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Marie Antoinette never said, “Let them eat cake.†There is no historical documentation that she ever said this. Still there is plenty of info about her extravagances–estranged husband (and boyfriend) and I are curious to see her lovely digs at Versailles so we are going on an excursion. Upon the advice of our reliable tour guide (Rick Steves’ Paris book), we plan to arrive at the palace around 1:00 p.m., walk through the gardens first, tour the Trianon (Marie’s little chateau) and arrive at the Chateau at the end of the day to avoid crowds.
The trip is only an hour from Paris, so we enjoy a leisurely morning with a petite dejeuner at a salon du the, then walk to the nearest RER Train stop at the Museum Orsay for Versailles. Saturday mornings in Paris are quiet, people don’t go out until later in the day, things move slower. The path along the Seine is relatively deserted of tourists and the bouquinistes are setting up as we walk by. We reach the RER only to find it closed for renovation. Pas de probleme, we look at the map to find the next open stop at Invalides—a fifteen minute walk.
We buy two round-trip tickets and take our seats on the train and a few minutes later the train leaves the station. It is a pleasant ride, not too crowded, and two men play the accordion in the vestibule. Fourty-five minutes later we are walking to the Chateau.
We pass the long ticket line because we had purchased a museum pass that included admission to the Chateau (a tip from Rick and well worth the cost). We arrive at the gate to the gardens and there is no line. Lovely classical music plays on hidden speakers (they must be Bose!), tres, tres civilized. Later in the day there will be a fountain display when they blast water from the many fountains.
 A modern Versailles with modern noble visitors One word describes Versailles: magnificent! No wonder every king was jealous of Versailles. The estate is enormous; standing at the Chateau and looking toward the gardens, for as far as you can see is a land where every blade of grass has been planned, designed, and manicured. Lakes, fountains, topiary gardens, mazes, it’s gorgeous. Louis XIV showed everyone that he was in command with his design of the gardens which he presided over until his final days. It is a 30-minute walk from the Chateau to Marie Antoinette’s little chateau in the country so people walk, drive golf carts or ride bikes. We choose bikes. (Marie went by carriage, of course.)
 At the Trianon A ride I will never forget! We pedal along a tree-lined cobblestone road to the Trianon area—the domaine of Marie Antoinette-smaller abodes that were built for the royal family to escape the public eye at the Chateau. (There could be 5000 nobles there at any one time—talk about waiting in line to use the restrooms!) Here Marie Antoinette pretended to live like a peasant, frolicking in the gardens and living happily amidst her friends. “She thought this was living like a peasant!†e-husband marveled as we strolled through the polished hallways.
 Marie Antoinette A drawing is labeled “Marie Antoinette” but clearly this is not the real Marie Antoinette. She doesn’t look a thing like Kirsten Dunst who played Marie Antoinette in Sophie Coppolla’s film. The chateau is splendid and sweet—the colors are girlie colors fuchsia, yellow, and pink.
We ride along the lake back to the bike shop, return the bikes and eat lunch at a garden café to fortify ourselves before attacking the chateau. We enter the chateau and find ourselves wedged inside with wall to wall people—we cannot turn around to get out and the crowd is moving us forward. The heat is stifling—most doors and windows are closed. I probably don’ t need to remind you what happened at the Louvre. We inch along room to room and then when there is a small break in the crowd e-husband breaks free of the crowd and makes a run for it and I gladly follow. I look at my watch 4:22. Hit the fast forward button on your DVD player now. ..
…Voila we are entering end of the tour, the Hall of Mirrors. Mirrors were a great luxury when the chateau was built and no one had seen the size and number of mirrors lining this hall before. These noble people loved to look at themselves in the mirror and by lining the walls with mirrors, everyone had a turn! The king and queen sat in canopied thrones at one end of the hall while they entertained ambassadors, nobles and vain guests. The room is breathtaking with 24 gilded chandeliers down the middle.
 The Ceiling of the Hall of Mirrors E-husband stops at the doorway surveying the room ahead. “Mirrors only on one side of the room!“ he says, obviously disappointed. “I would have done it differently.â€
We are standing outside in minutes—I look at my watch; it is 4:48. We do the Chateau tour in 26 minutes. Rick Steves recommends leaving 90 minutesfor the Chateau tour, but we figure we simply have the ability to tour magnificent museums very efficiently. We are talking about writing a book: Touring the great museums of France in 30 minutes or less.
 The Fountain spectactle ,
I must warn you that I’m typing while eating a pear tart and it’s making my computer keys sticky so excuse me one moment. There that’s better.
 Delicious Pear Tart
Now where was I? Oh yes, food.
