2 Exhausted 2 Write Newsletter Archive

 

This writing business.  Pencils and whatnot.  Overrated, if you ask me. "This writing business. Pencils and whatnot. Overrated, if you ask me."

Eeyore from " ? "

 

November 1-2, 1999

 

1 November 1999

The middle portion of dismantled Big Ben, packed with goodies including a Sarah Bernhardt ad for rice powder and a soap ad featuring violets. Alan on the double bed with the middle portion of Big Ben, packed with goodies.  The ladder behind -- draped in drying laundry -- leads to the twin bunk perpendicular to the double. $25/night sleeps 3 people.  Not bad.Alan spent the morning at Porte Clignancourt getting a clock key for the anniversary clock and a nut for Big Ben's pendulum.

I had wanted to visit a Sarah B women's clothing store near the Republique metro, but never got to.  Then I found one in St-Denis!  Of course I found it on All Saints Day, so it was closed.  Jazzy duds in the window, though.I spent the morning packing.
And having very friendly conversation with the maid during which neither of us understood the other.

Watched "The Phantom Cavalier" as I packed. The dialogue would have interested me.

St-Denis Basilica's stained glass is awesome and the funerary statues are super. Photographable examples of funerary statues are in the lower right corner. St-Denis Basilica's stained glass is awesome and the funerary statues are super. Photographable examples of funerary statues are in the lower left corner. To think how many French kings and queens are buried there. St-Denis Basilica: 
French kings and queens are buried there.
Catherine de Medicis is buried there. 
Joan of Arc surrendered there. 
Napoléon and Marie Louise married there.

Église St-Séverin.  Note the illuminated twisty column at the end.Église St-Séverin postcard.  Le deambulatoire. Note the twisty columns. Outside St-Séverin a dude played 'Ave Maria' and West Side Story's 'Maria' repeatedly on his cello.  Get a load of the gargoyle. Our last day to photograph stained glass was not the day to do so.
Dark and drizzly.
Still, photographed stained glass at
St-Denis,
Église St-Séverin
and Notre-Dame de Paris anyway.

Outside St-Séverin a dude played "Ave Maria" and West Side Story's "Maria" repeatedly on his cello.

We bumped into Jack and Nancy ---- at Notre-Dame de Paris.
I got a hug.
Notre-Dame de Paris Notre-Dame de Paris shrine to St. Joan of ArcI told Nancy how I'd thought of her when I saw linens at the Hippodrome Vincennes...they were at the Hippodrome Vincennes! This time we were smart enough to exchange e-mail addresses.

Journeyed to take one last photo of the Sarah Bernhardt Café after a few last photos of the Flower Market while Notre-Dame de Paris's bell tolled and tolled and tolled and tolled.

Alan at the Fontaine de l'Observatoire and the champs leading to the Palais du Luxembourg.  This was Dr Pepper/Doritos headquarters.  The tai-chi guy is the white blip above Alan's head. The nuclear-powered child who clambered all around Fontaine de l'Observatoire faster than the speed of light or her guardian. Returned to the "Gigi" Fontaine de l'Observatoire to see if there were any postcards of it in the area. No! "Gigi" fans of the World unite! We sat beside it in the park near Luxembourg gardens and ate the Doritos and Dr Pepper I'd "smuggled" in case of homesickness. A nuclear-powered child clambered all around that fountain faster than the speed of light or her adult, whilst a Pat-Morita-Doppelganger practiced tai-chi.

Fontaine de l'Observatoire and the champs leading to the Palais du Luxembourg. Fontaine de l'Observatoire and the champs leading to the Palais du Luxembourg looking toward Dr Pepper/Doritos headquarters. Fontaine de l'Observatoire Fontaine de l'Observatoire

The time change brought twilight more quickly than expected. Paris seemed as deserted as Paris can seem with most of the shops closed in honor of...I dunno what most the shops are closed in honor of. All Saints Day? Postcard shops stayed open and made a mint off of me. We bought Victor (or at least that's his name so far). He's a gargoyle not a chimièra. He can even be hooked up to gurgle water!

