Lune de Miel - Part IX - La Grande Finale

Day 8 -  Our grand finale also included an appropriately "now or never" breakfast before we headed out to the Opera Garnier walking past the Palais Royale (mostly enclosed in covered scaffolding for renovations) and then a surprising Japanese district hidden away on Rue Sainte-Anne on our way.

The Opera is undergoing some renovations of its own, and I was concerned that they might impact our visit. Luckily no - the Opera Garnier was as magnificent as ever, from grand staircase to petite bibliotheque with set models embedded into its bookcases with glass windows for viewing the tiny operatic worlds.

Post-Opera, we dedicated ourselves to some shopping - we were in Paris after all and just around the corner from Galeries Lafayette and loads of other stores. With successful purchases in hand, we tried to make a late lunch at La Cordonnerie - Trip Adviser's #1 restaurant in Paris - unfortunately only open for dinner. We made plans to return  but needed to seek out sustenance in the meantime.

Our rambling walk took us by Place Vendome and a previous Paris stay at the Park Hyatt, then onto the Grand Cafe on the Boulevard Capucines for their "tea hour." Tea hour came with a special of any coffee or tea drink with a dessert of your choice. Definitely a French Happy Meal. D. thought this to be a great plan for implementing at home - skip lunch and eat a giant dessert instead.

 

Our giant desserts were superb. Dan ordered a grand assortment - featuring a miniature version of every dessert on the menu. I stuck with a strawberry tart. All was thoroughly enjoyed before stepping out for even more shopping.

As shops began to close, we hiked back over to La Cordonnerie for a dinner we could already smell wafting out of the kitchen and down the street. Unfortunately there were no tables available that evening. No tables! So that dinner we were smelling wasn't ours.

Thus commenced a long walk through Tuileries and across the bridge to Cafe Voltaire which we had tried earlier in the week (ferme) but knew to be open now. D. made a reservation for us at 9, and we walked down the block for two beers while we waited. The sunset over the Seine was spectacular.

Dinner back at Cafe Voltaire was a grand finale to say the least. We began with a cassoulet of escargots - snails removed from their shells and bathed in a soup bowl of butter, garlic & parsley which we heartily slurped and mopped up with every crumb of bread in the basket.

For our plat - a côte de bœuf for deux (2). Elaborate, extreme a dish out of some mid-century restaurant preserved only in France - essentially the perfect honeymoon choice. The beef was grilled with thyme and arrived at our table perfectly medium rare and meltingly tender. Along with it, sides of grilled butter-coated mushrooms (also sprinkled with thyme), a small dish of mashed potatoes and another of pureed carrots along with a crispy mound of pommes frites and a side of bernaise (our special request - we like butter on our butter). I ate and ate and ate. I ate until I was nearly sick, and then ate some more. We split an earthy burgundy, Chateau Panet from the year we met and savored every drop and every morsel as boats passed by on the river below.

Our ambition gave out before the steak was finished and when the waiter came to clear it away, our request for two cafes became for two cafes and chocolate mousse for deux, which was presented in a large china bowl with a silver spoon and a side of assorted cookies. The raspberry meringues were my favorites.

This meal was epic - we'll never forget it - and it required a long walk back to the hotel to even begin to temper its effects.

Although I wish we could have dropped of into a happy food coma dreamland, our early flight necessitated staying up and packing before catching a cab to Charles de Gaulle at three a.m. This may or may not have been necessary or reflective of our correct flight time, but I'll leave that to my husband to sort out.

This trip was fantastic - the wedding and the week leading up to it; divine. I'm still not quite sure how to re-acclimate to normality after three weeks of complete and total joy. I know life will pick up and move on, but I hope to hang on to the perspective given by rising to such heights and use it to point us towards our next adventure.

Lune de Miel - Part VIII - Le Louvre

We didn't wake up earlier. The grey sky and rainy day made sleeping in even more irresistable before grabbing what we referred to as our "now or never" breakfast in which we literally rolled out of bed and directly downstairs to buffet before heading back up to the room to get fully ready for the day. I'm sure the other hotel guests loved us.