Food is everywhere in Paris. As long as you have a little money—you don’t even need a lot—it’s possible to eat well in Paris. You can buy a baguette at a bakery, a peach at a market, perhaps some cheese and voila–un picqnique. There are cafes, bistros, brasseries, Salon du The, and restaurants on every block. Vendors sell gelato, glace, hot dogs, and sandwiches in pedestrian areas like Les Halles. Now that I’m rushing to class at 9:00, I prefer to grab a quick café au lait and croissant on my way to Lutece, And on my way back to the apartment after class, I‘ve discovered a French secret: when they’re in a hurry, they grab lunch at panini stands.
These small cramped spaces have a window on the street displaying stacks of sandwiches, rows of tarts, salads of every variety and incredible paninis. You’ll find a line for the most popular shops snaking around the block. The food is incredibly fresh, delicious and inexpensive (relatively speaking compared to a sit down meal.) Today I purchased a chicken, goat cheese and tomatoe panini with a pear tart (giant slice enough to feed two people) for 8 Euros. The sandwich is one foot long but picture a baguette compressed on a machine to make it flat. It may have the same calories as if you ate a sandwich on a big fluffy baguette but the compression makes it less filling and you can easily (if you are a good eater like me) eat the whole thing. Other delicacies I’ve had at these stands are a jambon et gruyere panini, champignon crepes, crab pasta salad and a raspberry tart.
 chicken panini
It would easy to spend a fortune on food in Paris with so many excellent restaurants. Bookstores are filled with restaurant guides to provide information that will help make the decision easier. For dinner, estranged husband (and boyfriend) and I have discovered a way to eliminate many restaurants. We never (jamais) eat where the cool people eat. We eat at the corner café, a neighborhood brasserie, a local café—and we have never seen a cool person at these restaurants. Au contraire, we are eating with local Paris people at their favorite small neighborhood restaurants and we have had the most incredible food and experiences. The most we have spent on a dinner for two with wine has been 70 Euros. (We have spent 35-70 Euros).
Definitions: Bistro is a small casual restaurant, many originally family owned with a small menu. Recently, bistro has been expanded to include creative chef-owned restaurants, some are part of a large restaurant empire. Although still casual, some may need a reservation. Brasserie is French for brewery and most have an Alsatian origin. Beer as well as wine is popular and most have specialties such as oyster and shellfish platters, choucroute, steaks. They are generally large, noisy, informal, open late and one doesn’t need a reservation. Cool people are beautiful people who eat only at five star establishments.
One lesson Julia Child taught us is to demand fresh ingredients. Even the panini stand vendors know this. At one of our favorite cafes–Café St. Honore,–this is how they turned a simple salad into a work of art. Maybe it was because we were ravenous, or maybe it was because it was the best salad ever, but the Italian Salad with the fresh ingredients. mozzarella, tomatoes and prosciutto on greens— tasted like the chef went out back to a garden, picked some lettuce and tomatoes, stopped by the deli for fresh prosciutto and then drained the curds off the mozzarella he’d been making.
A free range chicken also tasted so fresh that the chef may have just…we won’t go there.
 Free Range Chicken
Other dishes to die for:
Gnocchi with truffle oil
Fried Calamari with sardines, olives and zucchini
Steak frites with creamy peppercorn sauce
Taglatelle Carbonara with a fresh egg plopped right on top
Pork Ribs cooked in honey
And of course the French Onion Soup( to name only a few of the dishes that stand out in my mind)
Once in college I was showing off to my friends by ordering our meal in French and we received a giant platter of green beans—just green beans—for our dinner. On this trip, my pathetic command of the language has served us well with only one mistake. I ordered what I thought was a green salad and it arrived covered in octopus. I am not fond of octopus but e-husband enjoyed it very much.
 Bistro L'Eustache
We stumbled upon an unpretentious bistro in Les Halles area—we stopped because we like the menu and the look of the place—located across from the magnificent E’ustache Cathedral, it was called Bistro L’Eustache. From the moment we sat down , we loved the ambiance, the food and our host—a jolly Frenchman who looked like Gerard Depardieux. We had smoked salmon on toast points with a chive sauce, ribs cooked in honey (so incredible delicious and unlike anything we’ve eaten that we’ve gone back twice.) and an incredible encrote (flank steak) with au gratin potatoes. When we came back to the apartment, we went to the internet to see what we could learn about the bistro and we found it was the favorite of other travelers at Eat In Paris
Patrick and his staff are wonderful. Went there to pass some time waiting for a nearby restaurant to open. Had the best time. Went back once more that trip and visited again 3 times on my next trip.
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This is my favourite bistro in all of Paris. Good food and wine, especially champagne, friendly staff, welcoming atmosphere.
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A little Parisian restaurant you just don’t find anymore! Good familial cuisine, nice welcome and beautiful view of the St Eustache church. A little unknown jewel.
