Hello and welcome to your [insert time frame] visit to the recountings of the generally indirectly self inflicted events of my life. This week, we have with us a special guest: my mother, all the way from Maine giving quality time and leaving the precious slopes to visit her youngest offspring.
Dec 26th-27th
Paris: So. effing. Cold. After trying to be clever, it took us an hour and a half to find our way out of the train station. Don’t worry about giving us any benefit of the doubt. There’s one front door. And that’s the one we wanted. A distance away, we proceeded to find our little rented apartment after a mishap which landed us at the absolute end of a bus route on which we had intended to go in the exact opposite direction. Hello, taxi. The driver dropped us off at the “end of the road” that we were looking for. Therefore, it only took us 45 minutes before we actually set foot across the threshold. Think we maybe went out later but, not being unparalleled party animals, didn’t see any time after about 9:00pm.
Woke up the next morning. Coffee! that was made. And the coffee fountain sprung from the kitchen as we pranced and sang and the little American coffee cherubs played their small, gently tinkling instruments. Conclusion: we didn’t have to buy 14 shots/40 euros of French coffee each morning. “Dependent” you say? “I tried to cut down but life just wasn’t a good time” I say.
After I waited for my mother to don every skiing layer that she had thrown in as an afterthought, we went to some big impressive church. This was far from our neighborhood in which we tried not to disturb the calls to prayer and learned that the going rate for a prayer mat is 9-19 euros. Notre Dame gave us our particular calling this morning. Still pretty. But, altogether, “moving on” said the young anti-tourist cynically, thinking of the benefits of learning to speak a Spanish dialect (preferably southern) as the cold slapped her up one side and down the other.
Dec 28th-29th
Dijon. We arrive. Conditions: still cold but we're good. Took a walking tour (read: Sunday. No bus for 45 minutes) back to my abode. Mom met Mireille and I proceeded to try to facilitate a very semi bilingual discussion. I think it’s time to go now. We headed to the Dijon Museum of Fine Art. A little embarrassed to say it was basically my first time. (I had done the self guided ADHD tour some months ago.) It was fine and artistic.
We returned to the flat for a meal that Mireille had prepared for us and some friends of hers who spoke English. It was good. They were nice. She only mentioned twice that I sit in my room and am not part of the Franco/English Club. Memo: meeting Anglophones has not been a problem. Whatever. Over it.
The next day was a very biased tour of Dijon. Highlights. The Chouette carved into the side of Notre Dame which is supposed to be rubbed for good luck. It’s supposed to be rubbed with a certain hand but I think I told my mom the wrong hand. Sorry. There were only 3 days left in the year anyway. Then off to The Unicorn for the best crepes in town. Having suddenly become an avid Nutella fan, my mother began a quest for a container. And by quest I mean we went to Monoprix, your all basic needs semi department store. Also stocked up on some “regional products.” There are now multiple jars of cassis (red syrupy stuff of a berry whose name I can never remember which is very famous here) in my mother’s luggage. If any of them break, there is no way she’s going to make it across the border save handcuffed to a seat. Hope she rubbed that chouette with the correct hand.
Dec 29th-31st
We headed back to Paris. Ended up in the apartment where we played a rowdy game of Phase 10 Dice and then passed out. Vacation is awesome. (serious)
Woke up. Drank coffee. Went to the Louvre which was closed that day of the week. Moved on to something else I forget. At some point we did the Place de la Concorde up the Champs de l’Elysees and then the Arc de Triumphe and then over to the Eiffel Tower. It was raining, harder at some times than others. Life became considerably less pleasant so we headed over to this shopping place to hunt down some French requests for those on the homeland. Couldn’t find anything and my really trendy canvas shoes were soaked and my improvised babushka head wrap was soggy. Yeah, we were about over that day. Headed home. More fun and games and tea.
The next morning, we woke up early to beat the crowds (HAHAHA) to the Louvre. Good try though.
We saw, from 50 paces, the Mona Lisa while standing next to another American girl whose direct quote was “it’s small and ugly. Can we go?” While I’ve heard more eloquent things in my life, the girl had a point. I wonder what purpose plays the piece on the opposite wall of the gallery. It’s about 50 feet wide and 30 tall and has the most unbelievable range of people, color and action. Interesting choice of contrast. 
