Paris: Versailles

I'm just going to post some photos from our day trip to Versailles.  Few words are necessary, this place is just so beautiful.  If you get a chance, go!

We brought in a delicious picnic lunch and devoured it in a shady, secluded spot near a fountain, while listening to piped-in classical music.

I made Joe rent a rowboat.  How romantic, right?  He did all the work.

Marie Antoinette's bed in her Petit Trianon. My only regret was that we couldn't find her farm (we didn't have a map for some reason, yet everyone else did).  The property is enormous, we walked so much and still couldn't find it.

Paris: Roland Garros

So I made it to Roland Garros!  The raison d'être for the trip.  Of course, our tickets happened to be on the day after our bar crawl through Oberkampf.  Of course they did.  I was not feeling so swell that morning but nothing could stop me from the French Open.  I woke up really early that Sunday for some reason, and the streets were empty when I ventured out to get Gatorade.  This trip was nearly disastrous, as I turned down an aisle in a tiny grocery store and almost fell into the open cellar door in the floor.  Thank God I looked before I took a step.  Was not expecting that!  That would be an especially stupid way to go.

Later we went to a patisserie, and I stood in line while Joe got cash.  I made a beeline for the display of sandwiches, getting closer to try to see what kind I could get.  Turns out I had managed to make my way behind the counter and a saleswoman was yelling at me but I was too dense to realize that.  She shooed me back into the line, walking toward me, waving her hands and tsk-ing the way you would shoo an errant raccoon from a trash can.  It was the only way I would understand, apparently.  Highly embarrassing! 

It looks like we are about to get sprayed with water in this picture.  Between sets and after matches, the courts were watered the same way you water your lawn, and then workers smoothed the clay with a section of net.  These are the things you don't see on television!

Since we were on the outer courts, we didn't see anyone particularly famous play, but we did see some good matches, including an entire 5-setter with Michael Berrer, who went from two sets down to beat the number 30 seed, Jurgen Melzer.  We had an awesome seat for this one, practically on the court.  I personally think our cheering helped Berrer come from behind for the win.

I find tennis tournaments to be somewhat stressful in the early rounds since so much is going on at once.  You always wonder, is there a better match somewhere?  If I leave my seat at this match, will I be able to get back in, and will I regret leaving?

We waited in some long lines to get into the side courts but that could be chalked up to the disorganization of the first day.  If I went again, I would probably get a ticket for one of the bigger courts (which aren't that big compared to the U.S. Open's Ashe Stadium).  I bought the Roland Garros tickets before the plane tickets, I kept it conservative since I wasn't sure I would actually go.  But honestly, we had a lot of fun on the side courts and got to experience the atmosphere of the tournament.  I don't think we missed much, the first day is usually a cakewalk for the top players anyway.  Except for Roddick, who promptly lost in the first round that day.

We got to watch some of Venus's match on the big screen in the courtyard. 

And guess what?  We timed it just right to see Djoker's practice session!  I'm still not sure about the Uniqlo duds but I guess they drove a dumptruck full of money up to his house.  This was a highlight, to see him in person and get to watch his 10-person entourage stand on the sidelines as Djokovic hit serves.

I think Roland Garros wins for the most adorable ball kids of any major.  They seemed younger than our American ball kids for some reason.  My favorite is the little one with the curly mop of hair in the front of the line.  So cute!

Gotta love the Lacoste outfits on the umpires.  This guy looked beyond cool with his glasses and the sneaks. 

All the officials had 1920s-era Lacoste outfits too.  They were all so attractive.  The dudes looked dashing, and the women had perfect makeup to match their drop-waist white dresses.  The only problem: they didn't look that authoritative.  Give me a frumpy middle-aged woman in a wrinkled polo shirt and khaki shorts with a walky talky around her neck and I'll show you someone who means business.  Not once but twice did we see fans brazenly flouting the rules.  First, a pack of guys pushed past a ticket-taker who was (seemingly arbitrarily) holding up the line.  They walked by her when she turned her back and then she chased after them but it did no good.  Then later, when all the matches concluded, an old man walked back into the stadium, ignoring a guy who told him not to do that.  He looked at the official, made some sort of raspberry noise combined with a shrug of the shoulders, and kept on walking.  See, no one takes them seriously in those outfits!

It was amazing to be there after seeing it on television all these years.  The landscaping was gorgeous.

Wimbledon and Melbourne are next on the bucket list!

At the end of a long day, we went to a little bistro chock-full of Parisians, but the food was terrible.  Strange.  Nice atmosphere though. 