Other favorites are:
Bistro St. Eustache
Cafe St. Honore
Livingstone (Thai)
Le Louchebem
Les Fontaines St. Honore
Today it is overcast and cooler—perfect shopping weather– so after class I head out on a shopping mission: to purchase a green scarf that I fell in love with in a shop near the Picasso Museum; to buy another pair of black flats because the pair I bought 9 days ago are already trashed from all the walking so I need another pair for dressier occasions (and you know what they say, you can never have too many black flats); and to walk over to Ile de la Cite to the Shakespeare and Company bookstore.
I stop for a sandwich at a sidewalk café in Chatelet Les Halles then walk to the boutique Zadig and Voltaire (described as soft, feminine, bohemian rocker style chic. C’est moi—rocker style) in the Marais district. Next, I head south toward the Seine, cross the bridge to the Ile de la Cite, walk past Notre Dame Cathedral and browse at the stalls of the Left Bank booksellers along the Seine.
 Bouquiniste stall on the Left Bank
Used-booksellers (bouquinistes) have been here since the mid-1500s when shops and stalls lined most of the bridges in Paris. Each bouquiniste is given four boxes and rent is paid only for the stone for which the boxes rest upon (less than 100 Euro per year). The most coveted spots are awarded by seniority. Maintenance of the boxes, including painting them a specific color of green, must be done by the bouquinistes. Because their overhead is low, you can find good prices on postcards , posters, and books. There are 250 stalls, and an eight-year waiting list for the stalls. I find a poster of the Chat Noir—the iconic poster from the 19th century caberet in Montmartre– to send to my daughter.
 Le Chat Noir
Shakespeare & Company is a funky, jam-packed English language bookstore that has been visited by every well-known American writer (as well as lesser-known writers.) It is a writer’s (and reader’s) dream. At first when you enter the cramped space with floor to ceiling books, wall to wall people, and clerks frantically trying to stock the shelves as quickly as books disappear from them, it feels like chaos. But if you are in the right mood to simply browse the shelves—Russian History, French History, English Literature—it is very enjoyable. Don’t let the people squeezing by or bumping into you constantly bother you—try to get into your Zen book browsing temperament. I thought of my friend Katherine and one of her favorite sayings: “Water, water everywhere but not a drink for me.†I can’t find one book that I want to buy today. I’ll need to come back.
 Shakespeare and Company
As I walk back along the Seine, there is a crowd of people (and not that I’m a fashion expert, obviously) but I notice a few fashion faux pas that I would suggest that you never (jamais) commit:
Orange clogs with tiny white shorts
A mature woman wearing a dress with a giant monkey on the front of it
A shirt worn as a dress (many stares at this fashion attempt)
Next I enter a shoe store on the Rue Rivoli with decent prices on shoes. Last week when I arrived, I discovered that despite my pre-trip planning I had brought all the wrong shoes. My red hiking shoes-impractical here. This is a city after all not the hiking trails of Jackson Hole. Most of the shoes I brought were unsuitable for the type of walking we would do–let’s just call it “advanced walking.†This is basically walking from sun up to sun down. It is not sissy walking just down the block or to the café—it is major, museum-trekking, city-traversing, not-for-amateurs walking
So on my second day, I bought a pair of black flats at a shoe store that specializes in walking shoes. I was desperate. They aren’t ugly, but they also wouldn’t be my first choice in style. They were one of the few pairs the store had in my size. E-husband (and b.f.) describes them as my grandma shoes.
Since buying the black clunkers, I have learned the most amazing thing. Walking shoes do not have to be ugly! I have become obsessed by black flat shoes. I look at women’s shoes all day and in store windows—there are hundreds of styles of adorable black flats. I need a pair of traditional looking black flats so that I don’t have to wear grandma’s clunkers every day. (the clunkers are so practical they look like they should be worn by an elderly German governess.)
Here is a current list of my shoes—it is a little embarrassing (eight pairs of shoes in Paris!).
1. Red hiking shoes: bad choice
2. Flip flops : still in suitcase
3. Black Steve Madden heels: unnecessary and impractical, still in suitcase
4. Beautiful new black flats purchased on sale for $50 in Jackson Hole, marked down from $219. These shoes will never see the streets of Paris—No I prefer that they simply take up space and weigh down my suitcase where they are pristine and safe.
5. Matronly looking black Joseph Seibel sandals: E-husband kindly pointed out that these are the same sandals worn in a Dr. Scholl’s advertisement. Feet get too dirty in sandals. Back in the suitcase they go.
6. Trashed Tuileries Shoes: Old black flats that I brought with me that I wore to the Orangerie on the pathway at the Tuileries that produces white dust that is impossible to brush off your shoes. They look like I’ve been working in a quarry. Plus they are smelly. I want to throw the in the trash but what if we want to walk through the Tuileries again—wouldn’t’ it make sense to wear the already trashed shoes instead of trashing a new pair.
