Day 4 - Paris

Day 4—Wednesday, May 13, 1992

Arose at 8:15 a.m., and after a quick shower, we headed down to the same cafe on Rue Cler as yesterday for a couple of cafe au laits, except today we sat at a table and read the International Herald-Tribune (John Kruk hit two homers, but the Phillies lost). After a leisurely petit dejeuner, we hit the streets of Paris, starting at the d’Orsay Museum.

We spent about two hours exploring d’Orsay, and although there was so much artwork we didn’t get to see, what we did see—the works of the French Impressionist masters Monet, Degas, Renoir, et al., as well as a many statues—was remarkable. The building itself, a converted train station, was quite impressive too. From d’Orsay we journeyed to Sainte-Chappell, a small chapel, which for reasons we couldn’t figure was under heavy security and demanded a hefty entrance fee (most churches, of course, are free). The stained glass windows that completely encircle this small chapel were certainly worth the visit, but we thought R. Steves overrated the place a bit—giving it three stars yet Notre-Dame only two.

I don’t remember what we did for lunch, perhaps a sandwich or perhaps nothing. Anyway our next stop was the Hard Rock Cafe on Montmartre Boulevard to buy a T-shirt for my sister Gwen. We walked a long ways to get there and eventually found it, and once there we bought the T-shirt, for 100 francs (about $20), and then moved on. We looked at some post cards and had a beer. Then we trekked up Montmartre Avenue, which ran mostly uphill through a rather run-down section of Paris, to the Moulin Rouge. It was a long walk, and the famed cabaret hardly justified the effort. Moulin Rouge means “windmill red,” and sure enough the Moulin Rouge has a gaudy red windmill perched atop an expensive second rate cabaret in a third rate section of the city.

The walk from the Moulin Rouge to Sacre-Coeur is about a mile; it passes through what surely must be one of the seediest parts of Paris—seedy streets, seedy people, and wall-to-wall seedy strip joints. At the end Sacre-Coeur rises above the bustle of the city; in fact, it is the highest point in all Paris. The cathedral’s grounds apparently serve as an oasis for the gathering throngs, or perhaps more so as a place to host the carnival in progress. As we climbed the steps, we stopped to watch a dancer, a painter, an old fellow who was very good at feeding birds, and some guy who did amazing things standing on his hands. The fellow feeding the birds motioned to Sharon to give it a try. He handed her a lump of dough, made a strange noise, waved his hand, and in seconds a clutter of birds were eating out of her hand, tickling it with their little feet. Then we went inside the church. It was big and, I guess, holy.

From Sacre-Coeur we walked to a nearby metro station and took the metro to a stop near Notre Dame. It was time for dinner. But where to eat? We ruled out Sergeant Recruiter because we weren’t that hungry, so we walked about in search of an inviting restaurant. We started in the University district and wended our way down a side street off Boulevard Saint–Germaine full of cheap, touristy restaurants. We stopped at one of those touristy joints where we ate touristy fare. I had lamb prepared in some bland Middle Eastern fashion with massive amounts of couscous.

After dinner we took a very relaxing thirty-five to forty minute riverboat cruise on the Seine, originating across from Notre Dame Cathedral at about 9:00 p.m. The cruise started up the Seine as far as the end of Ile St-Louis, then turned round and went down the river all the way to the Eiffel Tower. By the time it got back to Notre Dame, nighttime had fallen and we and our feet were feeling much better thanks to the rest. The Seine at nightfall is exquisite—filled with soft lights and its banks dotted with lovers and musicians.

We left the serenity of the Seine and ventured through the winding, narrow, and crowded streets of the Left Bank, passing many a restaurant we wished we had dined at instead of the one we did. We stopped in a few shops and then headed up to St. Germaine Blvd., where I bought one of the Edith Piaf compact discs I had passed up the night before. Then we headed back to the Seine for one last look at the City of Lights when the lights were on. As we strolled along the Seine in route to our hotel, we could feel the wear and tear on the feet coming back.

Back at the hotel we drank some of the beers that I had bought in the morning at a nearby grocery store and watched some television. And so to bed.

HIGHLIGHT: The Seine at night and the cruise—it looked beautiful, it felt great.

LOWLIGHT: My left heel, which was the most bothersome of my many aches and pains.

NOTES: The weather this day was downright hot.

REFLECTIONS FROM 2020:

This was one of those rare, special days where on reflection it’s hard to believe so much could have been packed into so few hours. We trekked all over, saw loads of sights, and did all manner of things on our first two days in Paris, but this day is the most memorable of the three. We were already falling in love with our morning cafe au lait amidst the bustle of Rue Cler. And Musee d’Orsay, as we’d been advised, beat the Louvre for a great place to see great art. The hike to the Moulin Rouge was through some gritty and seedy neighborhoods, and offered us practically nothing upon arrival, but amazingly just a little further on was the green and white splendor and carnival atmosphere of Sacre-Coeur. Our dinner pretty much sucked. It might have tasted fantastique in Paris, Texas, but this was Paris, France. The food was supposed to wow us. Well, if our food didn’t, the slow boat ride in the evening on the Seine most assuredly did. We found out first hand why they call it “The City of Light.” And that name struck us all the more on our walk back to our hotel. We stopped at the Pont du Carrousel looking west toward the Pont des Arts, and the colors reflected in the black water were out of this world. It was night, so I didn’t figure I’d be able to get a decent shot, but I tried by putting the camera atop the bridge parapet. And the result may have been the best photo I ever took. A blow-up of the shot has been hanging over our fireplace for years.