Finally ready to roll, we hit the Louvre along with every other tourist in Paris inspired by the rain to spend the day inside. The place was a zoo to say the least and we bumped and bustled through the halls, hitting the highlights along the way - the foundation of the medieval Louvre (always cool) along with some Greek antiquities and probably a little too much time in Ancient Egypt.

I was surprised by how much I'd forgotten standing in front of the large-scale neoclassical paintings in the grand hall, home to my many classes in the Louvre. Whereas I once knew the full story behind each painting, I found myself struggling with artist names and historical details, all causing me to lament the current lack of art history in my life.

Well, we've landed. More than landed - we're back to DC & have been for a couple days. Reality bites and there have been meltdowns aplenty soothed only by margaritas with friends and tonight's re-release of Avatar 3D IMAX. I see you Jake Sully. But, before waxing poetic about the blue people of Pandora - I have a story to finish.

So as noted, my art history expertise is certainly not as sharp as it once was, which is sad, but it was while lamenting this that D. came up with super-genius plan #1.

Should D. decide to do a little grad school a la Sorbonne, A. could become a tour guide and spend her days studying and educating others about the artistic gems of Paris - fantastique! Right? Only my Borat-French would need major improvements and my clients would have to be paying top dollar if we were to have any hope of living in Paris and not on one of its stoops.

This plan hatched mid-Louvre inspired many discussions throughout the day.

We grabbed lunch in the musee cafe; quiche salad for two as we marveled at the most exceptional mullet topping one of the garcons.

Post-lunch, we made a pilgrimage to the far end of the Richelieu wing to check out the Napoleon III apartments, something neither of us had seen.

These rooms dedicated to some government ministry and connecting the Louvre with the Tuileries (How, I'm not entirely sure) are preserved in all of their ornate glory. Incredible salons, hallways and dining rooms in flocked velvet, crystal and gold. It's like a mini-Versailles or Fontainebleau right in the middle of the city.

With the Louvre fermé for the day, we scouted out ice cream bars from a tourist cafeteria on Rivoli and enjoyed them while reclining fountain-side in the Tuileries.

Again we lamented the state of American parks, noting a distinct lack of chairs, especially comfortably reclined models like these. They would be lovely around the reflecting pool.

For dinner, we ventured to Montparnasse and deco landmark, La Coupole for dinner. The oysters were fantastic, the main courses, not so much. The famous lamb curry served since 1927 was hardly worthy of any fame and D.'s scallops with raviolis boasted very little scallops.

For dessert, we passed at La Coupole and hit up the crepe stand across the street for Citron Sucre and Nutella & Banane. They were enjoyed with ridiculous commentary as we made our way to the metro.

"Je suis un super plus grand crepe." "Merci."

Lune de Miel - Part VII - A Perfect Picnic

Day 6 - It was hard to make it out of bed. Our wedding and Paris marching exhaustion was catching up to us, and we were le tired. No hotel breakfast - we slept straight through it.

Instead of our usual spread of cheeses, breads and D.'s 5-6 pain au chocolats, we had the best lunchtime fare Paris could offer. Ladies & Gentlemen, I give you L'As du Fallafal!!!

Only a few blocks from our chambre at Pl. Vosges stands a monument to the greatest of street foods. We visited this favorite spot several times during my last stay in Paris, although we were never quite sure how we found it in the winding streets of the Marais. D. and I came prepared with map and found it quickly as the crowds in front of us started to build.

We were told to get in line (as VIP's) where we ordered two shawarma with everything plus hot sauce (picant). Our wait was rewarded at the window where I was handed a fond memory of France in the form of warm chewy pita bread overflowing with shredded meat from the kebab, tender morsels of fried eggplant, mountains of purple cabbage and green cucumber slaw all topped with a heavy drizzle of tzatziki and a dollop of red pepper sauce that was really more flavor than heat.