7. Grandma flats (described above) Purchased once I arrived in Paris. Good practical walking shoes described above.
8. My new beautiful Paris walking shoes. Today in French Class we learned the difference between je t’aime (I love you) and j’adore (I like). J’aime little black flats! I found them on the way back from Shakespeare & Company. They are so comfortable, and cute, but again I’m afraid of ruining them. But that’s what I bought them for, right? Or maybe they should simply take up room in my suitcase too and I could buy another pair for practical black flats instead of wasting these beauties.
 My new black flats Ah, back at the apartment I check email and find the latest Fodor’s newsletter with a story: Tour Julie & Julia’s Paris: 8 Essential Stops for Your Next Visit. I looked at the list and noticed that I made it to a couple of the places already today.
From Fodor’s
Tour Julie & Julia’s Paris: 8 Essential Stops for Your Next Visit
August 12, 2009 | Posted in Tours & Itineraries
By Rachel Klein
Fodor’s Editor
If seeing Julie & Julia has inspired a trip to Paris—or if you’re already going—visiting Julia Child’s haunts will help you experience the city as she did. Some restaurants, markets, and shops below are featured in the movie, such as E. Dehillerin, where she bought kitchen supplies, and Shakespeare & Company, where she thumbed through French cookbooks. Others she writes about in her autobiography, My Life in Paris.
E. Dehillerin
Julia Child was a regular here; and this is where she’d buy kitchenware while she was attending cooking school at Le Cordon Bleu.
Visit It: E. Dehellerin has been around since 1820. Never mind the creaky stairs; their huge range of professional cookware in enamel, stainless steel, or fiery copper is gorgeous. 18–20 rue Coquillière, 1er, Louvre/Tuileries
Shakespeare & Company
Browsing here and in other bookstores in Paris, Julia came to realize that there weren’t any French cookbooks in English that would be accessible to an American audience.
Visit It: A sentimental Rive Gauche favorite, Shakespeare & Company is named after the bookstore whose American owner, Sylvia Beach, first published James Joyce’s Ulysses. Nowadays it specializes in expat literature. You can count on a couple of eccentric characters somewhere in the stacks, a sometimes-spacey staff, the latest titles from British presses, and hidden secondhand treasures in the odd corners and crannies. Poets give readings upstairs on Monday at 8 pm; there are also tea-party talks on Sunday at 4 pm. 37 rue de la Bûcherie, 5e, Quartier Latin. 01–43–25–40–93. Metro stop: St-Michel
Les Halles
Although the famous market is now gone, this is where Julia came to shop for meats and various groceries. She preferred her neighborhood marketplace on rue de Bourgogne, though, just around the corner from her apartment at 81 rue de l’Université, which she called “Roo de Loo.”
Visit It: Home to the city’s wholesale food market until the 1960s, Les Halles is still the place to go for late-night onion soup or steak frites, washed back with gulps of cheap and tasty red wine.
Faced with the unsightly 1970s shopping mall known as the Forum des Halles, it’s hard to conjure up the colors, sounds, and smells of the wholesale market that once existed here. Emile Zola dubbed Les Halles “the belly of Paris,” and although the belly has shrunk significantly since the market moved to the suburb of Rungis in 1971, it’s not completely empty. The cobblestone street market on Rue Montorgueil (open daily except Sunday afternoons and Monday) is still a feast for the senses. And some area restaurants continue to offer savory, market-inspired fare. Newcomers to Les Halles should tread carefully. A hub for 800,000 daily commuters, the area attracts chain restaurants and street hawkers. With all of the commotion, it’s easy to overlook worthy shops and eateries.
Le Grand Véfour
Julia and her husband Paul happened upon this Paris institution while exploring the Palais Royal. They visited the restaurant once a month thereafter.
Visit It: Victor Hugo could stride in and still recognize this restaurant, which was in his day, as now, a contender for the title of most beautiful restaurant in Paris. Originally built in 1784, it has welcomed everyone from Napoléon to Colette to Jean Cocteau under its mirrored ceiling, and amid the early-19th-century glass paintings of goddesses and muses that create an air of restrained seduction. Foodies as well as the fashionable gather here to enjoy chef Guy Martin’s unique blend of sophistication and rusticity, as seen in dishes such as frogs’ legs with sorrel sauce, and oxtail parmentier (a kind of shepherd’s pie) with truffles. There’s an outstanding cheese trolley and for dessert, try the house specialty, palet aux noisettes (meringue cake with chocolate mousse, hazelnuts, and salted caramel ice cream). Prices are as extravagant as the decor, but there’s an €88 lunch menu. 17 rue de Beaujolais. 01–42–96–56–27. Reservations essential; jacket and tie. AE, DC, MC, V. Closed weekends, Aug., 1 wk in Apr., 1 wk at Christmas. No dinner Fri. Metro stop: Palais-Royal.
