the louvre

Lest you think I'm some sort of fence jumping, rock god worshiping, wine swilling, designer shoe chasing heathen, I'd like to tell you about my trip to the Louvre :)

Like pretty much everything else in Paris, it didn't go according to plan.  We were supposed to have a day at the Louvre, but as luck would have it, that was the day the Museum was forced to close due to an employee walk out to protest pickpocketing.  The Photographer and I were two of the "disappointed tourists" referenced in this article.

So, instead, we ended up with a few rushed hours at the Louvre a few days later.

We spent most of our time in the Italian Paintings exhibit because you can't go to the Louvre without seeing the Mona Lisa and there was so much to see on the way in and out that we lost track of time.

I'd always imagined the Mona Lisa to be of average size but then I kept hearing how "small" she was, so in my mind's eye, she had shrunk from average size of about 16" x 24" to something about half that size.  In reality, she's closer to my original impression, but I guess compared to the huge canvases of say, Botticelli, she is relatively small.

It was cool to see the Mona Lisa in person, but the experience was pretty overrated.  Due to her history with attempted vandalism, she's behind glass, and the crowds are kept several meters away from her.  This made it difficult to experience her in the same way as the other less famous, but no less spectacular paintings.  It can bring tears to my eyes to stand within touching distance, admiring the brushstrokes, shadows, highlights, and colors of an unprotected and several hundred year old painting.  Am I the only one who gets teary in art museums?

I didn't bother to take a photo of the Mona Lisa, but I did take an iPhone photo of the mob scene behind me...

Somewhere, there's a 12 year old (or so) boy who will never think of the Mona Lisa again without thinking of me.  Something about crowds makes people forget their manners.  I waited my turn and when I finally got to the front of the crowd, I just wanted to look at her, but this little creep started pushing me, then before I knew it, he was reaching over my shoulder, and holding his camera in front of my face.  So I grabbed his impolite little wrist and told him that looking at fine art means using his manners and that he would need to wait his turn.  He looked like he saw a ghost, then scurried off, I assume without getting his photo.  I have no remorse.

My favorite work of all was the Venus de Milo.  I've always loved her, but wanted to see her in person even more after falling in love with the spectacular sculptures in Rome.  I know she's Greek, but Rome was my first up close and personal experience with such old and amazing stonework.  I'll never forget my first glimpse of the fountains in Piazza Navona.

Look at those abs! I wonder what her arms looked like.
She's my new fitness role model ;-)  

I'd love to spend more time at the Louvre at some point,  I'd also like to see the Impressionist works at d'Orsay, but right now, I'm dreaming of going back to Rome. I never did get to see the Sistine Chapel.

my booking.com fiasco

I'm a bit biased against hotels ever since I rented a lovely apartment on a canal in Venice.   Not long after that, someone I know told me about an apartment he'd rented from a guy in Italy, only to have the owner show up and kick him out part way through his trip.  After that, I decided to be a bit more careful, booking through agencies, expecting them to have vetted the properties on offer.

It's not easy finding a reputable Parisian apartment, so I was happy to find a cute, reasonably priced apartment in Montmartre through Booking.com.  With a free cancellation policy and a best price guarantee, what could possibly go wrong?

Asking questions like that just invites trouble ;-)

The odyssey began when I found the same apartment on a different site for a nightly rate that came out to be 170€ cheaper than what I'd paid.  Booking.com denied my claim for a "best price guarantee" refund because the apartment wasn't available for the dates of my stay.  Of course it wasn't available! There's only one apartment, therefore after I'd booked it, there could be no availability for the same dates.  I pressed for a refund based on the fact that my stay was in the same rate period as the cheaper one, and they denied the claim again.  So essentially, despite the terms of my reservation, there was no best price guarantee on this apartment. I pointed this out to no avail, and to much frustration.

After taking my grievance to Facebook and publicly shaming them, they relented and gave me the refund. Too little, too late.  I'll never use Booking.com again.

But, the pricing issue was just the tip of the hellish iceberg that was my apartment rental in Paris.

A few days before our arrival, I made check-in arrangements, expecting that the owner would've met us at the property.  Instead, I had to call his mobile, then stand in the street with my luggage for 20 minutes until he finally showed up.

I assume that online property photos are taken with a wide angle lens and that the actual property will be a bit smaller.  I also assume that it might not be lovely as it looks in the photos.  But this place was a dump!  It wasn't even an apartment.  It was a room with a kitchen sink, cracked dishes, chipped wine glasses, and a cook top.  It was so small, that I couldn't open the fridge properly if the sleeper sofa was open.  It was dirty, ugly, and in poor repair. I've stayed in nicer hostels and for much less money!

