My Super Low Budget Trip to Paris

This would be my second trip to Paris, first time ever traveling alone. My budget was essentially rock-bottom, although I did enjoy one or two little splurges.

One of these splurges was for a good seat to the Paris Opera Ballet's "Soiree Maks Ek" at the Palais Garnier (63€). This performance turned out to be the highlight of my trip. I would have gladly paid 10 times more to see it.

The show consists of two of Maks Ek’s ballets- 'La Maison de Bernarda'(based on Lorca's "The House of Bernarda Alba") and 'Une sorte de…'.

I believe they are performing it until May 11, and I'll just take a second to say that, for anyone who is in Paris between now and then, if you are at all interested in ballet, dance, or theater, or are simply interested in attending a performance at the Palais Garnier, I really, really recommend the Mats Ek.

I just can’t praise it highly enough. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the stage the whole night and almost burst into tears at the conclusion of both pieces.

While not everyone will have as emotional a reaction as I did, the dancers and choreography are of the highest possible caliber, and if you are from North America, chances are good you will never have the opportunity to see a Mats Ek ballet at home.

So get a cheap seat or get a good seat, but just get a seat and go. I went last Monday night, and am still in a bit of a happy daze over the whole thing.

Back to the internet being an amazing thing, that includes the posters here on Fodors.

I received advice on everything from the seating plan at the Palais Garnier, to the best place to find Barbapapa toys. Plus, there is so much information to be had by just searching through the forums, and there is almost everything you could ever want to know about things to do and see and Paris.

So a huge thanks to everyone who contributes here, you really helped me with planning and enjoying my time in Paris.

So tell us more about traveling on a budget - where did you eat, what sightseeing, etc.

When I was in Paris last October I was astounded at the prices (plus bad exchange rate) so I lived very frugally but I'm always looking for other recommendations on frugal travel for the next time.

I arrived at CDG on a Thursday morning. It had been a long flight. In an attempt to stave off jetlag, I had decided to stay up late the night before I left, the reason being that I would be tired enough to sleep the next day on the Wednesday night flight.

I stayed up late all right- until 3am to be exact- frantically packing and cleaning my apartment (I'm nothing if not a procrastinator when it comes to cleaning and packing).

Then I had to wake up at 6am because I needed to spend most of the day at the office. By the time I schlepped myself to the airport in time for my 8:20pm flight, I was practically hallucinating and maybe a bit twitchy to boot.

Eerily enough, Terminal One at Pearson International was almost empty. I was the only person at the check-in counter, and I think I went through security with maybe two other people. By that point, I was convinced I had entered the Twilight Zone. Maybe I was crazy, or maybe I really had entered an alternative dimension, but either way I was starving for something other than coffee, which had been my only form of sustenance for the past 24 hours.

I made a beeline for the Casey's restaurant and devoured a plate of chicken fingers and chips. So much for pretending to be Audrey Hepburn this trip. I'd have to make do with Fatty Arbuckle.

Before long, it was time to head over to the boarding lounge. My fellow travellers appeared to be made up of the usual suspects- mostly people in their 60's, a few teenagers and 20-somethings with backpacks, a few young families with babies who looked grumpy and tired. Lots of people were consulting Paris guidebooks, and many already had their neck scarves in place.

Finally it was time to board. I was very relieved to discover that I got my aisle seat, as requested. My relief was short-lived, however. I was about to be punished by the travel gods for smirking at my fellow tourists with their guidebooks and scarves.

I was in the middle row, made up of three seats, and the person sitting beside me, the one sitting in the middle seat, was the Twenty-Something Euro-Trash French Guy from Hell.

>>>So tell us more about traveling on a budget - where did you eat, what sightseeing, etc.<<<

You'll be very disappointed by my reply, I think. I literally never ate out (well, the self-serve cafeteria at the Louvre hardly counts), all my meals were groceries eaten at the apartment, although I did have a panini sandwich one afternoon in the park behind Notre Dame.

This actually wasn't so much due my budget, but rather because I was always either too tired to eat (actually forgot to eat lunch more times than I can rememeber) or because I was too shy with my French (I spent a fair amount of my time in very non-touristy areas, which made me a bit self-conscious about my French and about the fact I was alone)

So my meals, primarily breakfast and dinner, consisted of what I picked up at the local bakery, Leader Price, Monoprix, Franprix, etc. - bread, salad, fruit, yogourt, spring water, coffee, etc.

Twenty-Something Euro-Trash French Guy from Hell was appalling.

He slurped his wine, didn't close his mouth when he chewed, and smacked his food. He was rude to the flight attendants. He would look over towards to his friends in another row and loudly go "Quack, quack, quack" every time a flight attendant spoke or an announcement came on. Considering the amount of gold chains that hung from his body, I did wonder about where he aquired this sense of superiority.

The worst of it, though, was his space-hogging.

Now, at first I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt because as we all know, sitting in the middle seat between two strangers on a seven-hour flight is no day in the park. Who gets which armrest, where to put your feet; the issues are sticky and can be difficult to navigate.

I did my best to give him as wide a berth a possible, but for some reason, it seemed like no matter how far to the side I tried to keep, his arm or his leg or his something or other always ended up pressing right into me.

He basically assumed the Al Bundy position- knees splayed wide open, hands folded on stomach, elbows out like chicken wings. He never shifted or adjusted or apologized like most people do when they bump or squish into you. He just waited until I became uncomfortable enough to move even further to the side away from him. Then, without fail, it would happen again- his arm would press against me, elbow jab into me, and so it would remain until I moved.

I finally caught on to his game and decided to stop moving away. I figured we'd play a game of chicken- who will move over first?- but it turned out he was quite content to remain squished up against me. I did sit up at one point to look over at the man sitting on the other side of this guy. He was completely curled up in a fetal position towards the aisle, shoulders hunched up, knees completely turned outwards and away.

So it wasn't just me, this guy really WAS space-hogging. So, I gave up. If he wanted to spend the flight getting up close and personal, so be it. It was far more comfortable for me to use him as a sort of pillow than to keep crouching over to the side (if I moved any further I’d end up in the aisle) No way was I going to end up like the contorted, chiropractic nightmare the poor man on the other side.

Needless to say, I didn't get a wink of sleep. I watched Enchanted without the sound then something else which for the life of me I can't recall. Breakfast was served, coffee was poured, and we finally landed in Paris.

THURSDAY

The less said about Terminal 2A at CDG, the better.

Once I got my suitcase on a luggage cart and started walking through the other terminal, into the air conditioning, on my way to the RER station, I was feeling much better. When I passed by the line ups at the RER ticket machines, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world- Dave, the thoughtful owner of the apartment where I was staying, had mailed me an RER ticket before I left, so I already had it in hand when I landed at the airport.

I breezed past the confused, frustrated tourists dying on their feet in the lines, and snarling at the ticket machines for refusing their credit cards, and boarded a waiting train.

Five minutes later the train doors closed and off we went. A few puzzled tourists where left scratching their heads on the platform, unsure about which train they should board, because there are two sets of tracks. I felt a little guilty about leaving them there, because there is a big sign on the tracks that states clearly in English "All trains stop in Paris", and I could have been more of a good Samaritan and pointed it out to them. Maybe one train makes more milk-run stops, but you’ll still get to where you want to go, regardless of what train you board. I was too tired to be helpful, though, and besides I was having too much fun people watching.

There was a man on the train who looked *exactly* like Rick Steves, but wasn't. He was American or Canadian, and traveling with his 11 or 12 year old daughter. It was obviously their first trip to Paris, and I loved watching them because they took such pleasure and interest in every little thing they saw.

They were so excited, their eyes literally shone and they both had the biggest, happiest grins on their faces. Dad looked down at his ticket in amazement after the collector came around and punched it. Daughter beamed as she counted the stops and traced the route on her map. Dad would say, "Here we are! We're in Paris! Can you believe it?" and she would giggle and hug her books close to her chest.

Their joy was contagious. I could barely keep the smile from my own lips. I silently wished them a wonderful trip, though they didn't need any help in that department, they were clearly having the time of their lives.

I got off the train at Gare du Nord and decided I was too tired to take the metro to the apartment. I would take a taxi instead. My French was horribly out of practice, embarrassingly so. When I opened my mouth it was like rusty nails squeaking against an old barbed wire fence.

The driver asked me to repeat myself, so with a niggling sense of shame I handed him a piece of paper with the address of the apartment written on it.

About 10 minutes and 10€ later I was standing in front of the blue apartment building door on Rue Jean Pierre Timbaud in the 11th. Now all I had to do was look through my purse and hope that I'd remembered to bring the access code that would allow me to open the door.

I had a couple of moments while standing there, looking through my bag, convinced that I had stupidly forgotten to bring the code, but no, there it was, I had it. I punched it in and wonder of wonders, pushed open the big blue door and entered the foyer of the building.

After finding the light switch, I could see I was standing in an older, slightly shabby, but clean and well kept foyer. The stairs were at the end of the little hall. I knew I had a long climb ahead of me- six flights of stairs, about 18 steps each. The steps weren't steep, and there was a good, secure handrail.