Deux Magots
This is where Julia and Paul went on their first Saturday in Paris and ordered café complet.
Visit It: This classic café, which overlooks the St-Germain des Preés church, specializes in chocolate chaude, which is the main reason to go these days. Made with milk and pure chocolate, this hot beverage is served in a lovely white porcelain pitcher. 6 pl. St-Germain des Prés, 6e. 01–45–49–31–29.
BHV
When Julia and Paul moved into their apartment at 81 rue de l’Université, she discovered that she liked shopping and housekeeping, and didn’t mind assisting Frieda, the building’s femme de ménage (maid). It was to BHV that she’d go to buy everything from light bulbs to a garbage can.
Visit It: Short for Bazar de l’Hôtel de Ville, BHV houses an enormous basement hardware store that sells everything from doorknobs to cement mixers and has to be seen to be believed. There’s even a hardware-theme café, where how-to demos are held. The fashion offerings are limited, but BHV is noteworthy for its huge selection of high-quality household goods, home-decor material, electronics, and office supplies. If you’re looking for typically French household items (those heavy, gold-rimmed café sets, gorgeous French linen, or Savon de Marseille), this is your ticket. 52–64 rue de Rivoli, 4e, Beaubourg/Les Halles. 01–42– 74–90–00. Metro stop: Hôtel de Ville.
Marché aux Puces St-Ouen
Learning how to cook various dishes at Le Cordon Bleu meant Julia had to add special supplies to her already-full kitchen. She and Paul took a trip out to this market, where she went looking for the huge, heavy mortar and pestle needed to prepare quenelles de brochet (a Lyonnais fish dish).
Visit It: Also referred to as Clignancourt, this market on Paris’s northern boundary still attracts the crowds when it’s open—Saturday to Monday, from 9 to 6—but its once-unbeatable prices are now a relic of the past. The century-old labyrinth of alleyways packed with antiques dealers’ booths and brocante stalls sprawls for more than a square mile. Old Vuitton trunks, ormolu clocks, 1930s jet jewelry, and vintage garden furniture sit cheek by jowl. Arrive early to pick up the most worthwhile loot (like old prints). Be warned—if there’s one place in Paris where you need to know how to bargain, this is it!
If you’re arriving by métro, walk under the overpass and take the first left at the Rue de Rosiers to reach the epicenter of the market. Around the overpass huddle stands selling dodgy odds-and-ends (think pleather, knockoff shoes, and questionable gadgets). These blocks are crowded and gritty; be careful with your valuables. If you need a breather from the hundreds of market vendors, stop for a bite in one of the rough-and-ready cafés. A particularly good pick is Le Soleil (109 av. Michelet; 01–40–10–08–08).
Au Pied de Cochon
As famous a brasserie then as it is now, Julia came here—sometimes in the hours just before dawn after a night out—for their traditional onion soup.
Visit It: One of the few remnants of Les Halles’ raucous all-night past is this brasserie, which has been open every day since 1946. Now run by the Frères Blanc group, it still draws both a French and a foreign crowd with round-the-clock hours and trademark traditional fare such as seafood platters, breaded pigs’ trotters, beer-braised pork knuckle with sauerkraut, and cheese-crusted onion soup. It’s perfect ribsticking fare for a winter’s day or to finish off a bar crawl. The dining room, with its white tablecloths and little piggy details, feels resolutely cheerful. 6 rue Coquillière. 01–40–13–77–00. AE, DC, MC, V. Metro stop: Les Halles
I have looked forward to visiting the Orsay and the Orangerie with their important Impressionist collections. The Orsay Museum picks up where the Louvre collection leaves off—1848 to 1914– with the best general collection of Impressionist work: Manet, Monet, Renoir, Degas, Van Gogh, Cezanne, and Gauguin.
Located in a former train station, the physical building is spectacular. E-husband (and b.f.) and I enter the train station into a light- filled grand room where trains used to run. There is a crowd (we waited in line for fifteen minutes) but it isn’t uncomfortable like the crowd in the Louvre.
 Grand Entry at the Orsay Impressionism emerged because the camera threatened to make artists obsolete. The camera allowed a scene to be captured in minutes—where it might take an artist months or even years to paint. In defiance a group of artists took to the outdoors with a motto: out of the studio, into the open air. Rejecting camera-like detail, they painted their impressions or feelings of a scene in a quick style that captured the moment. Rejected by the Salon, Impressionists launched their own show in 1874—and thank goodness they are now at the Orsay so that we do not need to go back to the Louvre.
 Clock at the Orsay We quickly make our way through the main floor sculptures that are lovely but we don’t want an appetizer (or “entree” as appetizers are called in France), we head directly for the main course (or “plat principal” as they are called here). We head for the Impressionist works which are magnificent. The room of Van Gogh’s work was powerful with canvases of stars, sunflowers, gypsy camps and rivers. E-husband loved Van Gogh’s “Self Portrait. My favorite was “Starry Night Over The Rhone. There must be a color called Van Gogh blue, because it can’t be found on earth. The painting with the golden stars, blue night sky, and lights on the river is hypnotizing and just thinking about it I feel myself relax.