Heaven. We stand off to the side devouring our pita pockets of joy and then fight impending food comas as we slowly shuffle towards the metro and off to Les Invalides - a Parisian landmark I'd yet to visit.

I believe it was Louis XIV who began construction on Les Invalides as a sort of hospital/barracks to house wounded veterans from his wars. The formula was a mix of religious and military where soldiers could heal while working in workshops, attending church and in a way, extending their military careers.

The barracks and workshops have been converted into a museum of French military history, and the grand church which once allowed king and soldiers to pray together by entering on two different sides of two churches joined together by a glass wall at the apse to create an impression of unity - is now a tomb to Napoleon and Napoleon III along with many other military greats and family members from the man who gave rise to the term "nepotism."

We spent most of our abbreviated day in the military museum, with far too much time in the ancient armor which resulted in us nearly missing an important segment of history: revolution-2nd Empire which had been recently renovated and re-opened since D.'s last visit. Our speed through of those 100 years probably left a lot to be desired for him. Another reason to return.

 

I think the highlight of the visit was the new map and model museum housed in the attic where massive scale-models of French fortresses from the late 1700's were housed. Not only were the fortresses from the 1700's (and earlier) the models themselves were built for Louis' court for defense strategy sessions in the 1700's. After climbing the stairs to the darkened attic (for the preservation of the models) D. may or may not have exclaimed, breathlessly "this is the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life."

Fortresses explored - Napoleon sped through and some time at the church with plenty of magic hour light spilling through the amber-colored windows onto the baldacchino at the altar, and we were ready to eat, again.

Before moving on, I'm reminded of much of the day's hilarity, whether the cannon that we imagined shoots out a long string of play-doh spaghetti or the armee de bebe made up of decorative childrens' suits of armor - or anything else we saw and laughed at. I know this will make no sense to anyone, but I will read it and remember.

So we were in a bit of a pickle about what to do for dinner. We were in close proximity to the Eiffel Tower and didn't know if we would be again on our trip. The weather was parfait for a picnic, but it was also Sunday, so the supermarchés were fermé and the selection at the épiceries, not so hot. We made it as far as a baguette and a warmed up slice of quiche quickly melting in its wax paper at the bottom of my bag. Melt down was imminent - so we detoured for a boisson - a leffe at Le Champ de Mars (the cafe).

Resourceful D. ran around and acquired a bottle of wine, some cheeses, a saucisson and some fresh berries all before I finished my beer. Picnic in hand we proceeded to the Champ de Mars (the place) at the base of the tower where we feasted and remembered a four-hour picnic on Bastille Day five years earlier with plus friends, plus food and plus plus wine, preceeded, of course by a picnic seven years earlier where flush with sips of wine, my first sight of the sparkling monument and experiencing it all with my new boyfriend,  I could have never imagined what the future held. D. polished off his requisite wedge of roquefort, I nibbled port salut and marvelled at how quickly time flies and how improbable that a girl from Colorado would watch her life change through snapshots taken in the city of lights.

 

After dining, reclining and a quick cafe at a nearby bistro that was too nearby to be anything authentic, we walked down the Seine and across the bridge to the Trocadero for a fantastic view of the sparkling tower before calling it a night and vowing to wake up earlier the next day to take in the Louvre.

Lune de Miel - Part VI - Fermé

Day 5 has some issues...

We start with a delicious, although decidedly less relaxed, much more fancy pants hotel breakfast and then head off for the Musée Picasso. I have been looking forward to re-visiting said musee since awaking to an Eiffel Tower on my bedside and discovering our honeymoon destination. I loved this museum, the curation based on his different lovers, the incredible variety of media, styles and themes and the sheer volume of pieces. I couldn't wait to show D.

Musée Picasso =  fermé - Renovations until 2012!! Quel dommage!! After much self-pity and some outright pouting, we picked ourselves up and re-routed a la Pantheon.

