The Eye-ful Tower

On Tuesday we got to the Louvre (a 15 min. walk from the garret) to find that it was Tuesday. That meant the musee was closed. So was the Musee de l'Orangerie (rough translation: Museum of the Orange Underwear), which was on our todo list for Tuesday along with an authentic Breton crepe restaurant that inI spite of its proximity to nothing, keeps museum hours - closed on Tuesday.

We decided to walk to the Eiffel Tower, which, judging by the distance we walked, is located in Albemarle County Virginia and was designed by Tom Jefferson. Then we decided to walk up it. Luckily our stupidity was stifled by the Eiffel, which only has stairs to the 2ieme etage. (Consult earlier blog for converting French Etages to US floors.). From there, you have to take an elevator to the top.  

I was dithering about spending the extra to go all the way, when a little man with a chair strapped to his back offered to take us on the overland route.  We were set on a price of 4Euros, then he told me it would be double to take us both at the same time. I allowed as how he'd be making the climb anyway, so a second chair wouldn't be that much more. We argued and I said forget it. He hustled off to pester a mother and her 6 kids and we got our tickets.

The view - well, you can imagine. It was all splendid and well worth the cost, the line and the crowd.  My vertigo did kick in on the elevator ride up, just enough to be uncomfortable, but not incapacitating.  Still, when I saw the little man up there with his chair, I tried to hire him for the return, but he said he was booked, then he clambered over the rail with a family of 7 strapped to his back.

We also spent some time on one of the bridges covered with locks. You're probably thinking this is some pun about locks and boats. But no, this is like real padlocks that people put little remembrances on (like "Michal & Enid"), attach to the fence under the railing, and Todd the key into the Seine. It's a kind of spontaneous art because of the kinds and spacing of the locks, and the light shining through them.

We did have crepes that evening, just not at the Breton joint.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Notre Dame

She' not really ours, but who wouldn't feel a touch proprietary by this charming little chapel.  Lets be real, speaking as a Jew, the Catholics really know how to created a sense of awe in the public mind. Going into Notre Dame is a remarkable experience, even in this age of tv and CGI.  The windows alone leave the jaw agape. There are the statues, the paintings, the tapestries and most of all the splendor of the architecture.  Jews focused on the splendor of God and in that everyone should be awed. For all the show biz personalities we've racked up, it's amazing that we forgot that spectacle sells.

Na and I also walked about the area we're staying in.  Our street, Rue de Montorgueil, is known as one of Paris' market areas.  It is busy with cafes, brasseries, bistros and restaurants. There's also a fish market, several fresh produce markets, a couple of butchers, a cheese shop, a patisserie and a couple of boulangeries.  It's all lovely and very Parisian. 

We had dinner au plein air at a brasserie sitting, as is customary, both facing out so that we could be seen and could see.  It started to rain, forcing us to move further under the awning and creating a bit of camaraderie  with some of the other customers.

Then it as back to our garret - Did I mention that we're in a garret? Did I mention that I think the French call the 2nd floor the 1st in an effort to fool you into thinking that your 7th floor walk up is only six floors up? Let's call their language "Freedom" in protest. - which is owned, appropriately enough, by an artist. She's off in Provence opening a solo show, so we haven't met her. I'm disposed to like her, even though she threw in that extra floor when we weren't looking.

The Flights

Naomi and I left for Europe on Sunday July 28.  On our first flight - Boston to Montreal - there was one flight attendant. That's how small the plane was.  He, the attendant, was notable for more than his solitary state. He was paunchy, unshaven, and disheveled. His general demeanor was harried and tired. By contrast, the crew on the Boeing 777 from Montreal to Paris, operated by the same airline, Air Canada, was plentiful,smartly dressed, professional and attentive. There must be at least 8 of them, and even six hours into the flight they appeared fresh, crisp, and entirely in control.

I wonder if that first attendant was relegated to his solo work because he did not measure up? Was he not ready for the big time of trans-Atlantic attending? Was he bush league by nature? Or did he sink to that disreputable state because he was never given the chance to play in the big leagues, disappointment and career despair causing him to sink into a perpetual couch potato state?  Perhaps he was demoted for some infraction, such as stepping on the toes of a business class passenger or speaking disrespectfully of the maple leaf. 

I would rather believe that it was love that drove him to this condition. Years ago, He was working a flight with his dear one. It was her first trip across The Pond and, flustered by nerves, she forgot to make the coffee.  Ever gallant, our flight attendant took the blame, lost his place in the roster, all to save his true love the embarrassment of failure.  Now he languishes on puddle jumps, a broken man while she, gaining confidence, is a frequent Air Canada Attendant of the Month. Perhaps she is team leader on this very flight. She sees him only fleetingly as she and her colleagues leave together, they laughing and confident that their futures are secure, while he is a lonely, indistinct figure going home on the bus to drink Labatt and eat his Stouffers frozen dinner while watching highlights from his favorite Hockey Night games.