 Vincent Van Gogh Starry Night Over The Rhone The Orangerie is another visual spectacle. Located just 15 minutes from the Orsay, a lovely walk through the Tuileries Garden, we come to an unassuming building. “This can’t be the Orangerie,†says e-husband and I nod in agreement. We walk to the front of the building and find a guard at the door–probably going to tell us the museum is closed, we think. No, he waves us inside, we walk up to the counter, purchase a ticket and enter.
Although the outside of the building is not ostentatious, the inside is perfectly designed after a recent remodel to house two rooms of Monet’s Water Lillies. Within minutes we were sitting in the oval shaped rooms surrounded by Monet’s Water Lillies—I have seen paintings in museums of the water lilies but didn’t know they existed as wall-sized panels. He created them this way, inviting us to stroll along the curved walls as though we are strolling along his lake. The feeling is amazingly similar.
 Claude Monet Downstairs, we find the private collection of trend-setting collector Paul Gauillome who was Picasso’s art dealer—making a bridge from Impressionist to Modern works. We walk back to the apartment via the Tuileries Gardens as though we were still walking in Monet’s garden.
Located in an old building on busy Blvd Sebastopol, my French class is squeezed into a tiny classroom barely large enough to fit eight chairs around a table. The teacher, Sonita (pronounced Sue-nita) is from Martinique and at 24-years-old, she is already an excellent teacher. The other students are working on their third or fourth languages (so I am the slacker) and they are from Germany, Spain, Italy, and the U.S. One woman in the class is a former screenwriter from L.A. who decided at 50 she didn’t want to die without living in Paris so she picked up and moved. Upon arriving here, she checked into a hotel while she looked for an apartment and there she met the man who became her husband—they bought an apartment in Paris and have been married six years. Now she teaches English to Paris businesses.
 Lutece Langue
The class is challenging and you have to concentrate so hard to keep up that I feel I’m using a part of my brain that has been sitting on the couch and watching Seinfeld reruns for years. Today I learned why waiters look at me like I’m crazy when I order a bottle of water—un boteille du l’eau. I say “uh bo tiya†and the teacher said “uh boo tay.†Very useful information.
When I come downstairs and find gallant e-husband (and b.f.) waiting to take me to lunch and a visit to the Picasso Musuem,I am stuck somewhere between English and French— I can’t think of the proper English or French words for simple things, the strangest feeling.
We walk through the charming Marais neighborhood, known for its pre-revolutionary buildings, to the Picasso Museum. There is no one in line when we arrive so we walk up, buy our tickets and enter.
Keep in mind that my brain is still seized when we enter the museum and a pleasant looking woman greets us with Merci! and I said very cheerfully and loudly “Monsieur!†(instead of Merci!) She looks at me puzzled, shrugs her shoulders and we pass—and I have a fit of laughter and can’t stop long enough to tell my e-husband (and b.f.) what has happened. Someone once told me that if you get into to trouble in France, yell “I mange la fenetre†which means “I eat the window.†People will think you are crazy and give you plenty of room. That is what happened to me at the Picasso museum: yelling monsieur! at a pleasant looking woman and then shaking with laughter as I walked upstairs. People gave me plenty of room.
As I walk past the paintings, they expressed exactly how I felt, nose on arm, head on leg, one eye (disjointed.) I find e-husband (and b.f.) standing in front of Picasso’s The Kiss. “Look,†I say. “There’s you and there’s me,†pointing at the geometric shapes.
 The Kiss, Pablo Picasso
E-husband is studying it very seriously and says “Uh oh. I’m not sure what I should do here. I’m pretty sure they have it hanging upside down. Who do you think I should tell?â€
A new bike service called Velib has over 20,000 bikes at over 1400 automated stations in Paris. The first half hour is free—after that a subscription for the day is 1 Euro. E-husband and I have seen the stations throughout Paris and today, while sitting at a cafe drinking un grand creme, we watched a group straddle their bikes and ride off. We could do that! We could ride to the Eiffel Tower!
 Velib bicycles in Paris (photo credit Peter Bates)
The automated instructions were available in English. “Select subscription: day or week? Select PIN number, push V for enter. Your credit card will be charged a $150 deposit, select confirm.â€
Fine, fine, it is all fine until the part where we are simply going to remove a bicycle from the rack. It won’t budge. We pull on it. Nothing. We pull harder. My credit card had just been charged $150 for a bicycle we can’t unlock. There would be no way to get a return receipt if we were not able to return the bike because we never actually removed the bike.
I had too many Grand Cremes today and now my hands are shaking.