Paris: Lost and Found

So I have to tell you about the classic tourist mistake I made.  After arriving in Paris on a red eye, finally getting the key, and then taking a moment to rest my eyes (which turned into a five-hour nap, whoops), we went out to dinner at a bar in our neighborhood.  I took the photo above of my delicious duck entree and then put the camera down by my purse.

The next morning, we got ready for a day of sightseeing and I went to grab my camera.  But it wasn't in my purse.  It wasn't anywhere.  Where was it?  I couldn't have been stupid enough to leave my fancy camera outside the bistro.  Could I?

Cue many tears and rending of garments.  We went back to the bistro, and I tried to ask if they had found a camera.  French wasn't even an option at this point, so I made a universal pantomime of a camera complete with an index finger click.  "Oh, we'll take your picture," the man behind the bar said.  No, no.

So Joe consoled me and I resigned myself to the fact that I had lost my $400 camera on the very first day of our vacation.  I tried to pull it together and we set out to visit the Musée d'Orsay and Notre Dame.   The following pictures are from Joe's camera.

We walked around the Jardin du Luxembourg and watched Parisians sun themselves, children playing with sailboats, and an extremely lazy middle-schooler take a tennis lesson while Joe heckled him.

Sainte-Chapelle is so gorgeous.

It's so touristy, but I loved the Seine boat tour we took. Being out on the water on a gorgeous day, learning more about the city, what more could you want?

The guide on the boat tour told our group if we made a wish and kissed while going under a particular bridge, it would come true.  I wished that I would find my camera.  The choice was clear.   Apparently, Joe made the same wish.  (We both contemplated whether we should wish for the other one to love us forever, but went with the more pressing camera wish).

After the boat, we went back to the restaurant and the same waiter/owner from the night before was there. "You're back for the camera!" he said, and lo and behold, he pulled my camera out from behind the bar.

Ahhhhhhhh!  Isn't that the nicest thing you've ever heard?  He saved my camera for me!  He didn't have to, but he did.  And what are the chances of getting a lost camera back on vacation?  The French will always have my heart after this.

We were so happy, and so thankful.  Joe told the owner that he wanted to buy him a shot in celebration.  As is American tradition.  We all take a shot, then order beers.  A few beers later, the owner said he would give us a tour of all the bars in the neighborhood.  He left his post, leaving his lover/business partner at the helm and we proceeded to stumble in a bunch of bars, to be introduced as the owner's "American friends."

"Is he going to steal our kidneys?" Joe asked as we walked to the umpteenth bar.

A few shots later, I remember going back to the original bar, eating some sort of fromage/frites combination, but then all I remember is waking up in the apartment.  No recollection of the walk home.  When I opened up our door in the morning, the insole of my shoe was outside lying on the doorstep.

Paris! Day 1

Hellooooo.  I've been remiss in not filling you in on my Paris trip.  It's been overwhelming.  Where to begin?  Keep in mind I took 700 pictures.

"How did you take 700 pictures?" Joe said.

"Well, remember the cat we saw on the roof in our apartment courtyard," I said.

"Uh huh."

"I took three pictures of that cat."

That's how you end up with 700 vacation photos.

But I suppose Day 1 is as good a place to start as any.  I'll try not to bore you.  Here we go:

Lucky me, I was able to rent a charming Airbnb apartment, with exposed brick, rafters and giant windows overlooking a courtyard.  So adorable.  Airbnb is fun because you can pretend you are a local.

The only problem with Airbnb is that there is no front desk, so you have to arrange the key pickup.  My host said I could ask the shopkeeper at the cafe next door for the apartment.  I practiced on the plane ride with a French dictionary (thanks, Alix, for letting me borrow yours!), painstakingly looking up the words and trying to memorize one phrase: "Where is the key?"

So after toting our suitcases on the metro and around town, we arrived at the shop and I marched up to the shopkeeper and blurted out my phrase.  She looked at me like I had three heads.

That's it, I'm out!  I got nothing after that.

She claimed to not have the key, then I thought we were getting closer when another lady at the cafe gave us the code to open the courtyard door, but still no apartment key.  We're talking back and forth in English, I'm writing down the host's phone number for her to call on her cell phone, she's telling me she loves America and is going to Palm Springs.  Meanwhile, Joe is standing on the street with our suitcases, and then a guy rides by on a bike, looks at Joe and says, "Adele?"  Close enough.

Turns out that guy worked with the Airbnb host and he asked if we were doing alright.  "The shopkeeper doesn't have the key," Joe said.  "Oh yes, she does," the guy said.  He went in and talked to her in French and voila, she pulled the key out of a drawer, with a shrug of her shoulders and a roll of her eyes.

Miscommunication?  Or was she messing with me?  Or both?

