First off, thanks Benq. I was stranded, and Benq saved the day. I will bring you extra wine, or something for your efforts. There is plenty of good karma headed your way, my friend.
Okay, back to the trip. We could not have gotten better weather. It was gorgeous. During the day we were good in our t-shirts, at night our lightweight jackets were plenty. Sunday, I woke up in the morning. Apparently the french cold drugs were safe after all. G picked us up a couple of croissants (which, in their native land, have none of the fat or calories that American ones do. For reals.) We got ready and decide to head for our favorite attraction in any city…
…the cemetary. In this case, not just any cemetary, but the cemetary. Pere laChaise. We’d been before, but this thing is yuge. Charles de Galle yuge. Last time, we didn’t have a map, and by pure dumb luck, stumbled upon all the cool graves. This time, we entered the same way (it’s the entrance by the metro stop), saw the graves we started with before, and decided to head in a different direction, map in hand. We did most of the outer loop, including a peek in the crematorium. Also yuge. The place was as breathtaking as we’d remembered. Some of the graves are just amazing. I kept giving G insttructions for what kind of marker I wanted. I want one of the little house/chapel-y things. With a stained glass window. And a bust of me. With two cat sculptures guarding the door. And a surrogate mourner looking over the whole thing.
You know, something tasteful. Like me.
We spent a couple of hours there, managing to head for our entrance before closing. The last time we were there, we were totally lost, and it was getting dark, and we started to worry we would be locked there overnight. We ran into someone who started to ask us something in French, and we told him we didn’t speak much French. He then was very relieved that we spoke English, and the three of us finally found an exit, manned by police about to close the gate. We missed Oscar Wilde, but that just means we have to go back, right?
That night found us on our ritualistic trip to the Hard Rock Cafe. We are fully aware that it is Cheesy. Fully. But it’s fun. Also, we like the organic beginnings of it. (hey, I’m a regular, hang my guitar on the wall. Okay. Hey, what about mine…and mine…and there you go). We ate some nummy food, listened to the variety of dialects going on, took some pictures, and checked out the souveniers. There was an adorable HRC teddy bear in a stripey shirt and beret. I was totally set to get it pour ma mere, until I saw the price. Twenty five Euros. That’s over $35. I love my mother, but it seemed ridiculous to spend that much on an 8″ bear. Instead we got our glass for our collection, and a guitar pin for our other collection. Then we were off to le Champs d’Elysee. On the way, we happened upon the opera house. Now, you can click the link and look at the pictures, but they just cannot do it justice. The thing is amazing. It is so incredibly opulent. You can hear the silk taffeta rustling to an opera, as the horses clip-clop along the cobblestones. It literally sparkles in the night. Buildings like this fascinate me. There is just nothing built like this anymore. This is fine, however, it is fascinating to ponder the mindset of the architects and builders of this type of place. Mind boggling. We continued on our way. I stopped roughly every thirty seconds to drool over some couture creation peering out from a window. It is only appropriate to do so in the home of haute couture (rant for another day: my disdain for any company that randomly attaches “couture” to their name as though that makes it true. Tomoorow I shall add “queen” to my name, and see if any Brits bow to me. I think not). What I love about Europe: they put the prices right there in the window. You look at the ensemble, and there in the window is a neatly written or typed listing of each thing and how much it will set you back. Now, I already know damn well when I look in the window at Dior, that there is no way that anything can come home with me. I am not deluded. However, it is nice to know by how much I can’t afford it. It is also amazing to stand in the presence of such underrated works of art. I mean the skill and craftsmanship that goes into some of these pieces is amazing. The fabrics, the draping, the way the texture or pattern is used as an organic part of the design rather than a coincidence. It makes me wish I had the time to perfect my skills and be able to create, from start to finish, something on that level.
With Geoff periodically prodding me along, oh, did I meantion there were sparkles, too? Some of the most incredible jewelry I’ve ever seen in my life! It wasn’t just the materials, but the way they were put together. Such creative and innovative pieces. Oh yeah, prodding. We made it to the famed Parisian street. We took in the le tour d’Eiffel from the street. They’ve added some crazy lighting since we were last in town. G used the video feature on our camera to capture it, as stills don’t do much for crazy twinkling lights. We continued down the street. Oh, how I wish we had something like it here. We peered in the shops, and took in all the bustling people. We gawked, not just at the incredible architecture, but the use of light, and the placement of buildings and objects. There was innovation and inundation. It was grand. We made our way down to the end. I mean the end. L’arc de Triomphe. For those of you who aren’t in the know, we were engaged there. Right on top, almost exactly seven years ago to the day (today, I mean…not that day, I should do an anniversary telling of the event…it’s pretty fecking cool). We didn’t think it was open, so we settled for looking at it, and at each other, and taking lots of pictures. It was at that point that we decided perhaps to head back to the hotel. We snuggled in, read a bit to unwind, and let the sounds of the city through our open window lull us off to sleep….