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 " ? "

October 18-20, 1999

Monday, October 18, 1999

We beat the maids to the door! I scouted nifties/goodies/goodlies/stuff at St-Denis Carrefour supermarché while Alan hovered outside the bakery waiting for baguettes hot out of the oven. Bought Camembert cheese, two dozen yellow roses* (for 15F or less than $3!), and chocolate. And a grubby Eeyore board-book – he was the last one and the stuffed toy on the front cover had been well-loved at the supermarché.

Since seeing 'Funny Face' I’ve fantasized about posing in Paris with a bouquet of flowers; me and Malmaison urn[*Ever since seeing Audrey Hepburn in “Funny Face” I’ve had a teeny-tiny fantasy of posing about Paris with a bouquet of flowers, so this year as soon as Alan confirmed we’d be going to Paris I started scrounging away grocery money into a “Fleur Fund” expressly for buying flowers in Paris.

Yes, I’m silly.

Eventually I became more practical and took just two roses with me to peek out of an otherwise empty zippered pocket on Alan’s abandoned (and my new) backpack. At the end of the day I would give them to a child, or a tired woman, or leave them under a windshield wiper of a car.]

Took our portraits for our RATP travel passes in a métro station picture boothTook our portraits for our RATP travel passes in a métro station picture booth – I posed with my roses! Alan was able to get the Francilien weekly pass which is cheaper than the touriste weekly pass. Boarded the métro to get to the RER bound for Malmaison. Each RER train has a name. We boarded the “Zeus” RER.

I’m proud of Alan. He guessed/figured out the Nescafe ads before I did...[Nescafe had a fluffy bunny wielding martial-arts nunchakus, and a Teddy Bear with a chainsaw.]...Nescafe NES. Ne vous fiez pas a sa douceur. [We thought the campaign promoted the new easy-open coffee can, but the true translation kinda debunks that theory...Ne vous fiez pas a sa douceur means Do not be fooled by his gentle ways.

Paris bus drivers are so rude...we’d asked at the station which bus to take to get to Château de la Malmaison. We were told #144, then #258. Then some rude Parisian told our #144 bus driver that’s where we were headed. He made sure we exited at the #258 connection and pointed us sorta toward the correct #258 stop. He watched and waited as we walked toward, then strayed from, the bus stop. He honked and pointed us in the right direction. How rude.

[Château de la Malmaison {mahl-may-zohn'}, on Paris’s west outskirts, was the private estate of Napoléon I and Empress Josephine. Born Marie Josephe Rose Tascher de La Pagerie in 1763, Josephine wed the vicomte de Beauharnais in 1779 and had two children by him in a marriage of mutual infidelity.
Beauharnais was guillotined in 1794. A leading figure in Paris salon society, Josephine married Napoléon Bonaparte on Mar. 9, 1796, to assure security and position for herself and her children, but soon became involved in numerous affairs. Despite his outraged family, Napoléon crowned her empress in 1804. It was her failure to bear him a male heir which led to the annulment of their marriage in 1810.
Josephine retired to Malmaison, her favorite residence which she had received in the settlement, and lived in imperial style until her death in 1814.
The 1622 château itself, is of scant interest; the 1799 interiors that the famous couple commissioned from Charles Percier and Pierre Francois Leonard Fontaine, the creators of the Empire style, are of more note. Although most of the furnishings have not survived intact, their partial restoration has created a museum of Napoleonic art and history rivaling those of Versailles and Fontainebleau.
The gardens, especially the rose garden, are as Josephine would have known them. This historic estate is the birthplace of the antique blush Bourbon rose Souvenir de la Malmaison -- rewritten and condensed from various Grolier entries. My antique rose, Souvenir de la Malmaison thrives and blooms amidst neglect on my north boundary fence. I love it and longed to see its birthplace.]

Château de la Malmaison, on Paris’s west outskirts, was the private estate of Napoléon I and Empress Josephine, and the birthplace of my antique blush Bourbon rose 'Souvenir de la Malmaison' Malmaison sports many of the same xeriscopic butterfly plants recommended for Texas: salvia, cosmos, coreopsis, coneflower, etc. Indeed, even the Marché aux Fleurs displayed lantana – in the form of topiary trees.

