Paris in the summer, when it sizzles........

What can I say about Paris that hasn't already been said and by much better writers than I? As usual, this is a highly ideosyncratic and selective account of our personal experience with the City of Light which probably bears no resemblance to anyone else's experience.

This is our third visit to France and we had never been to Paris before. I wasn't going to let any warnings about heat levels keep me from seeing Paris this time even if we had yet to see an electric fan in Europe much less air conditioning.

First we had to drop off the car at Orly airport. This took about two hours longer than it should have due to poor route selection on my part and to construction on the Paris Peripherique (ring road.) Then once we got to Orly, we couldn't get to the road to take us to the drop-off point. We kept going around and around and we could see the right road but we could never figure out how to get there. Fortunately, traffic was very light and with the aid of a couple of highly illegal maneuvers on Al's part, we finally found the right road and left our trusty Peugeot behind us.

The taxi ride into Paris didn't cost nearly as much as I had expected and our friendly driver who almost spoke English helpfully pointed out lots of sights on the way. The best part of arriving at the hotel was when I spotted the thermostat on the wall, switched it on, and cool air began spilling into the room. There is air conditioning in France despite all our experience to the contrary!

Al obviously had not read the same travel books nor seen the same movies as I had because he was astounded at the number of cafes, bistros and restaurants in Paris. I was astounded that the prices were not as high as I had feared and, at least in the kind of establishment that we normally frequent, the servers acted just like they do in the rest of France. Except maybe they more readily assume you don't speak French and so they offer you the English menu. So much for the myth of you can't get served if you don't speak perfect French.

Our hotel was in the Latin Quarter and must be in the guidebooks because it seemed to be full of Americans. I am sometimes embarrassed to be an American, especially when I heard some of the really dumb questions the patient hotel staff fielded. It was as if some of these people found a special fare on Expedia and said, let's go to Paris, I wonder if there's anything there to see. I keep telling myself it's a good thing that they are traveling and that something will be bound to rub off, but sometimes you have to wonder. However, it does seem as if Americans are over their snit with the French, because you can't walk down the sidewalk in Paris without hearing them talking, and talking, and talking.....

We took the Cars Rouges open-air bus tour of Paris which was a mistake in our case because the weather was so hot that we didn't take advantage of the tickets being good for two consecutive days. If you are going to the major sights, the hop-on-hop-off feature is probably pretty good, but for us it was a bit pricey since we just wanted a basic city tour. The Batobus offers a hop-on-hop-off tour on the River Seine which is a better deal price-wise for transportation but you obviously can't see such things as the Arc de Triumph from a boat. Still it was a pleasant ride for the money.

The lines at the attractions were unbelievable. The Eiffel Tower lines had misters going because of the hot weather but I can't imagine how long it would have taken to get up into the tower. The lines at the Louvre didn't actually look too bad and even though I can't stand for very long without moving, I was tempted. Al and common sense prevailed, however, since I would have gotten crowd claustrophobia as soon as we got in and would have needed to leave. We later talked to other people who didn't go to museums because of the lines, so it wasn't just us.

The Rodin Museum is much quieter and offers a totally different experience since many of the sculptures are outdoors in the lovely gardens. You can sit and admire the gardens and sculptures for as long as you want and even though the brochure said no picnics, many people had brought their lunch. We opted for the museum's outdoor cafe which was not badly priced and has excellent food.

One day we braved the Metro and went to Montmartre. Bad timing since this was the day that all of Paris was leaving for the August vacation and everyone had two kids and a suitcase because we had to go through the Gare du Nord railway station to get to our destination. The crowds were almost manageable going out, but coming back every train was standing room only. Al was not pleased.

Montmartre was about what we expected. We took the funicular up to the basilica of Sacre Coeur where there was a huge crowd and we didn't go in. We walked up to the square where the portrait artists troll for customers but it was hard to determine whether any of them were competent since none of the portraits we saw had advanced past the marking in of the hairline phase. One of the artists accosted me with the line 'Are you from Norway? You look Norwegian.' No wonder he was still looking for a customer when I left. The number of tourists was almost overwhelming in this location. There was a Petit Train leaving from the corner of the square and to spare my knee undue wear, we uncharacteristically paid for the tour, which was not particularly good since there wasn't much commentary and all of it in French. My French comprehension has gotten much better and I can usually get the gist of things and this narration didn't say a whole lot.

We departed the train near the cemetery and had lunch at a wonderful little corner bistro where the people-watching was even better than in our own neighborhood. The cemetery itself is typically French, although much larger than others we've seen, and otherwise not of particular interest unless you've never seen one before. There are a few famous people buried there but you'd have to be a real fan to care to locate them. The real attraction of going to Montmartre is seeing Paris spread out below and it was a shame that the visibility wasn't better the day that we went, but it was still quite a view.