I started smiling as I climbed up, because the stairs were in fact pretty charming, made of old polished wood, and they wound around and around and around.

If I were Audrey Hepburn, I would have sprinted up them like a doe, thrown open the door to the apartment and perhaps would have found a tall, dark, handsome man waiting for me, smoking a cigarette.

As it was, I was deliriously exhausted, dragging my over-packed suitcase behind me, trying not to make too much noise as I huffed and puffed my way up the stairs, but still grinning like a maniac the entire time.

I made it to the top and, just like the owners said, there was a little sticky-note indicating the right door (there are about 3 or 4 apartments on each floor of the building, each with the same blue coloured door). The key was hidden exactly where they said it would be. It was big, old fashioned sort of key, and it took me few tries to get the hang of the lock and to open the door.

There was no handsome man waiting for me inside, but I managed to fall in love all the same. The apartment is a little studio, suitable for one or two people, with a sleeping area, kitchen, bathroom, and a little alcove by a big window with a small round table and two chairs.

On the table, the owners left a personalized note, welcoming me to Paris. There was a little bottle of Champaign in the fridge. The apartment felt welcoming and cozy and I was very pleased to have this little nook in the 11th to call home for next week.

The apartment is listed on the SlowTravel website, it's called the Paris Garret. I've written a review but it's still waiting to be approved. There are two reviews posted by previous guests up to read, and I'll say that I agree with their every word. It's the perfect little place if you’re on a budget, don't mind the stairs, and don't faint at the idea of staying anywhere that isn't St Germaine de Pres.

I unpacked, made a few phone calls, and was so exhausted (remember I was operating on 3 hours sleep for the last two days now) I changed into my pajamas, set the alarm clock radio for 5:30am the next morning, and went to bed.

It was about three in the afternoon. I slept right through until 5:25 am, waking up about 5 minutes before my alarm was set to go off.

Jetlag wasn't to be an issue this trip, so in a way my sleep deprivation plan did seem to work, just not in the way I had originally intended.

Apres-Londee
Could you share the web site and/or the e-mail address of the Apartment you rented??
How was the location - convenient or time consuming, and would it be suitable for a couple? Did it have 1 or 2 beds?
I'm sure a hotel would be WAYYYY more cost!
How was the weather in April??
Thanks!

I am loving your report! The father/daughter scenario brought tears to my eyes - we are taking our 9 year old daughter this summer, and I hope she is just as enchanted as that little girl!

Please keep writing - I feel like I'm reading a wonderful novel . . .

FRIDAY

Breakfast on Friday morning was black coffee with sugar and a Zone Bar brough from home. I took my time getting showered and dressed, which felt like such a luxury. Usually I am rushing to get to work in the morning, or rushing to get ready because someone is waiting for me. So I really enjoyed being able to dawdle. I made it out the front door by about 8am.

I thought about going to the metro station to buy a carnet, but decided it would be better to wait until rush hour was over. Instead, I headed down the street as far as Richard Lenoir, where the Popincourt Market had just set up.

This is a relatively small market, spanning about the length of one block between rue Jean Pierre Timbaud and rue Oberkampf. On the periphery, there are some flea market-type stalls, selling tee-shirts and other cheap things. The vast majority of the market vendors, however, are selling honest to goodness, old fashioned, no gimmicks, fresh, glorious FOOD.

There were butchers chopping pig’s heads. There were wonderfully pungent cheeses. There was seafood so fresh you would never know you were within a mile of a fish if you closed your eyes.

One of the fish vendors in particular must have been really, really good. A sort of seafood superstar. While the other vendors were already busy selling, this stall was still being set up. A small army of young men in blue work coats were unloading crate after crate of every sea creature imaginable packed on ice from a big truck.

This was done under the watch of a stout older man with iron grey hair, also wearing a blue coat. He was directing everything, and he wasn't hurrying for nobody, not even the growing line of patient customers waiting for him to open the stall so they could buy their fish already.

The customers in that line were what I call the dignified older European type. They all have carefully combed silver hair, and they wear taupe coloured trench coats. They may or may not be retired, but the men tend to wear three piece suites, and the women always wear stockings and skirts. They give off an aura of respectability, and you know they wouldn't tolerate any nonsense when it comes to something like the quality of the fish for their Friday dinner (wherever you see dignified older European types lining up for something, get into that line because whatever they’re selling you know it’s got to be good).

The man running the stall wasn’t letting the growing line pressure him. Half an hour later, after I was done wandering through the market and was making my way back to the apartment, he *still* hadn't finished setting up shop- the young guys in the blue coats were still going back and forth, back and forth, unloading creatures with scales and fins and tentacles and huge staring eyeballs, and the line-up of customers had grown even longer.

There were other fish mongers at the market, but the dignified older European types were having none of it. They were waiting for the man in the blue coat.

The other notable thing about the market was the friendliness of the vendors. Several of them called out to me, "Bonjour, bonjour!" which surprised me somewhat, and then several more tried engaging me in conversation. They were speaking too fast so I couldn't understand what they were saying. I just smiled vaguely and walked on.

Eventually it dawned on me that all the vendors who were trying to get my attention were young guys, probably of North African decent. They were all smiling and staring at me, calling out, and one guy started gripping his fingers and motioning to my hand while saying something.

I slowed down for a moment, confused, and without thinking started to look down at my hands to see what he was on about, when I realized he was blabbering nonsense about how it would break his heart if I were already married.

They weren't at all threatening, but I was starting to feel a bit conspicuous. I seemed to be the only female tourist alone at the market that morning (in fact, I seemed to be the only tourist, period).

I was already feeling shy about my rusty French, but now, with half the produce vendors staring at me and hey babying me in French, I was way too self-conscious to try to buy anything.

I decided to go back to the apartment and re-group. I was feeling a bit lonely and glum. I stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood- there were no other tourists here. The streets were full of people on their way to work, not foreigners on holiday snapping pictures.

When I took out my camera, people turned around and stared. When I opened my mouth to speak, they were very surprised to hear anything but fluent French. And now I had allowed myself to be defeated by the silliness of the produce vendors at the market.

Sitting at the little table in my apartment, I munched another Zone Bar, drank some tap water (which, by the way, was very good- much better than the tap water at home, and no horrible smell when you first turn on the taps like at home) and read through the neighborhood guide that the owners of the apartment had thoughtfully put together for the use of their guests.

There was a note about the toilet, and which toilet paper to buy-"Ultra Compact", which could be found at the Leader Price down the block.

Leader Price is like a No Frills or Food Basics- mainly generic brands, lower prices, and good for staples.

There was a full roll and a half in the bathroom when I arrived, but I thought it would be a good idea to pick up some more. So I decided to head out to Leader Price for toilet paper and a few groceries.

Great report, keep it coming, very entertaining writing style.

Sandy (in Denton)

nannibray:

here's the link to the apartment's ad on SlowTravel:

http://tinyurl.com/4687g7

It has one full sized double bed, and the apartment is absolutely suitable for a couple. The sleeping area is about the size of an average European hotel room, but with a generous amount of shelves and hanging space. The bathroom is very compact but easily managable.

I absolutely loved the location. It's on rue Jean Pierre Timbaud, less than a minute away from the Parmentier Metro station. Everything is rightout the doorstep - cafes, bars, groceries, tabacs, pharmacies, etc.

From Parmentier, it's only one stop away from Republique, which is a major transfer hub. Bus no. 96 stops nearby, which will take you through the Marais, the Isle de la Cite, St Germaine de Pres, all the way down to the Montparnass tower.

What makes the area especially interesting is that it is not a tourist area at all, no eiffel towers for sale anywhere.

A lot of young people live in the neighborhood, 20 and 30 somethings, but there are people of all ages, shapes, and sizes, middle class, working class, immigrants, native Parisians, hipsters, worn looking housewives, you name it they live, work, shop, eat, and drink there.

The people in the shops, on the street, etc. are very friendly. The local businesses don't exist for tourist trade, they they real neighborhood shops, and I found everyone to be genuinely warm and helpful.

It's right next to the heart of trendy nightlife in Paris, lots of bars and cafes, and JP Timbaud has its own share of trendy places, a couple of them right across the street.

Amazingly enough, though, I found it very quite at night, even on weekends. The French don't generally seem to do loud obnoxious drunk. I get far more street noise and rowdiness at my own apartment in Toronto. And the windows are new, double glazed and soundproof.

I think I had a bit of culture shock my first day, coming into a real city neighborhood where I was often literally the only tourist around. But before long I couldn't wait to get back to "my" neighborhood after a day spent in the more touristy areas of the city.

The apartment is a great find. The owners are truly wonderful, too.

The weather in April is unpredictable. Most of the time it was warm, summer days with cool nights. The last couple of days were chilly and rainy.

Attnymom: the father and daughter were really sweet. One thing I found about travelling alone was, I got to do far more people watching than I've ever done before.

On the flight over, there was a family with three young children, and the little boy, about 6 yrs old, was beside himself with excitment over flying for the first time.

He cheered when the plane started moving- "Yeah! We're taking off!" Then his eyes nearly popped out of his head as he looked out the window- "Holy cow! Look at that!" he kept repeating over and over. His mom tried telling him to settle down, and he did, (eventually) but it was fun to see him get so excited about flying.