The grounds of my antique rose’s birthplace were gorgeous. We collected chestnuts for PawPaw – although two must go to the girls’s “collections” – and ate our lunch of cheese, baguette, milk and chocolate on a bench in the garden.

One of the grounds keepers clipped a stem of reddish roses and gave them to me with a gesture to add them to my bouquet of yellow roses and purple iris. Château de la Malmaison's 1799 interiors commissioned from Charles Percier and Pierre Francois Leonard Fontaine, the creators of the Empire style, are of note. Although most of the furnishings have not survived intact, their partial restoration has created a museum of Napoleonic art and history rivaling those of Versailles and Fontainebleau. The gardens, especially the rose garden, are as Josephine would have known them.[I very carefully cradled them home, dried them, and they now pose atop a vintage copy of Racine’s “Andromache” in my “grandparent clock” – a cherry wood, beveled glass curio grandfather clock that plays Whittington, St. Michael’s and Westminster chimes for which Alan and I scrimped for over a year. With inheritance money from my grandfather, Mom made up the difference to ensure my inherited Kachina doll was adequately protected from dust. Displayed on its shelves are various family “treasured”s from Bauma Millie, Grampa, and Gramma, ergo it’s my grandparent clock.]

One centaur sculpture had a pelt thrown over his arm; I couldn't stop laughing at it. People in the chateau looked out the windows at me. The pelt’s face looked like it had had way one too many. I took great pleasure in photographing artistic spider webs in sharp focus with the artisan’s sculptures upon which they were woven, fuzzy. Nature’s art vs. Man’s art. Yes, I know. Leisl and LuAnn are cringing and flailing for their smelling salts.

One centaur sculpture had a pelt thrown over his arm; I bellylaughed/howled/crowed repeatedly. People in the chateau looked out the windows at me. The pelt’s face looked like it had had way one too many... way one too many.

Alan enjoyed the Château itself more than I did. Not much to remark on except:

  • 1. It is astounding how much noise Aerosoles shoes make in a place like that. Mortifying, actually. [I can’t recommend Aerosoles’s comfort factor enough. Nearly worth their weight in gold.]; and,
  • 2. The main entrance has grey and black granite pillars, floor and walls. It was by chance that I discovered the walls weren’t stone, but a faux granite paint finish. Debbie Travis would be proud.

    Botanist Helen would be proud! After we left the Château and grounds I braved the traffic on Rue Napoléon Bonaparte to verify that the flower growing in the median was indeed Verbena bonariensis. It was indeed. And I am a nut.

    On the way back we enjoyed:

  • 1. A sweet little park with a wooden cart overflowing with flowers like Cleome;
  • 2. Accordian music on the RER on the way to Charles de Gaulle-Etoile métro station (Arc de Triomphe);
  • 3. NO personal space whatsoever on the métro ride back to St-Denis!

    Bought foodstuff at St-Denis Carrefour; took the bus back to Avenue Lenine (Formule 1); packed ourselves a picnic dinner and waited at the Marcel Cachin-Desnos bus stop for the bus to Stade de France. Took the métro to the Varenne stop, walked to the recently regilded Dôme church at the Hôtel National des Invalides, sat on a concrete barrier with our back to the street and ate with a view. Admiring the gilt canopy for Napoléon’s tomb lit up in the night sky we munched Gouda cheese, baguette, banana, milk and chocolate.

    [We ate A LOT of Carrefour’s version of Lindt chocolate. Still, whenever Alan would walk me past an expensive chocolate shop -- Godiva, Dalloyau, Fauchon, La Maison du Chocolat or whatever -- without pausing or indulging, I would whine to him "Somewhere in Oklahoma Caroline is suffering excruciating pain. She doesn't know why, but she's in pain at this very moment!"]

    It was a COLD night. Hopped the first bus to come along and accidentally ended up where Lady Diana Spencer was killed. Turned out to be across the street from where we enjoyed our Vittel de menthe and rude waiter in 1996.

    The Alma Marceau métro was/is closed. I could see full well that the nearest métro was Ilena but Alan followed the instructions of a seemingly friendly dude who sent us all the way to the George V station on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Repeat: All the way to the George V station on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. In the cold wind. In the very cold wind!