A walk around, some time in the crypt with French luminaries ranging from Voltaire & Rousseau to Madame Curie & Braille and then we're off again  to the Jardin de Luxembourg where we lament the lack of American parks while watching children push boats around a fountain with sticks. The French share picnics, read books, nap & chat while D. and I sip our Orangina and Fanta (in reverse order) and wonder why the National Mall doesn't have small boats with sticks to rent.

Next stop: Cafe Voltaire for a fondly remembered lunch of quiche & salad next door to the Musée d'Orsay. Unfortunately, Cafe Voltaire is also fermé.

Much marching ensues... we are hungry. Initial cafes are rejected - too touristy, many more cafes are also fermé. Then the Cafe Solferino - not the best... but good enough for the moment. We eat, we drink coffee that tastes like chocolate and then we continue to a photography exhibit recommended by family friend and expert in all things art, theater and food, Robin. In its final days, the posters for the Willy Ronis exhibit list the Jeu de Paume. I'm sure they list other things too - but I'm already off, marche-ing a la tuileries and to the Jeu de Paume location adjacent to the Musee de l'Orangerie at Place Concorde where I took in an excellent Cindy Sherman retrospective my last time in Paris.

The Jeu de Paume was not, as you may have guessed, fermé, but Ronis is not listed and the exhibit is instead across town (posters cited Jeu de Paume as sponsor, not location) near Ponte Neuf and the day is fleeting.

Some more self-pity ensues, documented by D., and then voila: the exhibit is open until 7p.m. and we are marche-ing again.

The line for Willy wraps through the hallway and into the courtyard. Everyone is French. This is a great sign. We wait. The line moves quickly. We abuse our expired student ID's for the tarif reduit and then, we are in.

Ronis is a post-war photographer, French and a contemporary of Doisneau. His work is documentary; photojournalism (predominantly) covering the working people of France and elsewhere in the way only a well-composed black & white photo can. The world is rough, lush, earnest and hopeful. Workers recline on boats, a woman shouts at a union meeting and a couple whispers in a baquette in a noisy brasserie reflected back at the photographer by the mirror behind them. A child runs with a baguette, a woman clutches a package on the back of a scooter and more and more and more- all wonderfully evocative and wonderfully French. Even Ronis' images of New York in the 80's are flavored with the same joie de vivre as his 1950's Paris.

An exceptional exhibit that I'm so glad we saw. I only wish they had a catalog or an exhibit poster for us to keep as a memory.

Feeling refreshed, and maybe a little extra French, we continued down the Seine to stop into Notre Dame - always worth a visit. The light at 6 p.m. was that perfect golden slanting warmth that I always identify with Paris. The intensity and the color transform the city, coating walls and peeking around rows of rooftops.

Our timing also resulted in catching Saturday evening's mass, something I had never seen. With organ and incense and maybe a few overzealous senior volunteers, it was a cool treat, even if it meant we couldn't get the money shot of the aforementioned magic hour sunlight streaming in the rose window.

Escaping out the side door, we continued on to Isle Saint Louis for an afternoon (evening) treat a la Berthillon. Supposedly one of the small shops or windows opening onto a crowded street is the original divine ice cream purveyor, but it seems increasingly confusing as to which one is which. They all carry and sell Berthillon, so the resulting scoops of icey goodness are more or less the same, but the availability of flavors differ greatly.

Confronted with no noisette on our window's list of flavors, I had to be creative, choosing instead framboise et chocolat (a huge success) D. had favorite, pamplemousse with citron vert.

We sat along the Seine eating our glace as young French etudiants picnicked around us. While we sat, we debated which major U.S. cities had settled around a river historically and maintained a contemporary, thriving civic life on its banks like Paris, or London, or Salzburg or really any European cities we have visited.

Back at the hotel, we selected from a list of restaurants in the area and set out to enjoy one of "Paris's 100 Best" (according to the book). Albeit we set out a little late (after 9), but after all this was France.

The first selection, Cafe de las Musees, not far from where our day began at Musee Picasso was like the Musee, also fermé.

Next up, Cafe Breizh, a few blocks up and over. Fermé.