Thanks for the kind words, sandy_b

topping

Wonderful report - can't wait to read the rest!

This the kind of trip report we love to find! Keep it coming.

By the way, did that studio have a phone or TV?

Great reading about your trip, makes me want to go to Paris again.

Thanks for sharing your trip with us! I am finding it, and your writing, very entertaining. Isn't it funny how quickly we can become attached to the right home away from home?

All I can say is Thank You and hope for more.

I had bookmarked that apartment before--glad to hear it's a good one. I think the guy who owns it used to post on Fodor's once upon a time.

I am very, very jealous of your surprise trip to Paris. But I can relate to that defeated and lonely first-day feeling.

Looking forward to more.

Such a charming report, Apres. Please continue to share your adventures.

bookmarking

The 11th arrondissement is an absolutely excellent choice to get a taste of the "real" Paris.

I am enjoying your report so much. And that tip to have an RER ticket mailed to you is priceless! Thank you so much. Happy travelling! CJ

What a wonderful, wonderful trip report. It is a delight to read a report that gives you such a strong feel what the writer experienced.

Well done! - and more please!

Apres_Londee, thanks for the great trip report.

I am a budget traveler and love finding out about 300E for a week for an apartment. I also wondered if there was a phone in the apartment? It never said in the info on the webpage that I could tell.

it looks as if you were about in between the Oberkampf and the Parmenteir metro stops, true?

thanks....lynda

Such a wonderful report Apres. The father/daughter also brought tears to my eyes. I love your writing style.

Great report Apres--- this will definitely come in handy on my next trip.

Lovely report so far - waiting for more . . .

Great report Apres - looking forward to the rest!

Naxos

>>So much for pretending to be Audrey Hepburn this trip. I'd have to make do with Fatty Arbuckle.<<

Looking forward to reading more!

Lee Ann

Apres-- your report is wonderful! So much fun and interesting too-- thank you!!

Oh wow, thanks everyone. I wasn't expecting to see this up here. I'm still working on my report, between battling a cold and catching up at the office.

To answer questions about the apartment- it does not have a television, but yes there is a phone complete with voicemail. There is also wifi access so bring your laptop.

I brought my laptop, but after I arrived I put it up on a shelf and promtly forgot all about it (I barely remembered to bring it home)

As for the exact location, I'm looking at my no. 57 Michelin right now. The apartment isn't really between the Parmentier and Oberkampf stops because it's actually a smidgen to the east of the Parmentier metro station.

Rue JP Timbaud is a very short block north of the Parmentier stop, then you turn east (or right) on JP Timbaud. The building is past the tiny little street called R.E. Lockroy, but comes just before the even tinier little Cour d'Angouleme.

The building is on the north side of the street, which means it faces south and the apartment is very bright with lots of natural sunlight.

Pamentier metro is about 1 minute's walk away. Oberkampf is less than 5 minutes, Republique and Goncourt about 10 minutes max. Place de Republique has an offical taxi stand.

Bus no. 96 stops on the northwest corner of JP Timbaud and Avenue Parmentier, and will take you through the Marais, the Isle de Cite, and St Germaine de Pres. On the way back, it stops on rue Oberkampf near the Parmentier metro stop.

I have some pictures up- probably a quarter of my Paris photos were taken in St-Denis and I've labeled them as such (I spent most of a Saturday in St-Denis, not only the basilica but exploring the town as well, which was a suprise highlight for me)

Anyways, I also made a little album called JP Timbaud with a few photos of the apartment as well the street and surrounding area. I took the ones on the street on the sly when there weren't many people around and consequently they are kind of boring, but they do give an idea.

http://tinyurl.com/52zfk

ttt

Apres, what a wonderful report. I'm really enjoying it and it's nice to hear from someone who went on a real budget.
I haven't been to Paris for 14 years, and reading your report is making me want to go.

Apres, is that David's garret? If so, he is one nice guy to have as a landlord.
Great report, thank you.

And to give a bit of structure to things, here's a short list of the main things I did each day:

Friday: Pompidou Centre and BVH

Saturday: St-Denis and l'Orangerie

Sunday: Louvre (Northern School Paintings with Jan Fabre installations & the Babylon Exhibit)

Monday: Isle de la Cite and St-Louis, Mats Ek Ballet at the Palais Garnier

Tuesday: Goya Exhibit at the Petit Palais

Wednesday: home

As you can see, I moved at a snail's pace. I spent between 3-6 hours per musuem, and went to bed relatively early each night, exhausted. Which sounds kind of stupid considering how sparse my itinerary seems, but there you go. I *was* exhausted at the end of each day. Those art collections are huge, even the Goya Exhibit was enormous. I did spend a lot of time dawdling in between, which was something of a pleasure in itself.

I wanted to do more on Tuesday, but by then this cold had me in it's grip and I was feeling pretty sick. I'm ashamed to say I spent my last evening in Paris passed out in bed.

Great report so far!

I can't get the photo link to work though, it just brings up the main Shutterfly page...

Yes, it's Dave's and yes, he is one of the nicest people you could ever want to meet. I knew I was in good hands, so to speak, my entire stay. Dave and Aralynn put a lot of thought and care into this little apartment, and do everything possible to unsure that renters are happy and comfortable. Just great people and great landlords, I can't speak highly enough of them.

Apres,
Great report, as everyone else has said!

I'm also having trouble with the photo link; it's bringing up the main Shutterfly page, but no photos.

Paule

Sorry about the link, I'll have to tinker with it...I'm an idiot when it comes to computer stuff.

I can't see your photos either. Looking forward to them.

Thank you!

When you create your link to your photo album, be sure you do NOT select to force viewers to log in, or create a log in. This is why your album is not being presented on your link.

I'm also from Toronto and will be doing a 9 day tour of Europe with my daughter, leaving June 21. We'll only be in Paris for 1 full day staying overnight, but I loved your report and now am so looking forward to our time in Paris. Great report!

Great report so far!

Go back to your album and sign out, then copy/paste the link

Apres, I'm enjoying your report. I listen to French lessons on my iPod on my morning walks just in case a Paris opportunity comes along like it did for you!

Since you are from Toronto, did you know that the second annual Toronto GTG is planned for August 9th? Check this thread started by Kodi:
http://www.fodors.com/forums/threadselect.jsp?fid=29

Thanks so much for all the information! I wanted to take a solo trip to Paris for my 40th...that didn't work out. I WAS going to take that trip this year but Lasik won out for this year's b-day present to myself but by golly I will make it before I turn 45!!!
Your trip is EXACTLY what I want to do. Go cheap, stay where the tourists don't, and spend all my time people watching and looking through at art!!!
Of course, I would LOVE to check out a flea market. Has anyone ever bought furniture at one and had it shipped back? That would be some good info to add to my list!

Apres, I love your report...

I have to tell you, I've never considered a solo trip before, but your writing is inspiring me to try it! Someday I must just do it.

Let's see if this works...

http://apres.shutterfly.com

SO much fun...I love your writing style...Keep it coming.

Thanks for the heads up on the Toronto gtg. Sounds like fun, I'll have to check my calendar.

People watching and looking at art pretty much sums up my entire trip. I looooooved being able to spend as much time as I wanted in the museums without having to worry about anyone else.

And I think anyone who has thought about travelling alone should give it a try, at least once. I found it amazing, the little things I was able to notice because my attention wasn't given over to someone else.

bkmg.

New photo link works! I really enjoyed your pics--great composition in many of them. The Opera Garnier is stunning.

I miss Paris.

Great photos! Many are quite poignant.

Apres,

Great report and terrific pictures! Thanks for sharing.

I'm glad the link finally works. It's kind of funny that the first picture is of a couple of city workers powerblasting flyers off the front of a building. Pehaps not the first thing that comes to mind when you think "Paris".

To continue, shopping at Leader Price went off without a hitch. The store was clean, well stocked, and not very busy on a late weekday morning. I did kick myself while waiting in line because I didn't remember to bring a tote bag to carry my groceries home- I had to use sign language and broken French to ask for a couple of plastic bags. The young woman at the cash register was patient and kind, and smiled and wished me a "bonne journee" as I left. I was feeling much better as I headed back to the apartment for the second time that morning.

Back home, I pulled out a guidebook and sat down for my *third* breakfast of the day- more coffee but with lots of milk which is how I really like it, a pot of yoghourt, and a banana.

It was time to re-assess. I had been in Paris for over 24 hours now, and all I'd managed to accomplish was picking up toilet paper at Leader Price (and, as it turned out, not even that. I’d later discover that I picked up paper towels by accident).

I knew I wasn't being a very good tourist, and with my limited time in the city I needed to get moving. I decided I'd take bus 96 to the Hotel de Ville and then walk up to the Pompidou Centre, which was the number one thing on my list that I'd missed on my first trip to Paris.

But first, I stopped in at the Parmentier metro station to buy a carnet of tickets. The RATP employee at the wicket was a young woman who was also very beautiful- it was a little startling to see someone like that behind the plexiglass in a public transit uniform. She, too, smiled and said "bonne journee" after I thanked her for the tickets. I was beginning to get a taste of how things would be during my stay in the 11th. I didn’t feel glum at all anymore.

