Arriving in Paris - July 2010

I now know that if I ask Paul the question, "where should we go this year?" the answer will always be Paris or Italy. Since we were in Italy the past two years, it was Paris this time... (I find it nearly impossible to make rational argument against this option.) So we arrived Friday July 9, at 7 AM, and it was a bit less than magical.

Jet lagged and sleep deprived , we made our way to our home exchange apartment on a lovely tree lined street in the 12th district by 9 AM. Our Paris exchangers had discovered at the last minute they couldn't leave Paris, so they've given us their home and moved in with their parents. Benjamin, a charming young doctoral law student/teacher met us at the door, showed us around, then departed.

We got our PC connected to their wireless network (big cheer!) and discovered that Paris was in for an 89 degree day, no breeze, and a promise of hotter weather on Saturday. We San Franciscans don't remember what that feels like. And the good and bad news about this apartment on the 4th floor in a lovely building is that it gets plenty, truly plenty of sun.

Amadis, the other half of the exchange couple, came by at 7 PM to say hello and pick up her suitcase. She also was gracious and charming. Fortunately for us, both of these smart young people spoke perfect English. Amadis had worked a long hard day as an Administrative Law Judge, during which time, not to be outdone, we had eaten lunch, bought a fan and did what we like to call "assembled" it.

Directions were in 5 languages, made almost no sense and were accompanied by diagrams reduced to 25% - or less. It felt daunting, so we decided to just use our own sleep-deprived brains to figure it out; we all know what fans do. The parts of the base and the telescoping rod didn't exactly fit right, they tossed in an extra piece for a good chuckle in the assembly plant, and just as we thought we had it... a small band that holds the front and back screens together came apart. It was sweaty, grouchy, tired and all-round blah in our little Paris apartment. In the midst of this torture, Paul was sweet enough to smile at me and say, "tomorrow we'll be happy." I gotta love that guy. It took us a while to rise to this challenge, but voilla! (stop me if I'm too French) we tied the front and back grills together with four bits of matching white string in Paul's boy scout double knots, and we had a totally grill protected working fan.

This enabled us to sleep from 10 to 6 with help from Ambien. Up, refreshed, grateful for returned health and vigor we made cafe au lait, slathered french bread with confiture and were soon out the door. Off to the outdoor public market for fresh salad greens, fruits, cheese, fresh bread, etc. Here I found my phrase book French somewhat inadequate. We wanted some apricots, but we only wanted about 1/4 kilo. I didnt know the right word for 1/4, but "demi" had been so successful in acquiring 1/2 kilos of cherries and tomatoes, I thought I'd just apply some simple math and ask for a demi de demi kilo of apricots. First I paid him, handing over a 20 euro note since I couldn't comprehend the price they so rapidly speak. He gave me change and then a bag that I saw was 1/2 kilo. Oh well, many apricots!! We shrugged and walked away; but he called us back and gave us another 1/2 kilo. So it seems he guessed I was adding one demi to one demi to get two demis. I need to learn to say "half of a half" or ..... we just looked up the French word for 1/4 and it's "quart", but the google-voice pronounces it very close to the word for four, "quatre", so we may end up with four kilos of apricots next time. You may know that stone fruit is wondrous at reprogramming the digestive system, but one must caution moderation.

We set out again around 11 to visit some beloved old sites before the day grew too hot. Walking from the Marais district along the Seine to the Louvre, across the Pont des Arts, we stopped mid-span to eat apricots and spotted a myriad of locks attached to the mesh sides of the bridge. Wikipedia tells us these are left by sweethearts to express their love. It began in the 1980's in the Hungarian city of Pec and has spread to various locations around Europe. Live and learn.

On across to the left bank, we visited the gallery where Paul purchased his first four prints in 1972, but alas they didn't remember him. We didn't want to add to the crowds in museums on the weekend, so we pushed deeper into the 7th arrondisement, filled with showrooms and galleries. When we stopped for a beer and snack at a pleasant sidewalk bar a woman nearby working at her iPad overheard our tourist chatter and asked where we were from. She was a lawyer living around the corner and very clear in her opinions. A sampling:

• The French are crazy, they don't like speaking of or flaunting money, they are very sad.
• Everyone knew about Sarkozy taking money, but no one cared or wanted to speak of it.
• Sarkozy's arch enemy is Dominique de Villepin, whom everyone knows will be the next president. (He represented France's opposition to the Iraq War at the UN - remember Freedom Fries?)
• She and all the French love Barack Obama, and he is what France needs but does not have.

We bid her a fond adieu and will wait to see if she is right. So far we do not find the French to be sad.

On through Luxembourg gardens, filled with families strolling and playing, a high school glee club doing a fine job with old pop favorites, the gardens and flowers in full bloom, very idyllic.

As we headed up the hill and past the Pantheon the rain sprinkles began; so we turned back to the river, across the Ile Saint Louis resisting the ice cream for now, and back into the Marais, as the rain drops grew larger and more regular. We scurried into the Metro as the rain pelted down, 3 stops west to our home. The high was only 82. We think we can handle this weather for the sake of this beautiful city.