Le Latin Restaurant or Le Restaurant Latin out on the sidewalk protected from the rain by the overhang.  Drank water poured from an Absolut Vodka bottle while our restaurant barker vocal-duelled with the barker across the way. The bids for attention were sometimes sillier than others.  Memorable were: 'Hey, Spice Girls!'  'English?  Italiano?  Kosovo?'Our barker haggled a rose peddler down from 20F to 10F for me.  Alan shelled out 10F; I got a pink rose for our last 1999 Parisian dinner; dried, it now resides on top of a Kramér book alongside the unknown soldier/sweetheart brooch.Ate in the Greek Quarter at Le Latin Restaurant or Le Restaurant Latin out on the sidewalk protected from the rain by the overhang. Drank water poured from an Absolut Vodka bottle while our restaurant barker vocal-duelled with the barker across the way. The rivalry was sometimes more friendly than others. The bids for attention were sometimes sillier than others. Memorable were: "Hey, Spice Girls!" "English? Italiano? Kosovo?"

Our barker haggled a rose peddler down from 20F to 10F for me. Alan shelled out 10F; I got a pink rose for our last 1999 Parisian dinner; dried, it now resides on top of a Kramér book alongside the unknown soldier/sweetheart brooch. Posed sweetly with the rose for one photo. Posed cross-eyed with the rose and the vodka bottle for another, while a dude played "Ave Maria" and West Side Story's "Maria" repeatedly on his cello.

Stopped once again at the used book store on Rue St-Jacques to buy a tattered "Berenice" by Racine. Couldn't find a "Hamlet" en français. Hey Kramér! Pbbbbbbbllllltttt!!!!!!!!!!

Waited in the smoky RER station for quite a while. Waited in the St-Denis raindrops for the tram for a short while. Yawned until tears streamed.

Tuesday, 2 November 1999

Alan waves from ground floor room #131It was raining when we went to sleep. It was raining every time I woke up. It was raining when our alarm clock woke us at 6:30 a.m. It rained as we dragged two duffle bags, two "backpacks," and three wheelie suitcases encasing Big Ben, Victor, et al, to the tram station. [From the time we left the motel until we stepped across our home doorstep I wished I had a sign on me that said "We arrived in Paris with just one wheelie suitcase and ‘backpack' each. This is three weeks worth of brocante loot. We are only stupid enough to haul this much junk one way."]

Yesterday's tram driver left us in the rain. This (the same?) driver started to close the doors on us again. This time Alan blocked the doors with his body (as I told him to do today and yesterday) instead of politely pushing the "open" button like yesterday. Ha! This time this rare Parisian RATP driver couldn't leave until Alan removed his body from the doorway. Ha!

Many rude Parisians helped me with my wheelie twin-pack on steps and stairs. At Gare du Nord RER it was a slim, young brunette helping me lift my two suitcases off the train to the platform. I thought "What an Amy Leach thing to do." She looked up when I said "Oh! Oh! Merci beaucoup! Merci!" She even looked like Amy Leach.

When we got to the platform for the RER B train, the quai was dim, deserted, and the computer monitors didn't have the usual train information: only the words "Interruption Maintenance Technique." That how to give budgeted travelers heart failure. Aaaaiiiigghh! Turns out the monitors were being maintenanced. And the flying fickle finger of fate put us on an RER train that stopped only at Charles de Gaulle. Straight through, no stops. Wow. Thank you, God, for traveling mercies.

At the Charles de Gaulle métro we rode the same elevator with a New York couple also bound for TWA flight 925. We think they traveled first class because we never saw them in the many endless lines, but saw them thereafter.

We traded in our New York travel buddies for a self-described "nervous" L.A. resident with a 10-year-old Sheltie and a Rottweiler waiting at home for her. We ended up in line with her continually and the three of us made the run to CDG Satellite 2 Gate 3 together. Our plane had been boarding ever since the check-in line. Aaaaaaiiigghh! We even ended up in line with her at JFK where our luggage had been removed from the plane for us to pick up and take through customs before sending it off to our St. Louis-bound plane. Customs. We pick up our luggage, go to the gate that says customs, hand our tickets to the customs official who looks at them, hands the tickets back, and says "Have a nice day." Customs. Truly, that was the most stringent customs we dealt with our entire trip. Customs.

[We didn't know about the EgyptAir Flight 990 disaster. Glad of that. Right before we returned from Europe 1996 a Valujet crashed into the Everglades. In July 1996 TWA Flight 800 to Paris exploded off Long Island. It's not dangerous for us when we fly. It seems dangerous for others when we fly.

On the nearly-midnight drive back home with Dad I said to him "So Mom tells me Buki is having such a great time, he doesn't care if I ever come back." Dad said "Oh, I think he's changed his mind." They were waiting until Wednesday to tell us that while we were somewhere over the Atlantic, Buki picked a dogfight that cost him his left eye.]

"And that's all there is. There isn't any more."

 

except a few links here and there:

Louvre, comes from Lupara, a latin name for wolf hunt kennels.