Carnet in hand, I headed back up and out of the metro station, and walked a block or two to over the bus stop. I never waited more than a couple of minutes for bus 96. It was a quick 10 or 15 minute ride to the Hotel de Ville, and it was fun watching the city go by the bus wound its way down through the Marais.

The other people on the bus where much like the people on the street; a mix of young and old, sharply dressed and shabby. One thing I found to be true of ALL Parisians during this trip, while riding the subway or the bus, was that they are extremely polite and soft-spoken. A few young people may be on their mobiles, but they speak in tones barely above a whisper. The slightest accidental nudge into another passenger and immediately an apology is offered with "pardon".

Manners, cleanliness, efficiency- public transportation in Paris is a joy. I marveled at it every time I rode the metro or the bus. RATP, je t'aime.

I didn't have any problem with getting off the bus at the right stop for a couple of reasons. One, the bus has an automated voice that announces each upcoming stop. Two, Hotel de Ville is a main stop so there is always someone else getting off there. I stepped off the bus and immediately felt that hum of energy you get in downtown areas of big cities. I *love* that hum.

I was also no longer an outsider- other tourists from every part of the world were everywhere. I didn't feel conspicuous at all as I hauled out my camera and started snapping shots of the Hotel de Ville. In some ways this was comforting, but in other ways it was a bit distasteful at the same time.

Still, I enjoyed wandering around the square, where an old-fashioned, Mary Poppins type carousal had been set up. Kids of all nationalities thought it was a blast. So did a few teenagers and parents.

I took note of the famous BHV department store looming in the background. I'd read so much about it here on Fodors that I knew I had to go inside and take a look around. I was tempted to walk over right then and there, but reason prevailed- I realized I wouldn't want to be dragging any purchases I might make around with me in the Pompidou Centre.

Instead I headed off for a quick walk to circle the Tour St Jacques, then doubled back and set off for the Pompidou Centre. I approached it the back way, by walking up Rue de Renard, and circling around the building. There was a lot of scaffolding round back, where the entrance to the Bibliotheque can be found. There were quite a few people heading into the library, students mainly by the look of them.

Finally I made my way around and saw the front of the Pompidou Centre for the first time. I loved loved loved it, both the design and the sheer size. I kept wandering around the front, staring up and not paying attention to where I was walking. A few times I almost bumped into the human statue/hula-hoop guy who was striped down to his shorts and wearing gold body paint. He'd alternate between doing the human statue and doing this hula-hoop routine. Did he think he was in a Scissor Sisters video? I was starting to think that I had just walked into one myself.

Of course all the little kids who were around loved it. When he went into human statue mode it was like the kids got hypnotized, they would get really still, almost like they were afraid to move, and they would stare at him really intently. When he hula-hooped, the kids would relax again and start running around. The whole thing was starting to freak me out in a Pied Piper meets the Cuckoo's Nest sort of way. It was time I skeedadled on into the museum.

There was a steady stream of people going inside. There were the ubiquitous guards at the door, of course, looking in people's bags. I made it through and got in the ticket line, which seemed long but moved quite steadily. I think I was in line for about 10 minutes. When one of the ticket windows came free, I walked up and bought a 4 day Museum Pass from this hunky looking guy- what was it with all these gorgeous people behind plexiglass today?

Riding the escalators was a thrill- what a view! I decided to ride all the way to the top before doubling back down to the fourth floor. I entered the Museum, and then easily found the staircase to the fifth floor. I then spent the next three hours or so in heaven.

The Pompidou Centre

Now, from what I can tell, the Pompidou Centre doesn't seem to be such a smash hit for some posters. I am not one of those posters. The only thing better than the outside of the Pompidou Centre is the art collection found inside. It's so good, it's ridiculous.

My Blue Guide describes the modern art collection on the fifth floor like this: "Works by all major artists of the first half of the 20th century, from Matisse to Gemaine Richier, are in the collections, representing the major movements of the period from Fauvism to Art Brut. There are also extensive collections of architecture and design."

I describe it like this: "Heaven."

I began a love affair with Andre Derain at the Pompidou (and continued the affair after having my feelings confirmed the next day at the l'Orangerie), but I think my favourite piece may have been Fernand Leger’s La Noce. Of course it’s impossible to have just one. I also particularly enjoyed the Braques, Picassos, and Chagalls.

Not everyone in the museum was enjoying their day as much as I, however. One middle-aged couple in particular stands out in my mind. She looked bewildered and grumpy. He was looking bewildered and defeated.

"This 'un here's a Picasso," he said, in an apparent attempt to be helpful. God forgive me but he sounded exactly like Cletus the Hillbilly from the Simpsons.

"I already looked at that one," she said, clearly unimpressed with both the painting *and* her husband.

They left the room, and I don't remember seeing them again after that.

I also had the pleasure of seeing a French school group, probably Grade 4 or 5's, being lead by a museum guide into a gallery, trailed by a couple of teachers. They sat down in front of Joan Miro's The Bull Fight. Their teacher only had to ask them to settle down once before the museum guide began his discussion.

Had any of the students ever been to Spain? Perhaps on holiday with their family? Yes? Perhaps they’ve seen movies or television shows set in Spain. What did they think of when they thought of Spain? Matadors? Bull Fights? Well, this painting was done by...

I had fun eavesdropping and seeing the children gaze up at the painting and hearing them participate in the discussion. They would grow up to have a very different relationship with modern art than the couple I overhead earlier, I thought.

Looks like I'll try Beaubourg next trip. I've avoided it so far because I'm not a fan of modern art but I'm learning to appreciate it (if not love it).

Great description of the bewildered couple and I love to see school groups in museums or other cultural sights. I never had that opportunity growing up.

Your trip report is great. I'm always divided between staying in the midst of the action or going to an area with mostly locals and always choose the former.

Loved the toilet paper/ paper towel confusion. I did that once at home!

What we like best about Pompidou Ctr is the the temporary exhibit. Once it was all about Brancusi. Another time it was a very avant gard walk through installation.

Apres, I love your people-watching skills! Thanks for sharing your observations.

Enjoying your report so much - I've been back about 2 weeks and this is just the pick up I needed from my re-entry depression. We also did a full day at St. Denis - on a Saturday which was market day and also two weddings at the city hall and then we did the basilique. I had to laugh during your photos because I have the very same Islamic approved butcher shop in mine!

The pictures are great, and I'm glad that you alternate the "people" shots with "tourist site" shots -- a lot of the photo galleries posted here just concentrate on the "beautiful" pictures and eliminate the residents of the city and scenes of daily life.

Like many others, I am thoroughly enjoying this trip report.

Do you think the bewildered, grumpy and defeated couple were having their first day of the trip?

You completely captured the feelings and confusion of the first day on the ground, of even the most longed-for trip. The heroic effort of going to the grocery store and ending up with paper towels instead of toilet paper - so typical! Also eating breakfast three meals in a row...

The best thing about the first day is that when I wake up on the second morning everything looks a thousand times better and I am in love with wherever I am staying.

We have to invent a way to make the second day the first day - maybe someday I will be able to adjust like some of the posters on this forum - give up on trying to get any touristing done on the first day. Who am I kidding? I'll never do it.

Keep up the writing and I love the pictures, especially the guy looking at the painting from two inches away. Er...,uuuummmm, I do that myself sometimes - I like to see the tiny details close up.

Baz

For future reference, the Pompidou has a nice bookstore (to your right as you enter).

It's also a great place to see some interesting films and lectures, and it's generally pretty inexpensive. I saw Atom Egoyan's "Citadel", featuring an introduction by him beforehand and a reception afterwards for some very small amount of money (under 10 euro, I'm pretty sure).

I love modern art. I even like a lot of contemporary abstract/instellation art because it's like a game or a puzzle, and fun to piece together.

But anyone who enjoys the Walter-Guillaume collection at the l'Orangerie can find something to like at the Pompidou. Artists represented there (off the top of my head) include Georges Braque, Juan Gris, Picasso, Derain, Chagall, Matisse, Modigliani, Marcel Duchamp, Jackson Pollack, Max Earnst, Joan Miro, Giacometti, Kandisky, Paul Klee, Salvidor dali, even Francis Bacon.

(I've probably made a ton of spelling mistakes-like I see that I've done in the rest of my posts. The only think worse than my spelling is my typing)

My only advice to future visitors interested in those artists is this- remember that the Modern Collection (1900-1960 or so) is on the 5th floor, and the Contemporary Collection (1960 to date) is on the 4th floor.

You can't take the escalator to the 5th floor. You have to go to the 4th floor, enter the museum by showing your pass or ticket that you purchased downstairs on the main level, and then walk straight ahead until you come to a big staircase. Walk up the stairs and you will be on the 5th floor where you will find piece after piece done by the artists I listed above, plus many, many more.

If I rememeber correctly, there is a free pamphlet with a map of the galleries, that should help anyone find a particular artist or work. I didn't use it myself, I went the full monty and checked out every gallery on the floor.

