Day 19 - Paris

Day 19—Thursday, May 28, 1992

During the night we had both awaken on several occasions and it had been cold, but nonetheless, I woke up feeling rather refreshed. We had a cup of coffee in the plaza cafeteria, then cleaned out the car, which included trashing four bottles of Pelforth Brune, and got on the autoroute. Time had run out on us, and we had to skip the town of Epernay, home of Dom Perignon Champagne. Two weeks ago, I drove out of Orly Airport in Paris; Sharon drove us back in. It wasn’t easy navigating the final stretch to the airport, but we managed without incident. We found the Europcar rental return, dropped the car off, and went to the information desk in the airport in hopes of finding reasonably priced and conveniently located accommodations for the night. The lady at the desk, found a room for a good price, but the location wasn’t ideal, so we passed it up. I called an airport hotel, but they were full, then I called another, and they wanted a bundle. We decided we would just take the bus to Invalides, walk to Rue Cler, and see what we could find on our own.

At the Air France bus terminal, we took the metro to Rue Cler. The first hotel we tried was Hotel Leveque, but they were full. Worse than that the woman at the reception desk told us that we would very likely find that every hotel around was full. She offered to let us keep our luggage there while we looked around for a place to stay, and we took her up on it, and it was a good thing we did because finding a hotel with a vacancy proved to be a monumental chore. We must have stopped at twenty hotels, where our conversation invariably went like this:

Me: Bonjour, avez-vous une chambre pour une nuit.

Hotel clerk: Complet.

We walked and walked, and every place we tried was full (except one that wanted 720 francs, and we almost took it). We stopped and ate lunch at an outdoor cafe, ordering a crepe and soup and couple of beers, then renewed our search. But just when we’d about lost all hope we found a nice room, in a good location, for 380 francs at Hotel de France. We took it.

Next we picked up our bags from Hotel Leveque and expressed our tremendous gratitude to the receptionist for allowing us to keep them there. Then we took a much needed showers back in our room. It was nearly 3:00 p.m. by the time we finally got out to explore Paris for the last time. We took the metro to the Arc de Triomphe and walked down the Champs Elysees. While doing so, some practical joker caught my attention and pointed at a 20-franc note lying on the sidewalk, but before I had a chance to fully perceive the bill, he yanked a string tied to it—his timing was atrocious as was his little scam, but people laughed anyway. We walked on, but our thinking (particularly Sharon’s) had turned to shopping; we still had lots of gifts to buy for the folks back home. Also it began to rain. So we took the metro from Avenue Franklin Roosevelt to Boulevard Saint Michel, which from what I’d been able to gather had the best shopping in Paris. We did pretty well, picking up dresses for Gwen and Sharon’s mom, compact discs for my dad and me, a Bridget Bardot picture for me, and shoes for Sharon. Then it was time to eat.

We headed for the row of Middle Eastern restaurants we’d spotted 14 days earlier and stopped at one. The food was only fair, but our waiter spoke seven languages (or so he claimed). While we dined it started raining again, only much harder than before. This unfortunately limited our options on our last evening in Paris. We ran from one cover to another, finally stopping at a cafe on Boulevard Saint Germaine, where we drank a cup of very expensive coffee and watched the rain and the people in the heart of the City of Light. Night came and we left, departing by metro back to our hotel.

Back in our hotel room, we watched television, drank beer, and talked. And when the beer ran out, we went outside to a cafe with a view of the Eiffel-Tower and had one there. The rain had subsided and the Paris night, after a hot day and drenching evening, was dazzling. We bought a couple of bottles to go and headed back to our room. I ventured out yet again, alone, shortly after returning to our room to look for more beer. But I came up empty handed, sort of. That is I found no beer, but I saw a tiny piece of this great city, late at night, when all was quiet and calm, when it made you never want to leave.

Once back at the Hotel de France, the time had come for our last tango in Paris.

HIGHLIGHT: It had to be finding a hotel. But the still of the Parisian night was a high unto itself.

LOWLIGHT: It had to be looking for a hotel.

NOTES:

The car rental form seemed to have a higher rate on it than that quoted, but I figured I’d wait until we got the bill in the mail and then take it from there. It was in fact a higher rate.

I felt like I had learned my way around Paris, and that was a good feeling. And I doubt I’ll ever forget my way around this city; hopefully, one day again I’ll find out if that is so.

REFLECTIONS FROM 2020:

Included with the trip receipts is one for this date for 700 francs. The time stamp reads 16:59 and is signed by Sharon. I have no idea what this rather large transaction was for. I had converted $100 dollars to francs over two hours earlier, but this too may have been a conversion of dollars to francs.

Another of the day’s receipts provided details about the restaurant where we dined. More particularly it was at 14 Rue Saint-Séverin, where we had 4 Kronenbourg beers and 2 hermes (no culinary translation of this word could be found). The bill came to 170 French francs and was time-stamped 17:21 p.m. The most recent restaurant at that location was called Le Marathon (as indicated by the past tense, it is no more). I don’t remember what the place was called then, but actually Le Marathon seems to ring a bell. An exterior photo of the place can be found on Google Maps.

Finally, a receipt that took some research to identify is one for 399 francs at an establishment called “Le Serfaclo” with a time stamp of 18:05. It appears that Le Serfaclo was a shoe store at 29 Boulevard Saint Michel where we bought some shoes for Sharon. Unfortunately, I don’t remember those shoes.

Over the years I’ve recalled that scene with the franc note on the sidewalk. My memory of it, however, differs from how it’s recounted above. On would think that the narrative at the time would be more accurate than a 28-year old recollection. In the recall, while walking down the Champs Elysees, I spotted a franc note on the sidewalk. I bent over to pick it up, but it seemingly blew away just as I went to grab it, so I tried again, and again it eluded my grasp. I then realized that I was being played by a joker who had fastened the note to a fishing line, which he jerked just as I went to grab the bill. In both versions, I’d been had, and in both, the gag garnered laughs from a few of those sitting at the cafe along the avenue. And in both, I question the sensibility of those who get their jollies in such a fashion. And while all that may be true, it’s also possible that I just didn’t give a entirely faithful accounting to save face. If so, I hope I haven’t committed that transgression in this account or in my life so often as to not be believed. I really don’t think I have. But then it’s not my call to make.