As if that wasn't bad enough, there was a balance due and the owner "didn't have the credit card machine" so he asked me to write down my credit card number, expiration date, and security code so he could charge the balance when he got home!

Riiiiight.

After a brief standoff, he walked me to an ATM so I could withdraw the balance, which was over my daily limit.  Luckily, the photographer had some Euros on him, so we were able to make rent, but the whole thing felt shady.  I tried not to cry, and I dreaded going back that hellhole each night.  It's a very good thing wine is cheap, good, and plentiful in Paris ;-)

But, we quickly found our routine... our evening café, the bakery where we bought our baguettes and croissants, the green grocer where we bought tomatoes and fruit, the shop where we bought our wine, cheese, and the strongest and most wonderful dijon mustard I've ever tasted!

On check out day, the owner insisted on meeting us for a key handoff, so again, we found ourselves standing in the street with our luggage.  I was already irritated by everything having to do with this guy and I was fantasizing about calling him a scam artist, throwing the keys at him, and generally giving him an American style smackdown, but my daydream was interrupted by a woman and her tiny dog.

At first, I thought she was crazy, then I understood that she was threatening to call the police because according to her, short term rentals are against the building's rules and she was tired of this guy's renters standing outside the building with their luggage.  Fair enough, but how is that our fault?  Could this have been any worse?

I've given all of this information to Booking.com and I do hope they'll investigate.  However, I'm disappointed that such a well known travel booking site does such a poor job of vetting properties, and is so reluctant to honor its own policies.  Part of travel is the adventure, but this was a hard one to embrace.  I hope that in time this will become a funny travel story, but I'm still too close to it.

A different apartment would've made a world of difference, but I don't think I would've liked Montmartre any better.  I was drawn to Montmartre because of its bohemian pedigree and the film Amelie, but if I should ever return to Paris, I'd stay in St. Germain.

I've needed some time away from this trip, but I think I'm almost ready to see it again, so you should expect photos in the coming week :)

P.S. It was 3 years ago today that Opie and I took our one way flight to Denmark! Where does the time go?

clignancourt

In my travels, fleamarkets are always at the top of my sightseeing list.  Parisian flea markets are world famous, so I looked forward all week to Saturday, when I'd go treasure hunting in the biggest and most famous of the Paris fleamarkets, Clignancourt!

Clignancourt is actually made up of a dozen or so small markets which are mostly indoor stalls arranged along small streets and alleys, with some storefronts mixed in.

The area has a lot of upscale antique dealers, so it's heaven for deep-pocketed collectors of Art Nouveau and Art Deco furnishings.  But I'm just girl with an old soul and an eclectic style looking for unique vintage stuff at a reasonable price.  So, it was not a great fit.


Most of the merchandise at Clignancourt was pedigreed with a price to match, or junk with a price that didn't match ;-)  There was very little in between.

Even the clothes were mostly furs or vintage couture. One of the stalls had a Hermes Kelly Bag, in poor condition, and they were asking 3500€ for it!

I didn't really like the vibe of Clignancourt.  I was hoping to at the very least buy some vinyl records, but the starting price for anything in playable condition was about 15€, which is a bit steep for flea market prices and sellers with bad attitudes.

My vintage loving heart belongs to London's Portobello Market. I find Portobello Market much more interesting and accessible to treasure hunters of all persuasions and budgets.

So, I left empty handed.  Actually, the only things I brought back from Paris are 2 dreadful Eiffel Tower keychains, the bottle of red wine we didn't get around to drinking, a jar of Dijon mustard, and a box of Golden Grahams... yes, those Golden Grahams :)

paris

Before I left, I couldn't understand peoples' indifference towards Paris, probably just as much as they couldn't understand my naive excitement.  "Paris is nice."  "Paris is... French."  "Have you been to Barcelona?" "You've been to Italy, I think you'll be disappointed."  "What is it with Americans and Paris?"

And they were right.  Paris is nice, it's French, it's no big deal, and I was disappointed.  It's like every other major city in the world... it's big, dirty, expensive, with plenty of McDonalds and Starbucks, Banana Republic, the familiar stench of frat boy cologne wafting out of Abercrombie & Fitch, a generous offering of museums, restaurants, and boutiques, and a handful of things that make it unique.