A lovely young Swedish girl stops to look at her map. Parlez Vous Anglais? I ask.
Yes, a little, she says and smiles.
I feel badly about what is going to happen next. I know I am going to drain five minutes, if not more, from her morning. She has no idea what she is getting into–it would have been much better for her if she had said, “No, desolee.†But still I proceed. C’est la guerre.
For the next five minutes, she shows me how to take the ticket printout, enter the ticket number into the machine and then enter bike’s parking space number into the machine. When I accomplish this the bike is magically released. She tells me to make sure to get a receipt when we return the bikes or else I would have no proof that I returned the bikes if the charge showed up on my credit card. We thank her profusely and we are on our way.
On Sundays the streets along the Seine are closed to cars so that bikes, walkers and skaters rule the road. We pedal along the Seine, to the Eiffel Tower, to the Rodin Museum and return to the hotel five hours later. There are bike lanes, bike paths, and even bicycle friendly sidewalks that pedestrian don’t mind sharing. When we arrive back at the bike station, a young French man helps us put the bikes into their stands.
 The Eiffel Tower from un velo
We stop at a café on the way back to the apartment, neither of us speaking as we think about our ride through Paris on a Sunday morning along the Seine.
At the Louvre, it would be possible to spend a lot of time looking at old stuff. I love art– but only the art that I love. Impressionism, Cubism, modern art, some Italian artists, some French.
The ancients–Roman, Egyptian, Greek, Arts of Islam, Arts of Africa—are somewhat interesting but they hold no particular fascination for me when time is passing too quickly in the City of Light.
So I was happy to read Rick Steves’ advice on tackling the Louvre: To start, head for the Denon Wing to see Venus De Milo, Winged Victory, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo and many of the French painters–and of course, Mona Lisa.
Steves also gives valuable advice that with a Museum Pass, visitors can enter through the inconspicuous Carrousel de Louvre, an underground shopping mall, to avoid crowds We sail through a short line, flash our pass at a guard and Voila! We are inside.
 Humanity visits the Denon Wing of the Louvre
In just minutes, we are walking up the stairs with the rest of humanity to the Denon Wing, following the signs to Mona. Our strategy: see Mona first, then wander through the wing until we decide our next steps. It’s easy to find her; there is a crowd that extends from the chamber into the hallway with tourists holding their cameras overhead like at a rock concert. Most museums are strict about “no flashes†but flashes are going off without reprimand. We start making our way into the crowd when I look at my e-husband (and b.f.) who I notice is pale and sweaty. He announces, “I don’t feel well, I need to get out of here!â€
I’m torn. Here in front of the Mona Lisa, I want just one shot. But there he is looking ill and needing immediate attention. “I think I need to sit down,†he says. Without a minute to waste I hold my camera over my head, shoot, and follow his back out of the room. My photograph below.
 Mona Lisa
All told, we are outside standing next to I.M. Pei’s glass pyramid in 27 minutes. E husband felt remarkably better as we headed to a café on the Left Bank for lunch.
The cab driver said, “It is 27!†We couldn’t calculate the conversion into Celsius fast enough so we just nodded and said, Mon Dieu! Since then we learned that it is 87 degrees but my e-husband says it only feels like 86. (Note: my e-husband, upon learning that he was mentioned on this blog as my e-husband, requested that I more accurately call him my e-husband and boyfriend. So from now on I will call him my saying my e-husband and b.f. )
Back to the heat wave and fashion. Most buildings and restaurant don’t have air conditioning because it rarely gets this hot. Even though it is sweltering, you don’t see people stripped down like you might expect. They are still walking down the street in skirts, tops and little black flats. We have seen very few Americans in shorts and sneakers so perhaps Americans have cleaned up their act. Because if there was a time to wear tank tops, shorts and sneakers—this would be it. We watched a photo shoot and below you will see what the model was wearing to beat the heat. Between shoots the photo stylist sprayed her with water and she sipped Evian from a straw.
 This is what a typical french model wears on a typical hot August day
But fear not, the weather has not diminished our appetites one bit. Yesterday we had lunch at our favorite café next door. I ordered the Italian salad which included red tomatoes with hunks of mozzarella, chopped arugula and shaved proscuitto. My e-husband (and b.f.) asked. “What is that spice? And nearly imperceptible to the eye we found flakes of basil cut so tiny that it must have been chopped by fairies. He ordered tagliatelle carbonara which came with a slightly cooked egg plopped on top. The pasta mixed with ham, butter, cream and egg was a dish that may sound questionable but tastes divine.
Our neighborhood is crowded with cafes and small ethic food restaurants—the type of food we love. Our favorite dining experience is to eat with the locals in bistros and cafes. Last night we discovered a small Thai restaurant two blocks away called Livingstone—ehusband said it was best Thai food he’s ever had. The restaurant actually had air conditioning and comfortable benches and we wondered if they would mind if we slept there.
