Paris Underground
Thursday and Friday night I am staying at the residence of Ambassador Jeanne Johnson and Mr. David Phillips. Ms. Phillips is the U.S. representative to the OECD which stands for the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development which was an outgrowth of the Marshall Plan following World War II.
David and Ambassador Phillips
Their house is beautiful and when someone (other than them) with Texas credentials is in residence they fly the Texas flag inside the recess of the front door.
As I am an excellent traveler, and have actually been to Paris before (Twice, I think), I decided to go to those places tourists don't usually visit.
And. I decided to walk.
I checked with several knowledgeable people and made my preparations. I have a map by the Insight company which is called a "Fliexi Map." It is plastic, folds easily, and you can pull it out of your non-European-carry-all-but-very-manly-Eddie-Bauer-shoulder-bag in, as we like to say in Europe, a trice.
Here, as recommended by my secret source was my first target:
This is called the "Arc de Triomphe" which translates, loosely, to "Place through which Germans march and that rider from Texas wins the big bicycle race every year." It sounds better, actually, in French.
The street you are looking at is the Champs Élysées. Here's a joke French people love to hear time and time again: Why are there trees lining the Champs Élysées? So the Germans don't get sunburned.
I'm tellin' ya', if you ever come here tell that one. They will love you in the cafés.
I walked to the Arc de Triomphe and stood around the several people who had also discovered it. You can go up to the top as you can just about see, but I didn't have time for that. And besides, what did I think was I going to see? Paris, for God's sakes?
After finding my first secret insider place I set my sights on the next place my informant told me to go:
Not the buildings with the chimneys, but that structure behind it. It is called the Eiffel Tower and it is very, very tall. It is also very, very far away from the Arc de Triomphe.
One of the things which France is known for it the freedom its citizens have. One of the freedoms they seem to cherish is the freedom to have their dogs poop anyplace the dogs want. It turns out that Parisians are not the anti-social, dour American haters I thought they were. They are simply walking with their heads down so they don't - so to speak - step in it.
If you go to Paris. And you walk far enough, you will, sooner or later, utter the famous words: "Next trip I'm going to Korea!"
Here's another walking tip. The words "sidewalk" and "pedestrian crossing" translate into the same phrase in French: "Park Here."
It's not so easy to see, but take my word for it. There is a crosswalk in front of this car.
Paris is also known for its pretty liberal view of sex. With this in mind I was on the lookout for things at which I could, in the best American Puritanical way, cluck my disapproval.
I found this:
but don't waste a trip. It doesn't mean what you think it means.
And, while I'm at it. I can save you some further embarrassment. Nauti is not the Fench spelling of naughty:
Ok, on to the Eiffel Tower. It is a big, mother erector set. It is seventeen miles across and 23 miles high. The French used to hate it and then they found out people will come here and spend money to go to the top and look out over - Paris! Some people walk to the top. I wouldn't go up there in a Boeing 777 - even in Business Elite.
In addition, people will sell you trinkets dealing with the Eiffel Tower: Eiffel Tower key chains. Little teeny, tiny metal replicas of the Eiffel Tower. Doilies with the Eiffel Tower sort of spray painted on. Those little globes with the Eiffel Tower inside which, if you shake it, it looks like it is I mean, it just doesn't get any better than that. I thought maybe that would be an appropriate present for the Mullings Director of Standards & Practices. Right. The appropriate present would have been to bring her to the Eiffel Tower.
You've seen many pictures of this thing so I won't waste your bandwidth by making you download yet another. But I did see many people taking the killer picture of the Eiffel Tower. They all looked the same.
By the way, there were about a million people waiting to buy tickets to get up in the elevator (which is not what it is called in French but I don't want to stop and look it up right now, but I don't think it's called a lift, which is what they call it in England).
You can tell people who have been to Europe for the first time. They mistakenly use the foreign term for things once they get back in the US of A. One time I was on an airplane - in First Class, thank you very much - when this kid across the aisle asked the flight attendant for "water with gas."
This kid was probably on week two of his probationary period with Andersen Consulting, or Accupuncture, or
whatever they call themselves now - oh, Accenture - and he was being a pain.
The flight attendant asked him what he wanted, again? He said "water with gas."
I was sitting across the aisle and I said, "He has just been to Europe and he's showing off. He wants club soda."
The kid slumped deeply into his seat.
Anyway, I was beginning to think the guy who made me pay him 700 Francs to tell me about the Paris Tourists Don't Know About was full of sidewalk poo.
The exchange rate is about seven Francs to the Dollar. But they are changing over to the Euro soon and some people told me to spend all my Francs before I leave because they will not be exchangeable after December 31.
When I explained to this guy that I didn't think I could spend $100 worth of Francs, he did me a favor and took them off my hands for half price. He gave me $50. Pretty good, huh? Not for nothing did we win the Second World War, boy.
I started toward the third secret spot, some museum called the Loov-rah. This guy told me absolutely no one knows about this place and they have lots of pictures of women without their shirts.
All Right! Paris underground!
Continued.
Wednesday: I find the place where potatoes were invented, I really go underground as I brave the Metro, and I see pictures of
women without their shirts.