    It was sooo cold that even though we could see the towering Arc de Triomphe illuminated in the night sky just a little further along that most famous cosmopolitan street, we opted to instantly burrow into the warm subway instead. So cold we chose the subway over the Arc de Triomphe at night from the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. That’s coooooold.
    [My own quite personal spin on Rick Steves’s pronunciation of this famous tongue twister – pretend the street is named after the Zay twins: Sean Zay and Lee Zay. Sean Zay/Lee Zay. SeanZayLeeZay. I don’t know if Véronique agrees with this pronunciation but it seems to be Rick Steves’s approved version.]

    Remembering our last no-space-métro-ride-to-St-Denis, Alan instantly jumped to the seat to the right of the aisle while I jumped to the seat left of the aisle. The seats beside us were filled before we realized it wasn’t our respective spouse filling the seat.

    Topher Grace who plays Eric Forman on 'That 70s Show.' A man ahead of me caught my attention. He repeatedly nodded off, despite the Coca-Cola he was swilling between Zzzzzzzzzzs. From the top of his head, nose and cheekbones, he looked very much like [Chris]Topher Grace who plays Eric Forman on “That 70s Show.” So much so that I kept looking at him. He was so cute, in a groggy puppy way. Two stops from St-Denis-Basilique métro he struggled to his feet, yawned, and waited for the St-Denis-Porte de Paris stop. When he looked straight toward me I was surprised:
    John and Mary Craig.

  • 1. At how much he looked like my friend, John Craig (when beardless); and,
  • 2. To realize he was looking right at me smiling right at him.

     

    We both looked away. I was still too shocked at the transformation from Topher Grace to John Craig. I looked again. He caught me. We looked away. We looked back. We looked away. We looked back.

    In the span of an instant I thought to myself, “No doubt he’s mistaken why I was smiling at him and why I can’t keep my eyes off of him. If I smile at him it would make his day* and I’d never see him again.” *[No, I’m not that conceited. Alan had told me about a man on the métro who had checked out my legs the entire ride while pretending to read his newspaper...it made my day.]
    Nestor Carbonell -- Harvard graduate, English degree Then I reminded myself “Groggy puppies tend to follow you home if you show encouragement.” So I averted my gaze – which landed on the Nestor Carbonell look-a-like who had been sitting next to him, obviously watching me watch Topher-John.

    He dramatically eyed Topher-John, then me, then shook his head in disapproval. He indicated himself via eyebrows, pointed to himself, smiled and nodded. I BLUSHED!

    Honestly, he looked like Nestor Carbonell on a schlubby day. Carbonell plays Luis Rivera on “Suddenly Susan.” I didn’t look again! I studiously did my nails – filed them down to the knuckles nearly.

    When I exited the train I heard humming behind me. Alan sidled up and took my hand – the humming stopped. MétroNestor walked ahead of us, but when Alan asked me what I’d been smiling about, MétroNestor turned and looked. I said nothing. I was so embarrassed I wanted to die! Thankfully, when we exited the métro, MétroNestor went the opposite direction.

    I still didn’t tell Alan what I’d been smiling about – just in case. A few yards later MétroNestor sidled right up to me (as I walked holding Alan’s hand) and spoke en français. Alan responded in English “No, do you speak French?” although he meant to say he didn’t speak French.

    MétroNestor said he spoke just a little English. I stammered and yammered that it was more English than we knew French. I know I was glowing red in the dark by the time he scurried off to walk with the group ahead of us.
    [Someday we may allow the girls to go on a school trip to England or wherever without us along as chaperones. They are NOT going to France without us until they are married, or 31! What if we’ve been run over by a Bandini Truck? They’re still not going without us unless they’re married, or 31!]

    Tuesday, October 19, 1999

    Despite getting to sleep after midnight we still beat the maids to the door. A man in the parking lot outside our window was scraping (I say frost / Alan says ice) off his windshield. Breakfast of cheese, baguette, banana, milk and chocolate.

    Hopped the Marcel Cachin-Desnos bus opposite last night’s MCD bus just to see where it got us (Stains, RER, University and Marché St-Denis) then took a short wander through the Tuesday market.