Our neighborhood was the Latin Quarter and we got to know it pretty well, which is how we like to practice tourism. Some people think that the little restaurant-lined street just west of Notre Dame on the left bank is the Latin Quarter, but that's just a small enclave of tourist traps. The real Latin Quarter extends east and south and is a living neighborhood that happens to host a lot of tourists too.

We spent enough time in some places to establish a relationship of sorts with the people who worked there. The breakfast waitress at the bistro across the street from the hotel told us joyfully on Saturday that she was leaving for five weeks of vacation that evening and we discussed how nice and green it is in the Auvergne where she was going. The convenience store clerk would dig down in his makeshift cooler to find the coldest bottle of Badoit for us when we dropped by in the afternoon. We had several conversations with the English-speaking owner of the bakery where we had breakfast several days and she told us how long it took to find a place for her business, how far she had to commute, why her croissants were better than those of the bakery across the street, and so forth. The hotel clerk told us about his weekend. We saw the same locals every day and recognized the dogs. I knew I was part of the neighborhood when one of the workmen remodeling the wine shop asked me where the bakery was while we were both waiting for the light. In French of course. I hope he found it.

Our hotel was just a few blocks from Notre Dame, which seemed to have vast crowds everytime we went past. One day the lines seemed particularly short and we went inside, but mass had just started and the incense was so thick I had to flee outside and didn't really get to appreciate what are supposed to be glorious windows. We had passed by the cathedral a few times before I realized that the people lined up on one side of the building weren't just getting out of the sun but were actually waiting to go up in the tower. I wonder how long they had to wait to climb those 370 plus stairs. One evening we made a point of staying up late (for us) and walked over after dark to see Notre Dame lit up at night. It was a lovely sight and we were also amazed at how busy the restaurants were at 10 pm. Obviously most tourists aren't on the same schedule we are.

The banks of the Seine make a nice place to walk and on the right bank in that area was the site of Paris Plage. The mayor of Paris decided a few years ago that since some people have to stay in the city in August instead of going to the beach, he would bring the beach to them. This proved so popular that it has been repeated every year. Vast quantities of sand are brought in and spread along the river bank, beach chairs and cabanas are provided, and one can sunbathe under a (potted) palm in the heart of Paris. Provided that both parts of the bikini are kept on, that is. There is also a set of beach volleyball courts set up right in front of city hall just a couple of blocks away.

While taking the river cruise, we discovered that Paris also has a marina, so one day we walked over to see it. It is a basin placed at right angles to the River Seine, overlooked on all sides by multi-story buildings and landscaped along one shore with a lovely garden featuring hollyhocks, roses, petunias, lavendar, cosmos, and other flowers I can't identify. Of course there are benches in the garden where you can view the boats. I can't imagine what moorage rates would be.

We decided that Paris is a city that one can live in. For one thing, there is always a place to sit down. There are parks everywhere, large and small, grand expanses and pocket greenbelts. With lots of benches. Or in the case of the Jardin du Luxembourg, even metal chairs that you can move around to suit your need for sun or shade or viewing pleasure. Imagine having moveable chairs in an American park!

The garden at Les Invalides just outside the building that houses Napoleon's tomb had some of the most interesting plantings in the formal beds around the fountain. At the end of each bed is a yew tree formally pruned into an inverted cone about five feet high, but the contents of the beds are far from formal, featuring in addition to the normal run of flowering plants, stalks of red and golden chards, purple cabbages, sunflowers, the odd maize plant, tufts of wheat, frilly lettuce, eggplants, peppers and even the odd tomato plant.

One thing you can't do in a Paris park is walk on the grass unless is is specifically authorized. One day we, along with several thousand others, were seeking relief from the heat in the Jardin du Luxembourg which is a huge park with many gardens and lots of trees for shade. The particular area we chose was along the edge of a immaculately-tended rectangular lawn area bounded by a six-inch high metal railing which was perfect for resting our feet after we pulled our chairs into the proper position. There were people lolling around on the grass and I didn't think too much about it until a shrill whistle pierced the air and two municipal police strode onto the grass. I could understand only a couple of words of the announcement, but apparently you were not allowed to loll on this piece of grass because everyone got up and left. The police left. The grass remained unoccupied for maybe 20 minutes before a new crop of backpackers decided it was irresistible. Another set of police showed up and the scene replayed itself. We later discovered the area where lolling on the grass was allowed and it was as packed as the beach at Le Touquet.

We enjoyed Paris without going to museums and most of the must-see sights. We strolled arm in arm along the Seine, we ate at bistros and cafes, we shopped at outdoor markets, we perused the odd-ball offerings of the booksellers along the left bank, and despite the guidebook warnings, we hardly saw any doggy-doo on the sidewalks. We made ourselves at home.

The day finally came that we had to leave. Madame at the bakery said she would miss our happy smiles every morning and I told her we were crying because we had to leave. The taxi took us to the Gare du Nord to board the Eurostar and that was it. We were leaving Paris. Al hadn't even wanted to come here and he was already planning for our next visit. I hope it won't be too long.