The key to survive the heat is to stay hydrated. So many bottles of wine, so little time!
We’ve arrived! The apartment is located in the premier arrondissement, also known as the museum neighborhood, one block from the Louvre above a restaurant and flanked by a patisserie and a bistro—could we ask for more?
 Pied A Terre
Tired after traveling 24 hours we seated ourselves in a bistro chair on the sidewalk and watched the world pass by as we sipped un cafe. More on fashion later, but the blog advice (we’ll call it blice) was true: women are wearing summer dresses, skirts and tops, and jeans—skirts are for the most part knee length, haven’t seen many minis but again, this is the working crowd, maybe the legs come out at night. Shoes are flats, and some sandals, have not seen many people tottering around in heels. I am happy with my 50 lb. suitcase full of clothes. I thought that I should pack light, because afterall the apartment has a washer an dryer, but the agent told me upon arrival: “the dryer doesn’t work very well. Eef you have clothes to dry, put small amount in the dryer and run it all day.” So much for doing laundry.
 Fuel for the weary traveler
Next stop, food. I craved french onion soup and the downstairs restaurant creates something that is too good to merely be called French Onion Soup, (maybe it’s simply because I’m eating it at restaurant in Paris but it will go on my “best’ list: best grilled fish (mexico), best pasta (Montalcino), best soup (Paris). The stock had been simmered for hours, the bread was a hunk of crusty french bread covered in melted gruyere adrift on the sea of beef stock. We also ordered A “green salad with cheese†which was actually a cheese plate–goat, brie, blue, aged parmesan— with greens on the side, enough for a meal in itself. Is all food in Paris so beautiful? Is it possible to eat too much cheese? Why aren’t French women fat? (note to self: must by the book.)
But dining “politesse†is something we are learning. Plates are not shared. Leftovers are not taken home in “doggie bags.†Wine and water are the only two acceptable beverages allowed on your table during a meal. If you order a coke to drink with your dinner, the french waiter will reply, “Non!” If you eat at a bistro, you may have an entrée (appetizer) without other courses, but at better restaurants it is expected that you will at least have a plate (main course.) So the first day as we tried to adjust our internal time clocks, as well as feed our souls, we were out of sync and we ended up eating a lot of food at weird times, well basically, nonstop. Today, slightly better, but still figuring out when to eat, what to eat, and where to eat.(there is no shortage options of where to eat.)
My manicurist said: “I never have a problem packing. I put all my clothes in the suitcase and always have plenty of room but that’s where the trouble starts. I grab that jacket, another pair of shoes, and before you know it I can’t zip it.â€
Well, that is not me. I created my color story—a trick my world-traveler friend taught me. You pick three colors (your color story) and every thing you bring needs to be in that palette. I’m going with turquoise, black, and white which sounds either old ladyish, or, if you use your imagination, you can picture a hip paisley print.
But then I had dinner with my e-husband who asked if I’d packed a light rain coat. Nope, hadn’t thought of that but probably a good idea. In fact I might need an umbrella too. Maybe my Patagonia black fleece for the plane. And what about those sneakers.
I know in a previous post I said “do not bring sneakers to Paris.†But it specifically said sneakers. Specifically white sneakers. Have you limped through cobblestone streets in cute sandals with blisters on your feet? I’m picturing my red Soloman running shoes which are not sneakers. I can picture them comforting my feet as I log mile after mile on the streets of Paris. So I made a snap judgement—instead of wearing my cute black flats on the airplane, I’m proudly going to wear my red shoes. They are barely noticeable under my jeans I reasoned. Plus I will go immediately to the apartment and change shoes. But this way I’ll have them in Paris in case I need them. (my flats are now zipped in my suitcase.)
 my red shoes--practical not fashionable
I was frantically zipping my additional items into my suitcase at 6:00 a.m. before leaving for the airport. When I arrived at the airport I saw that the Northwest flight to Chicago had already left! MY HEART WAS POUNDING. I asked if I could cut the line to find out why, when I called to confirm my flight, I was told it was leaving at 9:00 a.m.! “”It is leaving at 9:00 a.m., ma’am,” the Northwest attendant said looking at my reservation. “Your flight is to Minneapolis NOT Chicago.
Right. That was where my e-husband is connecting. Not me. We are both using miles and flying separately—to meet up at Charles De Gaulle at 9:15 a.m. Tuesday.) So even though my flight didn’t’ leave until 9:00 a.m., people were not mad that I cut in line–I think they felt sorry for me because they thought I was crazy.
 Fabrifoam bunion sling
Once my heart stopped pounding, I boarded the and started reading SkyMall and I saw a photo of toeless socks, for people with “hammertoe, bunions and sore feet.†Smugly I gazed at my red shoes.
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