The museum website is also a good planning tool for locating what you want to see. I'd say, if your not a huge fan of modern art, treat the Pompidou like the Louvre and plot out your plan of attack before hand. That way you can avoid getting getting lost or overwhelmed in a sea of stuff you're not really interested in. And who knows, you might make a few surprising discoveries along the way.

Apres - I'm a sculpture fan. Is there much of that at Beaubourg?

Last trip I focused on things I had never done before and smaller museums (post office, Jewish, Bourdelle, Delacroix) and churches. I had my long desire to see the Val de Grace church fulfilled!

Love your report!

I've done the papertowel/toliet paper mistake at home, too. I guess in my excitment at finding something labeled "Ultra Compact", I forgot to squeeze the package to make sure those rolls were seperated in the middle.

I'm glad someone else enjoyed exploring St-Denis. You heard it hear first, folks- palette and apres say, for a fun experience entirely different than wandering St Germain de Pres, go to St Denis on a sunny Saturday in the spring.

And speaking of modern art...that man in the photo, looking at the painting really, really up close? He's not a man. He's an art installation by Jan Fabre at the Louvre. If you look closely, you'll see a big pool of blood collected at his feet. Quite funny, if you ask me.

Hi adrienne! From what I recall, there is some, but the collection is really focused on paintings. And from I remember, most of the sculpture is actually more like "pieces"- ie masks, collage, things done with wire. Not much sculpture, like for instance I'm thinking of Picasso or Henry Moore. There are a couple of Giacometti's. Oh- and of course Germaine Richer.

But I didn't get to the 4th floor contemporary collection, I would imagine that would have more sculpture.

I hadn't heard of the Val de Grace but I just looked it up and it sounds fascinating...something to add to my list for sure!

I wish I could spend a year in Paris with everyday free to do what I wanted. That would be a dream come true, exploring all the little museums and churches, with all the time in the world.

About my photos- I am always interested in people, especially children, but also men-in-uniform type jobs, like maintenance workers and police officers. I also love taking pictures of butchers and meat, which I missed this trip.

A few times, I was sure I would be arrested as a pedophile or a terrorist. I was paranoid that a parent would get angry, what with this stranger taking pictures of their kids. I did my best to be subtle, luckily I didn't seem to freak anyone out. I'm sure if I were man, there is no way I could take half the shots that I did.

I was also paranoid that the police would get suspicious of me, because I took so many photos of the police headquarters, police security checks, police hanging out on a coffee break, etc. Again, who knows, if I wasn't a white woman, maybe I would have actually encountered some trouble.

STRAVINSKY FOUNTAIN & BHV

I was really sorry to leave the Pompidou, but I was getting tired and my feet were sore. I went through the last few galleries fairly quickly, and took a few minutes to freshen up in the washroom before heading back down to the fourth floor. I would have liked to look through the contemporary art collection there, but I was done for the day. I'll have to go back next time.

By that time, the area in front of the Pompidou Centre was packed. I should have taken a photo, to show difference between when I went in and when I came out (I do have a picture up of what the square looked like as I went in)

It reminded me of the campo in Siena.

I headed over to the Stravinsky Fountain, found a spot on a bench, and drank a bottle of water. It was really warm and sunny, like summer, and lots of people including children were out walking and hanging around. The cafes were brimming with people having drinks, and a group of teenagers were playing football in the small square between the fountain and the Eglise St Merri (you can see them in a couple of my pictures)

Paris seems like such a kid-friendly place to me- even the Pompidou Centre had a special exhibit area for children. Kids also seemed to love the Stravinsky Fountain. A lot of them were watching the teenagers' foot ball game with that look of awe young children always have for older kids.

After a while I felt revived enough to walk over to BHV and do a bit of shopping and poking around.

I enjoyed browsing though the table linens. If had a dining-room table, I definitely would have bought myself a tablecloth. What I did buy was a very large, black and white-patterned, square serviette to use as a table covering on one of my small side tables at home. I bought a couple more in different colours and patterns to bring back as gifts. They cost about 10€ each.

You can also get very nice, BHV brand napkins in a wide variety of solid colours about 2-3€ a piece. So there are some nice, inexpensive gifts to be found in BHV. A couple of napkins with some mustard or chocolate from the grocery store would total about 10€, and makes for a very nice and colourful gift.

I zoomed up to the toy department, and bought a couple of sets of Asterix play figures, again to bring home for gifts. They come in a sort of plastic tube, full of plastic figures. There were two choices- 'regular' Asterix, and Asterix at the Olympics (of course).

They cost approx 20-25€ a set, with the Olympics costing a couple of euro more than the regular. Needless to say you can't find Asterix toys in North America. Well, actually you can but they are very expensive and tend to be more for collectors than real toys for children.

I also had fun looking in the kitchen appliance section. Everything looked so small to my North American eyes, I almost felt as though as I were in Legoland. Tiny ovens, little refrigerators, teensy-weensy washing machines and dishwashers. There was a section with a few big, American sized appliances.

It was also fun looking at all the shopping bags for sale. The wheeled shopping bags come in every colour imaginable, even trendy prints like camouflage. I think the shopping bag section was as big as the appliance section.

Again, this was so different from the way things are at home. Here in Canada, wheeled shopping bags are sort of associated with the elderly and the poor. It's expected you’ll have either a car or a delivery service, no need to go wheeling your groceries around behind you on a bus, although for some reason carrying them home in plastic bags is acceptable.

For 5€ I bought a very lightweight, polyester tote bag that folds up into nothing and comes with a little carrying pouch. A German brand name called Reisenthel (made in China).

I wish I had kept the little label that says how much weight and volume it carries but believe me, it's a lot. I was a bit dubious at first because the bags look sort of flimsy, but I would find out that it is in fact quite strong and holds a lot more than I would have thought. Now I wish I had bought more than one.

The other section of BHV I browsed was the kitchen stuff- pots, pans, cutlery, kitchen gadgets, dishes, teapots, bodums. The pots and pans were all very high quality. I would have enjoyed nothing more than to go on a spree, but it was the same old thing...how would I ever carry that stuff home? And where would I put it all once I got there?

I decided I'd better get going. I am VERY susceptible to all the marketing tricks in the shops- the lights, the presentation, the drugs they must gas you with from the air ventilation system.

Let's put it this way: I’ll be at the airport at home, killing time by browsing in the stores, and after a while I'll start handling the toy stuffed beavers dressed in Mounties uniforms and think "these are sooooo cute. There must be SOMEONE I know who would just love one...and maybe a box of those chocolate moose dropping to go with it"

When that happens, I know it's time for me to put whatever it is in my hands down and leave the premises immediately.

I had my cotton linen napkins, my Asterix toys, my shopping bag, which were all lightweight and easy to pack. I didn't need anything else. And I was tired and hungry. So I left BHV and walked along Rue de Rivoli, wondering where I was supposed to catch the 96 bus back home since this was a one way street going in the opposite direction of where I needed to go.

That's when a bus came rumbling along on the sidewalk, and I realized I wasn't actually on a sidewalk, but a narrow little bus lane. RATP, je t'aime.

The bus wasn't a 96, but now that I knew what was what and had spied a bus stop I could stop worrying. I ducked into a Franprix to pick up some lettuce, tomatoes, and soft mozzarella for dinner. It was quite busy, this being the after-work rush hour, and the line-ups at the cash where long.

The guy in front of me held up the line by making a fuss about not getting the right change- it was a few centimes short. The guy behind me sighed and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. For the first time since landing in Paris, I felt right at home. There are people who will gladly hold up a long line of tired, hungry people on their way home from work at the grocery store for 20 cents all over the world. And all over the world, all the other people in the line up hate them.

I rode the bus home, but before going back to the apartment made two quick stops. First, I walked over to a flower shop I had noticed earlier, and bought a potted plant of purple flowers. The shop was owned and run by an older Chinese couple, and they were very sweet and helpful.

Then, I went into one of the two bakeries down the road from the apartment, stood in a short line, and bought a baguette. It was still warm- they must have made a fresh batch for the after work crowd. I couldn't wait to get home and sink my teeth into my first baguette of the trip.

And yes, the bread was heavenly. No one does bread like the French. Crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside, the perfect mild tang of yeast, nothing comes close to a real French baguette.

I made a salad with red leaf lettuce, tomatoes, and mozzarella, all drenched in balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and tore off piece and after piece of baguette. It was starving, and it was delicious.

For anyone on a tight budget or just looking to reduce costs while traveling, please know you can eat very well in Paris for next to nothing. You won't be depriving yourself if you don’t eat in a restaurant every night, and if you’re like me and are happy to make do with simple meals, you can save a lot of money while enjoying wonderful vegetables, fruit, cheese, and of course that wonderful bread.

SATURDAY

St Denis

I slept like a log Friday night and woke up to another clear, sunny day on Saturday. My plan for the day was to take the metro up to St Denis to see the basilica.

Then I thought I’d go to the Musee l’Orangerie in the afternoon, and then attend a free cello concert at the eglise St Merri later that evening. I never did make it to the concert, however, because I ended up spending far more time in St Denis than I had originally anticipated.

