont Marie to the Left Bank and walk along the Seine. I have seen the tourist barges going by all day, and I want to take a ride at night when everything is lit up. All along the river are booksellers who store their wares in permanent green wooden boxes with locks, and I stop and buy some antique  french postcards. The pictures are hilarious; victorian men with handlebar mustaches holding bouquets of flowers, simpering ladies in hats, and my favorite, a lusty maiden holding a big fish. Most of them are stamped and have writing on the back. I can't wait to translate them later when I have the time.

I catch the 7:30 barge on Vedettes du Pont Neuf, which leaves right from the tip of Ile de la Cite', and get one of the last seats on the open air top. I sit next to Andrew, a gay guy from Miami, who has just returned from a cruise of the Greek Islands with his parents and has only tonight in Paris before an early flight home. We immediately bond, and he is the one that took my picture in front of the Eiffel Tower (from the boat). The tour is narrated in French and English, and we pass under all the magnificent bridges, some decorated in statues and gold leaf, pass the Louvre, and sail all the way around the two islands (Ile de la Cite' and Ile St. Louis) with everything lit up like Christmas trees. The moon is out now, and as the barge turns for home, we are also mooned by 4 young girls on the Right Bank, and then Two boys on the Left Bank, amid gales of laughter. Darn! I had already put my camera away. A nice way to end a wonderful day, though, seeing the 7 moons of Paris.