Globalization has made it so that pain au chocolat and Camambert are just as available and delicious in New York, Bangkok, and everywhere in between as they are in Paris, and everything else can be ordered online.  It's almost like I'd been to Paris, before I'd been to Paris.

See?  Same old same old.

I wanted to splurge on something amazing in Paris, something completely impractical and overpriced.  I decided it would be a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes, but I went to all three Christian Louboutin boutiques, and there wasn't a pair of glass slippers in my size among them :(

The sales clerk's advice?  "Order them online."

*sigh*

Also?  Christian Louboutin shoes are made in Italy!

I decided that my consolation prize should be a pair of Chanel sunglasses.  Unfortunately, Chanel's security seemed like a hilarious satire... big refrigerator sized guys with ear pieces were overseeing everything, they looked like Secret Service.  I must've come across as some sort of sticky fingered menace because I was assigned my very own security guy!  He stood a couple of meters away, watching me like a hawk as I tried on sunglasses, which by the way, were covered in fingerprints and sell online for 100€ less than in that fancy pants Saint-Honoré boutique. (They're being delivered on Monday, and will probably have less fingerprints, too!)

In Paris' defense however, it was cold and rained everyday.  Had the trees been budding, the sun been shining, and had I been able to stroll along the Seine, have my portrait drawn, have a picnic, take the less obvious photos, and do anything other than huddle under an umbrella or a crowded café canopy, I might've loved Paris.

Or maybe if I didn't already live in Europe, Paris would've had a dramatic culture shock effect that would've kept me longing to go back for years.   Maybe traveling is like heroin and the more you do it, the bigger hit you need to achieve the same high ; -)

There's a lot to cover... my booking.com fiasco, the walkout at the Louvre, Clignancourt, Sacré Cour, Père Lachaise, and various random photos and experiences. I'll take those one by one...

jim morrison's grave

The high point of my trip to Paris was Père Lachaise Cemetery.  Père Lachaise is like stumbling upon a forgotten corner of an old estate and stepping into some sort of beautifully morbid fairyland.

I'll do a full post with photos, but I need a chance to get settled, so for now, I'll just post this one photo of me at Jim Morrison's grave...


A visit to Morrison's grave has been on my wish list since 1991, when I first saw The Doors movie and fell in love with Ray Manzarek's organ music, Jim Morrison's American Prayer, and the closing shots of the Cemetery.  Back then, it seemed improbable that I'd ever make it to Père Lachaise, but here I am!

Unfortunately, the bust was stolen in 1988, the original stone has been replaced, and they keep cleaning up the graffiti, which I think dilutes the experience, though I can see why the families of the surrounding graves would be opposed to the mess ;-)

Rebellious girl that I am, I managed to jump the fence in those heels and that itty bitty skirt, sit on Jim's grave, get photos of it, and jump back over without getting caught.  It was definitely one of the top 10 experiences of my life!

More Paris to come.

au revoir

With this post, I'm off to pour a glass of white wine, and pack for 5 days in the world of Amélie!

I'll be posting photos from Paris to my Facebook page all week, so if you haven't "liked" it yet, now would be a good time :)

I'll leave you with a photo of Venice from last year's trip...

Ciao!

caesar salad

Once upon a time, I ordered a Caeser salad and it tasted fishy!  That nearly put me off Caesar salad forever, then one day I realized I could make my own Ceasar salad without anchovies! I just needed to capture that wonderful salty, sharp, tart, garlicky flavor combo.

Now, I almost always have a jar of this dressing in my fridge. It's not exactly healthy, but I'm willing to overlook that little detail because I think it's one of the most delicious salads ever, especially with homemade croutons!

1 egg (at your own risk)

1/2 cup grated parmesan

1/4 cup lemon juice

1-2 garlic cloves

1 t worchestershire (I use vegetarian)

1/2 t salt

1/2 t pepper

1/2 cup olive oil

chopped romaine

croutons

Add everything except the olive oil to the jar of a blender and blend it on low. Continue to run the blender on low, adding the olive oil in a slow, steady stream. Continue blending until the oil emulsifies and the dressing is thick and creamy.

Refrigerate it for at least a couple of hours before serving. I store mine in a Mason jar, but any tightly lidded container will do.

When you're ready to serve it, let the dressing stand at room temperature for 10 - 15 minutes, then toss a respectable amount with the romaine and croutons.  Lunch is served :)

april showers bring...

new shiny red rain boots :)