Dec 26th-27th
Paris: So. effing. Cold. After trying to be clever, it took us an hour and a half to find our way out of the train station. Don’t worry about giving us any benefit of the doubt. There’s one front door. And that’s the one we wanted. A distance away, we proceeded to find our little rented apartment after a mishap which landed us at the absolute end of a bus route on which we had intended to go in the exact opposite direction. Hello, taxi. The driver dropped us off at the “end of the road” that we were looking for. Therefore, it only took us 45 minutes before we actually set foot across the threshold. Think we maybe went out later but, not being unparalleled party animals, didn’t see any time after about 9:00pm.
Woke up the next morning. Coffee! that was made. And the coffee fountain sprung from the kitchen as we pranced and sang and the little American coffee cherubs played their small, gently tinkling instruments. Conclusion: we didn’t have to buy 14 shots/40 euros of French coffee each morning. “Dependent” you say? “I tried to cut down but life just wasn’t a good time” I say.
After I waited for my mother to don every skiing layer that she had thrown in as an afterthought, we went to some big impressive church. This was far from our neighborhood in which we tried not to disturb the calls to prayer and learned that the going rate for a prayer mat is 9-19 euros. Notre Dame gave us our particular calling this morning. Still pretty. But, altogether, “moving on” said the young anti-tourist cynically, thinking of the benefits of learning to speak a Spanish dialect (preferably southern) as the cold slapped her up one side and down the other.
Dec 28th-29th
Dijon. We arrive. Conditions: still cold but we're good. Took a walking tour (read: Sunday. No bus for 45 minutes) back to my abode. Mom met Mireille and I proceeded to try to facilitate a very semi bilingual discussion. I think it’s time to go now. We headed to the Dijon Museum of Fine Art. A little embarrassed to say it was basically my first time. (I had done the self guided ADHD tour some months ago.) It was fine and artistic.
We returned to the flat for a meal that Mireille had prepared for us and some friends of hers who spoke English. It was good. They were nice. She only mentioned twice that I sit in my room and am not part of the Franco/English Club. Memo: meeting Anglophones has not been a problem. Whatever. Over it.
The next day was a very biased tour of Dijon. Highlights. The Chouette carved into the side of Notre Dame which is supposed to be rubbed for good luck. It’s supposed to be rubbed with a certain hand but I think I told my mom the wrong hand. Sorry. There were only 3 days left in the year anyway. Then off to The Unicorn for the best crepes in town. Having suddenly become an avid Nutella fan, my mother began a quest for a container. And by quest I mean we went to Monoprix, your all basic needs semi department store. Also stocked up on some “regional products.” There are now multiple jars of cassis (red syrupy stuff of a berry whose name I can never remember which is very famous here) in my mother’s luggage. If any of them break, there is no way she’s going to make it across the border save handcuffed to a seat. Hope she rubbed that chouette with the correct hand.
Dec 29th-31st
We headed back to Paris. Ended up in the apartment where we played a rowdy game of Phase 10 Dice and then passed out. Vacation is awesome. (serious)
Woke up. Drank coffee. Went to the Louvre which was closed that day of the week. Moved on to something else I forget. At some point we did the Place de la Concorde up the Champs de l’Elysees and then the Arc de Triumphe and then over to the Eiffel Tower. It was raining, harder at some times than others. Life became considerably less pleasant so we headed over to this shopping place to hunt down some French requests for those on the homeland. Couldn’t find anything and my really trendy canvas shoes were soaked and my improvised babushka head wrap was soggy. Yeah, we were about over that day. Headed home. More fun and games and tea.
The next morning, we woke up early to beat the crowds (HAHAHA) to the Louvre. Good try though.
We saw, from 50 paces, the Mona Lisa while standing next to another American girl whose direct quote was “it’s small and ugly. Can we go?” While I’ve heard more eloquent things in my life, the girl had a point. I wonder what purpose plays the piece on the opposite wall of the gallery. It’s about 50 feet wide and 30 tall and has the most unbelievable range of people, color and action. Interesting choice of contrast. 