I got a bit of a late start that morning, and left the apartment around 9:30am. About an hour later I was walking up the steps of Basilique St Denis. It may not look like much from the front outside, but this church is truly magnificent. There were a couple of handfuls of other tourists, but none that were English-speaking as far as I could tell. Quite a number of them were French, in fact.

I spent a happy hour or so wandering in the main part of the basilica, which is free to visit. Then I followed the sign out the side door, to the little modern ticket kiosk outside.
My museum pass gave me free admission to the crypt. The young girl at the kiosk asked me where I was from. I said Canada. She entered this into her computer, "Canada...Anglophone." Then she smiled and wished me a bonne journee.

They must have been taking a survey. I don't know if they were only recording the stats of tourists with museum passes, or all visitors.

I should emphasize that, when visiting the basilica, make sure you look for this side door. There is a little iron gate separating the front part of the church from the crypt, so one can see all the crypt statuary from the front, and I saw more than one person trying to open the gate to get to the good stuff behind it.

No can do. You have to go out the side door, and the ticket booth is a little to the left. Even people who were outside right by the booth were having trouble.

One woman who was with her mother asked me in French if I knew where to pay for the kings’ tombs. I summed my skills and directed her to the ticket booth. She said in accented English, sounding very surprised, "Oh! You don’t speak French?"

Guilty as charged. I made a mental note to look into some conversational French classes once I got home. I was going to tell her no, I was a tourist from Canada, but then I didn't want to bring shame on my country. Instead I said no, just a little bit, I'm very sorry.

She and her mother were quite nice ladies, they smiled and thanked me and went on their way. I wasn't sure what further reaction to expect. I think I forgot to mention that the day before, in BHV, while paying for my stuff, the man at the register asked me if I needed a gift receipt.

I said no, thank you. He then went on to say something that I didn't understand at all. I had to apologize and tell him I didn't understand, I didn't speak much French. He sort of went "Ah..." and nodded his head gently. A paternal expression of slight pity came to his face, as if I had just told him I was mildly retarded.

He didn't say another word, but all of his movements slowed down. He handed me back my change very carefully, and then put my purchases in a bag and presented me with the handle. He only smiled when I thanked him. I felt like I was about four years old.

Howled laughing at this latest entry-- can totally relate, only sometimes they will raise the voice a decibel or two as they slow-mo the e-nun-ci-a-tion, as well.

Thanks for a great read!

This is a great read! I feel just like I was in Paris again. "...as if I were mildly retarded." LOL

Better that than the person holding up the front of the line at the grocery.

I loved your photos with "real" people. So much better than all beautiful buildings all the time.

Thank you for your report.

Really enjoying your report. It's like being there again. I put a return trip to Paris together with help from this board a few years ago. As a solo, I recognize: feeling a little blue at times, afraid of being mistaken as a predator if I photographed children for too long, stocking my little frig from local markets, but I love hearing what makes the trip uniquely yours. Keep it coming!

Last October I remember having quite a few meals of tomato and cucumber salad and slides of ham with bread, of course. You're right that you can eat inexpensively in Paris, just like at home.

Thanks for the tip about St. Denis. I was there quite a few years ago and I'm putting it on my itinerary for my next trip.

Oh, that last entry had me laughing as well!

However, it's not just the French. Years ago we were in Mexico visiting my then-father-in-law and my Spanish was not yet very good. He used to try to communicate in verrrry slooowww sign language, as if I were not just unable to speak Spanish but mentally retarded as well.

Of course, I have since seen people here in the US practically yelling at non-English speakers as if not speaking English means they are also hard of hearing. Somehow it is more charming when done by a Frenchman or a Mexican.

I spent quite a few moments on this trip feeling mildly retarded, but then who I am kidding? I feel that way at home.

The royal tombs at the St Denis Basilica are fascinating, and anyone with an interest in history should make them a top priority in Paris. I spent a good two hours wondering through this part of the basilica, and was delighted to discover lots of old graffiti scratched into some of the statues. I love graffiti to begin with, but when it's centuries old I get a real thrill. I should put up some photos, even thought they didn't turn out super great.

Speaking of which, when I was going through my pictures deciding which ones to put up online, I noticed a strange thing in a couple of my photos from St Denis.

In one, I caught a guy sort of grabbing his crotch. Nice, I thought. Perfect timing, Apres.

Then again, another one of a guy with his hand at his crotch. I must have a special talent or something.

Then I looked a little more closely and saw it was the same guy in both pictures. I looked again and realized the guy grabbing his crotch was Vladimir Putin.

Not THE Vladimir Putin. MY Vladimir Putin.

My Vladimir Putin is a weirdo I encountered at St Denis, and I call him that because he looks a lot like...(you guessed it)...Vladimir Putin.

That I inadvertently caught him more than once on camera with his hand so suspiciously positioned makes me go ewwww. But I need to back up a little before I get into my Vladimir Putin story.

When I first came up from the metro in St Denis and walked to the basilica, I took note of my surrounding right away.

Things were shabbier here, the buildings not so attractive or well maintained. The main street that runs down the centre of the town was full of people-white, brown, and black; fat and thin; young and old. Definately working class.

The street was lined with discount stores, halal food shops, and take-away windows. A few non-descript, busy cafes spilled out into the public square in front of the basilica. There were cars and vespas zooming around at a pace more akin to the traffic as I remembered it in Florence.

There was a certain kind of intensity and energy in St Denis, very different from that in my neighborhood in Paris, and very different from that in the Marais.

I took an instant liking to St Denis and knew right away I would do some exploring once I done touring the basilica.

I had a lot of fun walking down the main street in this carnival atmosphere. The delicious scent of roasted meat wafted from the doner kebap windows. Sometimes music would blare from the front of the shops, or from a passing car. Groups of teenage girls in tight jeans and heavy make-up shopped in groups at the discount clothing and shoe stores. Mothers pushed their babies in strollers, surrounded by their other children who skipped and played as they followed along.

People made an effort to flag down anyone they saw whom they knew- when friends and acquaintances ran into each other, they shook hands (the men) or kissed (the woman) and they always stopped to chat for several minutes. I was so taken by all this, I was snapping pictures like crazy.

One thing I did find a little unnerving was the staring men. In the midst of all this buoyancy were lots of men, young and old, sometimes alone and sometimes in groups, always with an intense look on their face and and always staring.

You can see this look in a couple of my pictures- men staring directly into the camera.

During my entire time in St Denis, I had several pairs of eyes looking at me exactly like that. They don't try to hide it, or look away if you meet their gaze. And it wasn't just young men but old men too, with grey beards and leathery skin.

Sometimes the old men had the slightest (and I do mean slight) glimmer of humour in their eyes. Not so with the young men. They were always dead straight and serious.

It was unnerving, but on the busy streets full of families I never felt unsafe or even all that uncomfortable. I walked the length of the main centre street, then tuned to the right and walked up the length of a parallel street that wasn't so busy, not a shopping street but more residential with apartment buildings and more traffic zooming down the road.

I wandered a bit through some side streets that connected to the main centre road. I passed by an old building that has been converted into a covered market- the market was unfortunately closed by the time I walked by. I was getting hungry by this time.

I finally spied a large, impeccably clean and tidy produce store. I thought I'd go in and pick up some fruit. I was putting my camera away as I walked towards the entrance, when suddenly a man in a red coat came running out waving at me, "Bonjour, bonjour!"

He wanted me to come inside and take a picture of the store. He was so warm and genuine, I was happy to come in and take a picture. He yelled to some unseen employees at the back of the shop- "there’s a tourist here, she’s going to take some photos. Fix yourselves up!" We all laughed.

He posed for his photo- I’ve got it up online, it's quite funny- then he suggested I take a picture of the apples, which I did. He was pleased with the results, which I showed him on my camera. I couldn't understand everything he was saying, though I think he wanted me to show the picture to people back home. He hugged me and patted my shoulders, smiling the entire time, and we said our au revoirs and he wished me a bonne journee.

As I walked away from the store, I realized I never bought any fruit for my lunch. Darn.

And yes, I did check my bag and my wallet, I'm a little ashamed to admit. Everything was there and in order, of course.

I was still hungry but in good spirits. I made my way back towards to the main square in front of the basilica. I heard some music, it sounded like folk music, some sort of horn maybe and it sounded live.

As I approached the square, I had to stop and rub my eyes. There, sitting outdoors at one of the cafes having a beer, was a small group of men dressed in white robes and turbans. The slippers on their feet even curled up a bit at the toe.

Now I knew that St Denis had a prominent Muslim population, but this was ridiculous.

I thought I must be hallucinating.

It turned out, however, that I wasn't hallucinaing at all. These men were musicians, and they were playing for a huge Arabic wedding, and the festivities were unfolding over on the front steps of the hotel de ville. As far as I was concerned, I'd struck pay dirt. I knew this was going to be fun, and I was right.

Apres_Londee, I so thoroughly enjoyed reading all your posts. Did you keep a travel journal during your trip?

Your photos are fantastic! it inspires me to do the unordinary.

I have a trip planned to 5 countries in Europe next May. You're an inspiration!