Next Le Pamphlet. No, not fermé, but decidedly fancy, too fancy. The lack of outdoor wicker seating intimidated us as we tried to calculate how much the two dollar signs in the book really meant. Backing away, we decided to return to an earlier cafe we had passed that looked promising. After standing outside like vultures for a terrace seat and finding the menu much to our liking, a waitress from Cafe Sevigne popped out and spoke with D. in French. Not getting a response she asked: "Do you speak French?" to which we responded "Yes!" She then said that the kitchen was closing in ten minutes and it was impossible to get us in. She said this all in English proving that, no, we didn't really speak French, and yes this was another restaurant fail.

Feeling forlorn, increasingly hungry and desperate to find a cafe, we stumbled upon Camille. Everything we needed in a French meal. Escargot, Magret de Canard, Pave de Rumsteak (with a bernaise so luscious, I could have drank it from the sauce boat) all paired with a fruity beaujolaise made for very happy campers. D.'s magret de canard was swirled in a sauce that was sweet but still savory, all wrapped around a dense mound of pomme de terre. My pomme frites were crispy with a vinegar edge, the steak flavorful and leathery. A perfect bistro meal.

Lune de Miel - Part V - From the plage to paree

Day 3

Our beach day gets off to a rocky start quite literally after Dan's many conferences with the concierge to locate a sandy beach nearby result in the pebbled Anjuna. Still the incredible Indian style beach hut, surrounding cliffs and our scenic voyage a Eze sur Mer make it impossible to be disappointed.

**After a short break of a few days exploring Paris - it's time to finish this story.

My pen left off at Eze when I left off for an excellent train meal of croque monsieur and some sort of brie pesto concoction melted within a baguette; crusty, dusty and doughy. Yum.

Returning to day three and the smooth pebbled beaches of Eze- with cliffs on either side and clear warm water - it was indeed impossible to be disappointed as we alternated between bobbing in the salty Mediterranean and basking, drink in hand, in the fleeting sunshine.

Unfortunately the clouds moved in and we moved out before evening, taking the train back to Nice and stopping to do some souvenir shopping on the way back to the hotel.

For dinner D. had a fierce craving for fruits de mer, which I related to our concierge in Italian as frutti di mare (who knows why) but Italian was what we ended up with at Boccaccio, a gorgeous Italian restaurant with the interior of a yacht.

After a kir in the lounge, we were seated out front where the patio spills onto the street next to the glow and briny smell of the raw bar where oysters where shucked and sublimated clouds hung around ice filled platters.

Dinner was a feast of oysters - fritto misto for D. and sole meuniere for me. The oysters were fresh and salty, D.'s fritto misto: all things crispy and delicious and my sole: delicately browned and buttery accompanied by a torte of asparagus and a snowy mound of potatoes drizzled with even more butter. Everything washed down with the now habitual Cotes de Provence.

Our last evening in Nice continued with a walk over to old town where we ducked into the recommended Distilleries Ideales for a Pelforth (D.) and  Monaco - beer, grenadine and sprite (Moi).

Of course this bar was conveniently located adjacent to Fenocchio for one final gelato - a hybrid of favorites: caramel beurre sale and avocat - Au Revoir Nice!!

So - off we go to Paris on a train where I alternately sleep open-mouthed with my head flung back and write at length about the first few days of our honeymoon.

We arrive in Paris via Gare Lyon and then Metro a la Bastille - schlepping luggage all the way. By the time we reach Place des Vosges, we are more than ready to relax in our super-plush room at the Pavilion de la Reine while music pours in the windows from street musicians below and champagne chills in a bucket.

Before long, we are out and about in the Marais, marching about and trying to jog my memory of streets and cafes from five years ago.

After several blocks (20) and some advice from a man on the corner, we located favorite tomato tarte tatin locale,  Les Philosophes, with plans to return later in the evening, but first more walking, more memories and a citron presse near the Hotel de Ville.

Despite all the sleeping on the train, we call it an early night after canard confit and brochette d'agneau at Les Philosophes - and of course, the tomato tarte tatin for me. Bonjour Paris!