Later when we got sick of the 18 Jesus galleries, we ran through a little Egyptian and then to the bookstore just for kicks. If you’re asked, the going rate for a life size reproduction of Venus by Michelangelo is 6,500 euros.
It was mercifully warm so we headed up to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur and did some walk about, 5/6 of which was stairs up to the church. Sadly, they’ve shut off the Amelie bits but you can still see them. We walked around Montmartre for a little and bought my sister an awesomely tacky French shopping bag. (You’ll use it and you’ll love it!).
We went back to the apartment to gather our spirits and our wits to mentally prepare for what we thought was going to be an epic ringing in of the New Years in Paris, France. Frankly, I think that we were misled by the cops on the streets. They were already dressed in full riot gear and had clearly gotten the inspiration of their armor from the larger of the shelled dinosaurs. We ate dinner and then headed onto more walk from the Louvre up the Champs de l’Elysees to the Arc de Triumphe to the Eiffel Tour.
It was mercifully warm so we headed up to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur and did some walk about, 5/6 of which was stairs up to the church. Sadly, they’ve shut off the Amelie bits but you can still see them. We walked around Montmartre for a little and bought my sister an awesomely tacky French shopping bag. (You’ll use it and you’ll love it!).
We went back to the apartment to gather our spirits and our wits to mentally prepare for what we thought was going to be an epic ringing in of the New Years in Paris, France. Frankly, I think that we were misled by the cops on the streets. They were already dressed in full riot gear and had clearly gotten the inspiration of their armor from the larger of the shelled dinosaurs. We ate dinner and then headed onto more walk from the Louvre up the Champs de l’Elysees to the Arc de Triumphe to the Eiffel Tour.
When we got there, there were throngs of those preparing, we took far too many pictures of the Eiffel Tower, and then we decided to escape from that mass to the next. To make an already long story a little longer, we walked about 5 more miles before midnight, we requested the usage of the bathroom in a café at the Louvre in which we were promptly sneered at. Just because they couldn’t see their reflection in my gritty chucks and the enormous yarn pom pom on my hat didn’t match their gold gilded upholstery…Ok, but really, who thought that was a good idea? Our final resting place for the unfolding of events was Place de la Concorde. 
Hate to make it terribly anticlimactic but at one point around midnight the Eiffel Tower starting sparkling. So does that mean it’s almost midnight? Or exactly? Or the new year? You can’t muster up one or two state supported, legal fireworks to specify such news? So I guess that makes me jaded, cynical and/or just a huge snob but congratulations, Auburn, Maine, your fireworks currently stand ahead of the Parisian New Years fireworks display (which I guess technically doesn’t exist but it should so we’re going throw it in the competition.) Forgot to make a resolution but had already lit a candle for world peace and rubbed the chouette so, whatevs.
January 1st, 2009.
Got up. Drank coffee. Found that our baggage was now significantly fuller. Bid a kind and gentle adieu to our fine little apartment. And then a kind adieu to each other and proceeded to arrive back into the arms of my beloved Dijon. (have no idea with what sentiments that phrase is typed. Ask me again in May).
It was fun, Mom. Glad that you came.
(And she said explicitly that I mut tell any of my home friends that they must go visit her if they are in town. If you see her in the streets after not heeding this advice - you've been warned.
Hope you had a good New Years. Thanks for reading.
January 1st, 2009.
Got up. Drank coffee. Found that our baggage was now significantly fuller. Bid a kind and gentle adieu to our fine little apartment. And then a kind adieu to each other and proceeded to arrive back into the arms of my beloved Dijon. (have no idea with what sentiments that phrase is typed. Ask me again in May).
It was fun, Mom. Glad that you came.
(And she said explicitly that I mut tell any of my home friends that they must go visit her if they are in town. If you see her in the streets after not heeding this advice - you've been warned.
Hope you had a good New Years. Thanks for reading.
1 comment:
how do you get your pictures to be so pretty and where you want them to be?
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