I wasn't the only one hanging around to watch the musicians and the outdoor wedding events. It almost seemed like the entire town had congregated around the square, shopping bags in hand, to see the wedding and listen to the music. Those sitting at the cafe tables had prime spots. Everyone else found benches, ledges, and steps to sit on, or just stood or wondered around.

Sometimes the musicians would start up with their horns even when the wedding party was inside, just to amuse everyone else. Kids in the square loved it, toddlers would start wiggling their bums and kids would start dancing and skipping around.

One older man actually started dancing, he was good doing all this fast foot work. I never would have thought an older man like him would be capable of it. People were cheering, laughing and clapping, and some of the women would make that high pitched yodel, lalalalalalala.

The wedding party would come out on the steps of the hotel de ville every once and a while and obviously the bride and groom were doing some sort ceremonial things outside but it was impossible to see them because they were surrounded by their HUGE wedding party, which was multi-racial and multi-ethnic, a very diverse group of people. Sometimes rice was tossed. At one point they released a pair of white doves.

People applauded, even those who not a part of the wedding but just hanging around watching. It was like a gigantic party where everyone in town was in attendance.

The whole time kids played in the square, football or riding bikes or skateboards or rollerblades or just plain old running around playing tag. There was such a strong sense of community here. Everyone looked happy. There weren't even that many sullen staring men around the square.

I stood for some time near the tables of a shabby little cafe, watching and taking photos. Other people were taking pictures, too so I didn’t feel completely ridiculous or out of place. I know I was smiling the whole time, and I was really enjoying myself. That's when a man who had been hanging around the cafe with a bunch of other guys came over and said bonjour (not Vladimir Putin)

He was black, from Senegal he said and he asked me to take his picture. I was in a good mood and had just come from the friendly and fun experience I had with the man in the red coat at the produce store, so....

I warned him that it was a digital camera- no photo would come out like a Polaroid.

He sounded sincere when he said I could take his picture and then show my friends back home in Canada that I had met someone from Senegal.

He wasn't a dodgy sort, and seemed nice enough. I agreed and took his picture, and we had a chuckle when I showed him the image on the back of my camera. I figured that would be the end of it, like with the red coat man at the produce store.

Senegal man seemed to ask to for a copy of the photo. As his English was as good as my French, we weren't really able to communicate all that smoothly, and I felt a little bad because I though maybe he had misunderstood me.

I apologized and explained to him again that I wouldn't have any photos printed out, it was impossible to give him a copy. He seemed to accept this, and we parted ways, meaning he went back to his friends in the cafe and I stayed where I was watching the wedding party and the crowds.

A few minutes later Senegal man came back. He suggested I come back tomorrow to bring him the photo. My stomach sank. I was pretty sure he understood me when I said there would be no paper photos. Besides, he would know what a digital camera was.

He was asking me to print out the photo and come back to see him. I remained polite and told him no, I was sorry but I wouldn't be coming back this way again. He tried to talk a little more, but I told I didn't understand. He left me alone again. I was kicking myself.

I felt stupid and a little guilty because I knew better than to have agreed to take his photo and chat, no matter how briefly. I was about to move along when seconds later he materialized again. This time there was no pretense about the photo, his face was more serious and he was asking me to come back somewhere with him right now since I wasn't able to come back tomorrow.

I took that as my cue to leave. I said no and shook my head, no longer smiling, and walked away. I felt like the world's stupidest girl. It was embarrassing to have been so naive, and I hoped not too many people witnessed our exchange. I could just imagine other people rolling their eyes at the stupid white girl tourist.

That's when Vladimir Putin made his first approach- this strange little middle-aged white man who darted in front of me muttering something about taking his picture.

No way.

I shook my head and kept walking. Now I was more than a little annoyed. I thought about the vendors at the market the day before, the ones who were staring and calling out.

They seemed so especially benign now. At least they had a sense of humour and did what they did in fun. And I remembered how I regretted leaving the market, too shy to buy anything. I didn't really want to leave St Denis just yet. I wanted to keep looking around, and the wedding was still in full swing.

I decided I wouldn't give up just yet. I decided to leave the square for now and walk around the area to the left of the basilica.

Before I made it around the corner, Vladimir Putin swooped in for another try. More muttering. I said "Non, non, non" and waved him away and ignored him and kept walking. He quickly darted out of view, like an insect.

My decision to stay and wonder down the street on the other side was a good one. This was a narrow, crooked little street, not too busy but still with people about.

Lots more serious staring men, but none approached me so what did I care? I took a million photographs and my good mood was restored.

I saw an Islamic bookshop that sold religious and scholarly texts. Outside there was a spinning carousel of postcards, each depicting a single Arabic hieroglyphic done in blue ink calligraphy. They were beautiful, and I wanted one for a souvenir.

I peered through the window of the shop. At the cash was a thin young man who looked severely intellectual. He had a studious, handsome face and skin the colour of coffee and cream. He wore thick chunky glasses and a kufi, and his head was bent down in front of a book.

The shop looked as quiet and reverential as a library. I may as well have been staring through the looking glass. There was no way I could barge in there with my bad French and my fists stuffed with postcards, dusty and sweaty with my hair down around my shoulders and melting red lipstick on my mouth.

It would be a travesty to violate that cool, studied atmosphere. I just couldn't do it. I sighed and put the postcards back. I wish I could have taken a picture of the young man through the window, but it just wasn't possible.

Thank you, fieldtripcoordinator- you must be looking forward to your trip for next May, what countries are you planning to visit?

I didn't keep an actual diary or journal because I'm too lazy, but I did jot down notes so I could remember little things that struck me, conversations I overheard and the like.

These posts here are pretty much just me rambling on (and on and on and on) and I know I'd better start cutting the fat and speed it up and spit it out already. I never shut up once I start talking in real life, either.

I really didn't do anything or go anywhere out of the ordinary on this trip, and my itinerary was far from action packed. But being alone and trying to do the trip as low budget as possible afforded me some opportunities that I otherwise would have never had. Nothing big and splashy, but little things.

It is indeed possible to get flustered from just one unfortunate encounter, but I'm sure you saw how quickly the incident is put aside, if not completely forgotten.

It's one of the reasons that I carry my camera in a ratty plastic bag in certain places and just whip it out from time to time for a quick photo.

I enjoyed the 'people' photos, too, but have always been too self-conscious to take photos of people where I thought they would notice me doing so. It seems intrusive somehow, and I thought there was some privacy/legality related to it in France?

Another interesting thing I saw on this street was a hookah bar, with tables and chairs outside on the sidewalk. And this wasn't some trendy place for Nathan Barleys either. A few men sat at the tables outside, smoking and staring. Again, I would have loved to take a picture but didn't dare.

I returned to the square and decided to find a seat on a bench when who should pop up but Vladimir Putin. This guy was getting on my nerves. He was easy enough to wave off, but the problem was that he kept coming back.

I drank some water and ate a half-melted zone bar I found at the bottom of my bag. The sun was hot. I people watched and took pictures. Vladimir Putin darted by a few more times, always the same thing. As if I had changed my mind in the 10 minutes since he last asked me to take his picture.

The wedding party had broken up, and families were starting to go home. It was after 4pm and I had been in St Denis since 10am that morning. I had also had enough of Vladimir Putin. It was time to leave. I figured I could still make the Musee l'Orangerie if I hurried.

While walking to the metro station, I turned back to look at the square one more time and that's when I saw that Vladimir Putin was following me. He saw me notice him and he zigzagging off to one side, in that weird, insect-like walk he had.

When I stopped to take some photos of kids playing basketball, there he was again. This was getting tiresome. As I walked, I would around every once and a while and there he would be. This was just what I needed. He even approached me again, this time muttering how I was "tres belle" and how he would like to -

"Non, non, non!" I kept repeating. He was starting to really creep me out. I flipped open my cell phone and pretended to make a call. Thankfully he scattered away.

I kept the phone to my ear as I came up to the metro entrance. I looked around. No sign of him. I wasn't reassured. Vladimir Putin had a bad habit of appearing out of nowhere.

The metro steps were empty, with no other people coming up or going down. I knew it was a bit of a long walk through the tunnel to the train tracks. I looked around again. No Vladimir Putin to be seen.

He was relatively short, and not at all muscular. I'm almost 5'9", and my legs are pretty strong. It was a one in a gazillion chance, but if worst came to absolute worst, I was sure I could take him on. Well, sure enough, at least, to calm somewhat the alarm bells going off in my stomach.

I was hot, I hadn't had enough to eat, and for the first and only time on the trip I was actually nervous about my safety. And I was angry at myself too, because it was all my own doing. I am sure Vladimir Putin saw me with the man from Senegal.

Well, the metro stairs weren't getting any more populated, so there was no sense in waiting. I was going to miss the l'Orangerie if I hung around much longer. That gave me a push, the thought of missing the l'Orangerie because I allowed myself to get too scared to go down into the metro because of someone as stupid and ridiculous as Vladimir Putin.

I made my way down, glancing over my shoulder every few steps. When I reached the bottom I looked ahead and breathed a huge sigh of relief- I wasn’t alone.