    Bought two dark wool sweaters for me and two pink mohair sweaters for the girls. Bought milk, bananas, grapes and almost as much Carrefour chocolate as Carrefour ancien mustard.

    Took the bus to the Avenue Lenine/Rue Strasbourg traffic circle for a short walk to the Formule 1 where at 12:15 the maids still hadn’t gotten to our room yet.

    Back on the bus, back on the métro and RER and on the bus #82 to joyride and sightsee. We saw many Indiana Tex-Mex locations...I have my doubts about authenticity of Tex-Mex in Paris...I have my doubts about authenticity of Tex-Mex in Indiana.

    Auld Alliance Scottish Pub posted 'Scotland apologises for any effect it has on the weather today' The #69 bus took us past our 1991 Bastille parking space; a Scottish pub apologizing for the unseasonably cold, and drizzly, weather; a produce store displaying grapes on artistic natural branches; a bizillion clothes outlets on Rue du Chemin Vert (in and around the Poppincourt bus stop); an Office Depot; the inside Louvre court; and Champ-de-Mars, where we got out.Champ-de-Mars

    Along the long Champ-de-Mars trek to the Eiffel Tower I was soooooo cold, so tired, so hungry and felt so badly [from the nose/ear/throat bug I was battling] that I eventually ended up in tears despite myself. Men don’t understand Women; nor Women, Men. Nuff said. Alan bought me a Carrefour rotisserie chicken to apologize. Nuff said.

    “Lethal Weapon II” loses much when you can’t understand the jokes and double entendre in French...except for Joe Pesci’s Leo Getz. He’s hysterical even when you don’t understand a word.

    Wednesday, October 20, 1999

    The maids beat us to the door at 9:15.

    This time, when I saw something I wanted to investigate -- like this 'Norbert' clock shop -- I exited the bus Grapes here are called raisins d’Italia. They are slightly smaller than ping pong balls and not very flavorful. Seeds the size of TicTacs provide extra roughage.

    Planned to spend the drizzly day with indoor window shopping at the fabulous architectural-giant, city-unto-themselves department stores* but Alan wouldn’t take off his coat and was “too hot.” He was too stiff to walk and when he did he looked just like his dad after the hip-replacement, and the mammoth pack he bought for himself was too heavy to carry. So we rode around on buses again. Only this time, when I saw something I wanted to investigate, I exited the bus, Old Man in tow, and got back on the bus later.
    *The 1923 stained glass cupola over Café Flo inside Au Printemps – Paris’s first department store – was as breathtaking as any cathedral. All I wanted was a salad with a view.

    We ate lunch on concrete plugs outside Au Printemps next to an accordionist – and his Dalmatian We sat at Place Charles de Gaulle and looked at the Arc de Triomphe for quite a while We sat at Place Charles de Gaulle and looked at the Arc de Triomphe for quite a while after having eaten lunch on concrete plugs outside Au Printemps next to an accordionist – and his Dalmatian -- competing with jackhammers.

    On the métro toward Place St-Michel, a violinist serenaded us. Once in the Greek Quarter we found “le Christine” restaurant on Rue Christine and took my picture there in the rain.In the Greek Quarter we found 'le Christine' restaurant on Rue Christine and took my picture there in the rain. It was a lot wetter and darker than this photo testifies. Then we trudged endlessly through the rain as Alan tried to decide where to eat. Nuff said about the crescendo to the climax of Beef Brochette at Le Latin St. Jacques. The salad was great simply from its absence in my diet right now. There was a gallery opening across the street.Gallery opening across the street from Le Latin St. Jacques where we ate dinner.

    Bought postcards in view of Notre-Dame de Paris on our way to the métro where we were serenaded by an accordionist. There was a dude on the train that looked like Prince Charles Windsor wearing a Kramer toupee.

    Got back to #131 to find the “Angels and Blimps” episode of “Ally McBeal” en français on TV. It made me cry in English; it made me cry en français. The Biscuit and Richard Fish are not the same with dubbed voices. Ling’s Rotweiler grrrrrrrrrrrrrowl and Ally’s Yorkie yipe remained undubbed and intact. The Biscuit and Fish are as dub-able as Fran Drescher or Peter Falk.

    This writing business. Pencils and whatnot. Overrated, if you ask me. Back to Paris Diary index

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