AU REVOIR, PARIS

I’m posting this with an Oct. 31 date, even though we didn’t leave until Nov. 2, because I want to keep the entire Paris trip in one month “unit” on Blogger for easier access.  Our last two days brought our first real rains of the trip.  We’re pretty lucky that they held off that long.  Even in the wet, Paris is a beautiful place, as in this shot from the balcony of the old Opera House.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  We figured this would mostly be a day of indoor sightseeing, so we headed to the shopping district to check out the huge department stores.  Yikes.  Rodeo Drive or Fifth Avenue are pikers compared to these salons of swank.  We were particularly stunned by the Galeries Lafayette on Blvd. Haussmann.  A huge ground space, surrounded by opera-like galleries filled with boutiques.  And check out that glass dome!

This place was w-a-a-ay too rich for our blood.  Loni had her brief Sex-In-The-City moment, but I kept a firm grip on her purse.

From the faux opera setting to the real thing, we sloshed through the streets to take in the original opera building, the Palais Garnier.

The Opera National de Paris now divides its performance schedule between the Garnier and the modern (read, ugly) Opera de Paris Bastille, which opened in 1989.  The exterior of the Bastille Opera is so dull and uninspiring that I didn’t even take a picture of it.  We didn’t see its interior, but it couldn’t possibly hold a candle to the incredible opulence excesses of the Garnier.  It was ordered built by Napoleon III, and the design competition was won by the unknown, 35-year-old Charles Garnier.  Including halts for war, empire collapse, etc., it was constructed between 1860 and 1875.  It seats 1900.

The Garnier was the inspiration for Gaston Leroux’s 1911 novel, “The Phantom of the Opera,” partly because of the legend that it was built over an underground lake.  According to the guidebooks, the place boasts perfect acoustics.  However, due to its odd shape, some seats have limited or no visibility!  Hmm.   That might fly for listening to a concert, but not seeing the opera?  Actually, for an operaphobe like myself, that might not be a bad thing, except I’d still have to listen to the stuff.  Anyway, it’s a glorious venue.  The auditorium boasts a  painted ceiling done by Marc Chagall in 1964, much to the dismay of classic architecture purists.  Supposedly, the paintings depict scenes from operas by 14 composers.  All Greek to me.  Below, top right, is an entrance to the stalls; at bottom, Loni is perched on a portion of the grand staircase.

During intermissions, one can promenade along the Grand Foyer, a dazzler that rivals the main hallway at Versailles.

Well, you get the picture.  The place is a jaw dropper at every turn.

The rain wasn’t getting any better, so we decided to head back home, get some dinner, and do our packing.  We were going to have to get up at 4:30 am to get showered, breakfasted, and haul our bags down six flights of stairs to meet our 6:00 private shuttle to the airport.  Charles de Gaulle is at best a 35-40 minute ride in no traffic, and we couldn’t count on that, so we were allowing plenty of time, especially given that all flights were completely booked due to the Air France strike over the last five days.  While Loni manned the stove, I went out for wine and, uh, well, desserts.  Yeah, plural.  C’mon, it was our last night in Paris.

Yes, we DID finish all three, and the bottle.  We set two alarm clocks that night.

Our trip back was uneventful.  The shuttle service showed up only ten minutes late, but I had budgeted for 30, so all was good.  Despite the drizzle, the traffic hadn’t yet backed up, so we got there in plenty of time and were one of the first to check in.  No lines at all, no taking shoes off at security.  It was like travel several decades ago.  We took off through the clouds and bid farewell to our last glimpse of France through the mist.  We mostly cruised above the cloud cover all the way to North America, again watching multiple movies and getting fed two pretty fine meals.  It was pretty bittersweet as we descended into LAX and the California sun.  Good to be home, but missing already “our” pied-a-terre. 

 

How to sum up?  I guess by simply saying it was everything we had hoped for.  It’s pretty rare when reality meets your aspirations.  Taking a whole month to do mostly one city was the right thing for us.  We were always relaxed, and never felt tied to a schedule other than “what shall we do today?”  Even our excursions out of the city didn’t have more than a day or two forethought.  We really endorse the idea of renting a flat with kitchen facilities.  It ended up averaging a little over $50 a day for the apartment, and eating in for breakfasts and about half the dinners really made it affordable.  And the French?  We were out and about every day, and can honestly say we didn’t have a single bad or rude encounter the entire trip.  The anti-America myth is just that.  If it exists at the government level, it doesn’t seem to arise in day-to-day ordinary interactions.  Just try first to speak a little French, no matter how badly.  They will be patient and, eventually, gracefully come back with much better English than your French. 

We had a ball!  Vive la France!