Coolhunting in Soho

While I'm out gallivanting in France, I've scheduled a long overdue post about my recent weekend in NYC.  Carolyn and I traveled to Soho, our friend Linda's new hood.  Such a fun place to explore.  Here are my pictures in chronological order.

Friday, 7:30 p.m.: After an interminable bus ride, we finally arrive and immediately eat fish tacos at Tacombi NYC. There's a VW bus parked inside the restaurant. Of course, I fell in love with the place.

9 p.m.: Soho walkin'

I'm now convinced every other New Yorker owns a French bulldog.  Cah-yuuuute.

9:15 p.m.: Cupcake break at the aptly named Little Cupcake Bakeshop.

12 a.m. Savoire Adore concert at Mercury Lounge.  They are also cah-yuuute.

12:20 a.m.: Hoodie-wearing dachshund, where have you been all my life?  [American Apparel, duh.]

Saturday, 1:40 p.m.: Young Designer's Market.  "She's making jewelry now, she's got her life on track."

2 p.m.: Fiat Cafe lunch.

3:30 p.m.: Boutique shopping for leopard face swimsuits.

Let me check out this furry purse... Wait a minute! It's moving!

4 p.m.: Giverny exhibit at The Hole gallery.  Pretty fake flowers and Astroturf and an intensely naked sprite.

4:15 p.m. Snapped a picture of a wedding photo shoot.

Sunday, 11 a.m.: The magical Cafe Gitane.

Hip chicks...

Parlez-vous Français?

Yes, we are Paris-bound on Thursday!  I can't believe it, I've been literally crossing off the days on my calendar.  This was just a gleam in my eye a few months ago, when I took a gamble and bought cheap-o tickets to the French Open on the day they were released, with neither a plane ticket or hotel booked, just a dream of Roland Garros clay.  Joe and I talked about going on vacation during Memorial Day weekend and France was batted around, so I impulsively clicked buy when I was able to get the tickets I wanted in my cart.

The next steps: convincing Joe that we should indeed go to Paris (bloody hell, were the plane tickets expensive).  He wanted to see Mont Blanc, so we are headed to Geneva too, then getting out of Switzerland before we have to sell a kidney to pay for our $$ sandwiches, and staying in Chamonix for some mountain hiking and ambling.

This is one epic vacation.  My friend Serena is worried about the fact that neither Joe nor I speak a lick of French.  "Maybe you should keep your expectations low," she said.  Au contraire, my expectations are as high as they could possibly be. 

I spent some time on this BBC website called "Quick Fix French" trying to learn some key phrases.  I tried to speak all the French I learned to Serena, which took about 30 seconds.  All she said was, "Oh no!"

What, no good?  Of course I also have Rosetta Stone French but I was lazy about it and all I know how to say is "Le garcon boit."  The boy drinks.  That will be extremely useful.

I even have the headphones.  Joe came over and worked on a Rosetta Stone lesson where it grades your pronunciation.  He got through the whole thing and then the program cheerfully said "Au revoir!"  "Au revoir," Joe said.  But it wouldn't acknowledge that he had said it correctly.  He kept saying it over and over again, at least 30 times, in a monotone.  "Au revoir, au revoir, au revoir."  Finally he got it right, but I couldn't stop laughing.  "That was the one thing I thought I knew," he said.  Later my roommate Christine asked, "Was Joe saying something in French many times in a row?"

I think the lack of French will be OK, people speak English and we'll muddle through.

To Do:

• Re-read David Sedaris's "Me Talk Pretty One Day" essay.
• I want to do a bike tour or a boat tour on the Seine, thanks to Linda's great advice.
• The usual: Saint Chapelle, The Louvre, Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Latin Quarter, the Musee d'Orsay, the Tuileries Gardens, Le Pompidou, the Arc de Triomphe and Champs Elysees. That might be ambitious.  Maybe Versaille or Giverney.  Again, ambitious.  We will be in Paris for about 5 days.
• Check out a few of the cool restaurants mentioned in that Bon Appetit magazine, or restaurants/patisseries recommended by David Lebovitz.  His book, "The Sweet Life in Paris," is laugh-out-loud funny.  The blurb on the back says, "People are always saying to me, 'It must be so fun to live in Paris!  What do you do all day?' I don't think 'I avoid Parisians' is quite the answer they're expecting."  Ha, I think we will try to avoid talking to Parisians as well to avoid embarrassment on our part.
• I want to stop in at Princesse Tam Tam as inspired by this fun article in Conde Naste Traveler, "Lingerie Shopping in Paris."
• Hike in the Alps and maybe swim in a mountain lake? Is that crazy?