There was an old Maghreb man with a turban and brown leathery skin and kind brown eyes selling what looked like produce from a garden. He was sitting on the floor with a make-shift table in front of him and handwritten signs indicating what he had for sale and at what price. He didn't stare. He had a gentle air about him.

With a sense of gratitude I bought two small cantaloupes. I handed over my money. He gestured and put a coin back into my hand, smiling. I had overpaid. The melons were two for 2€, not 2€ each.

He had a face like a kind grandfather. I knew instinctively he wouldn't let anything terrible happen to me. If Vladimir Putin showed up, I'd have nothing to worry about.

Feeling much better, I made it to the metro tracks without any problems. I was home-free and feeling more than a little silly for having been so nervous. It wasn't until I got home (I mean home home) that I realized I have a couple of photos of Vladimir Putin grabbing his crotch. So I have some lovely souvenirs to remember him by.

MUSEE L'ORANGERIE

I was tired after my day in St Denis, but I was determined to make it to the Musee l'Orangerie that afternoon.

Of course I walked in the wrong direction after coming up from the Concorde metro station, and this stressed me out because it was after 5pm and I worried about the time.

I was also dying of thirst- I stopped in a tabac on rue de Rivoli and bought a bottle of spring water. I over-paid (again!) and again my mistake was corrected with a smile. So twice in one day someone had the opportunity to make a couple of extra euros off a dumb tourist, but didn't.

I finally made it into the museum, doing my best not to visibly limp. I needed to sit down. I headed directly to Monet's Waterlilies and found a spot on the bench. There were other tourists but the museum was far from crowded. I think it was about 5:30pm.

It was a lovely spot to refresh, cool and quiet and surrounded by those beautiful paintings. I loved seeing people's reactions as they entered the gallery, especially one group of three tittering American teenaged girls whose mouths literally fell open and whose eyes actually bulged as they walked in and saw the paintings. They were speechless. For several minutes. That first look on their faces was priceless.

After 15 or 20 minutes I was good to get going through the rest of the museum. Knowing my time was short I decided to bypass the very pretty (but perhaps somewhat dull) Renoirs in the hallway and headed directly to the good stuff around the corner.

Once again, I was transported to heaven by what I saw.

Once again, I overheard a silly English-speaking tourist in front of a Picasso. This time it a younger guy announcing to his female companion, in all seriousness, "You know some of his stuff isn’t all that bad."

I'm sure I shot him a dirty look. Me, I loved the Picassos, especially "Woman with Comb". I loved the Derains. I loved the Modiglianis.

But most of all, I loved the Chaim Soutines.

I was envious of the museum employee who got to sit in his chair and gaze at those Soutines all day. And in that gallery he could be quite lazy, no telling people to turn off their flash or to stop leaning in so close to the paintings because 99% of the people in the museum just walked by the Soutines without giving them a second glance.

It was as though that gallery was an exit through-way.

It really annoyed me, seeing everyone ignore Soutine like that. I wanted to pull those people back and scream, "Are you blind? This is the best painter in the whole museum!"

(It's possible I may have gotten a little too much sun in St Denis)

The museum was starting to close up when I left. It was beautiful outside. I found a spot on a bench to give my feet another rest. Then I walked back over the Concorde metro station, taking picture of the Jardin Tuleries and the Place de Concorde along the way.

To my surprise, at one point I heard what was by now a familiar refrain at my side- a male voice calling "bonjour, madame!"....or was it mademoiselle? I can't remember, but it was getting tiresome. I didn't turn around, just walked away.

I was much too tired to go to the concert at St Merri that night. All I wanted to do was go home, have a shower, eat dinner, and relax, so that’s exactly what I did.

Travelnut, I did my best to be discrete when I was taking "people shots" (zoom lens feature on my Canon came in handy for that)Usually I would take street shots and then zoom in on someone interesting. They were taken very quickly, and I have a million shots, many of them botched attempts. Most of the ones I kept and put online aren't so great.

I'd also take a bunch of photos all around the person I was hoping to get, so when I aimed at them it didn't seem so obvious (I hoped). No one seemed fazed by it. There were many, many shots I would have loved to have taken, but knew I couldn't without being obvious or rude, so I didn't.

Kerouac, I did indeed put the incident aside, though I was more annoyed at myself than anything because it was my own fault. I've chalked it up to experience and a silly memory.

I love your writing! Please continue.

Soutine's daughter lives in the same corridor as my mother in her nursing home. She paints in her wheelchair all day. I don't know what happens to all of the paintings. She has no financial resources, and she receives no visits.

What a sad, sad thing to hear. And so strange to think that someone here more or less knows Chaim Soutine's daughter.

I know very little about Soutine. I did a google search and it took me some time but I finally found this article written for the Smithsonian Magazine in 1988:

http://tinyurl.com/53hjko

The only mention of his daughter is this: "An affair with a Russian Jewish model produced a daughter, but he refused to support the child."

I would imagine she had a very hard life.

I wonder if her mother ever married, and how did she survive the holocaust? I can't stop imaging it, this lonely old woman in a wheelchair painting canvases like crazy all day long. What a story she must have to tell.

Back to Soutine himself, I like this quote from the Smithsonian article:

"A visitor to the Musee de l'Orangerie...will feel the power and fury of Soutine like nowhere else on Earth."

I'm making a plea to anyone who is planning a visit to the l'Orangerie-please remember to pause a while in the Chaim Soutine gallery, and take a good look at the paintings there.

I know they knocked the breath out of me.

Thanks for sharing so many of your personal thoughts and reactions; I really enjoyed reading about your adventures in St. Denis. Now I'm off to the Orangerie website to see if they have pictures of the Soutines that I must have under-appreciated while concentrating on those pretty Renoirs in the hallway.

Apres, I just had a chance to catch up on your very informative and enjoyable report. I loved your portraits of everyday and not so everyday people and your inclination to concentrate on places you especially enjoyed rather than impossibly trying to see everything. I look forward to meeting you at the Toronto GTG in August.

Today, I attended the Mother's Day festivities in the nursing home. Tomorrow is Mother's Day in France, so the nursing home does it a day early, since a few mothers will actually be taken out by their children tomorrow. Today there was one old lady in tears. "I'm looking for my son!" I don't think her son ever came. He might not even be alive. Who knows?

Anyway, I just wanted to say that Anna Soutine was there in her wheelchair. She's a very nice lady, but absolutely nobody ever visits her except for the professional volunteer visiting people. She said hello to me and I said hello to her, as usual. The nursing home does really good foie gras canapés, little crab cakes, smoked salmon triangles and 20 other little goodies... and then they bring out the little desserts. The champagne flows well beyond reason.

I am just happy that nursing homes in Paris understand there there is no reason to deprive old people of good things, and that there is absolutely no reason to force them to consume only things that are good for them.

I would have liked to say to Anna Soutine that people still greatly admire her father all over the world, but I don't even know if she remembers her father.

Oh, I know I'm guilty as far as the Renoirs are concerned. I do think the nudes are beautiful. If I had more time I would have made a better effort, but I was itching to get to the other stuff. And the Soutines were such a surprise for me, I'm glad I had time to spend in that gallery.

I've gone mad for Soutine. I'm currently trying to convince one of my girlfriends to come down with me to Philadelphia to see the Barnes Collection. And for anyone interested, there is a special Soutine exhibit in Basel right now until sometime in July.

I've learned a bit more about Soutine's daughter- her name actually isn't Anna but very close-she would have been 14 yrs old when Soutine died. He never did officially acknowledge her, and from what I gather in the 1950's she made an application to be recognized as his legal successor, and was turned down by the court because she was "illegitimate".

She did receive some financial support from the son of one of Soutine's friends in her old age, but I imagine he would be dead now. It is quite sad, in fact it's terrible to think that certain people had hoards of these very valuable Soutines after the war and knew about his daughter (whom it seems he did surreptitiously and sporatically support)and did nothing to help her.

I am mad for Soutine, but what an utter berk he was for doing do this to his only child. By all rights, she should be a millionaire. I am glad to hear, though, that she and her fellow residents are receiving good care and such good food.

Someone ought to write a book about her, or make a film.

Great report! Thanks for posting.

Apres_Londee, I sure hope you are not finished with your trip report! Please....ramble on...

We are spending ten days in Italy, ten in England, three in Paris, and two in Switzerland (dh and ds want to ski at Zermatt). Germany was in the mix, but we've decided to take trains rather than drive. I don't want to fall into the "If-this-is-Tuesday-then-this-must-be-Belgium" trap.

I'm a lazy journaler, too. I'll have to remember to write down the things that impress me. I hope I can produce a trip report as lively as yours...although I don't think I want to encounter Vladimir!

Apres - have you been to the Barnes? It's wonderful. I went last weekend for the second time. I only remember seeing one Soutine but he's not my favorite; if I didn't know the artist by looking at the painting I didn't usually bother looking for the name. I spent the time trying to find the relationships among the works grouped together which is how the collection is laid out. I feel I learned so much from this trip to the Barnes.

Do you know of a list of what works are at the Barnes?

>>>We are spending ten days in Italy, ten in England, three in Paris, and two in Switzerland (dh and ds want to ski at Zermatt)<<<

I would so love to spend 4 weeks in Europe. Last year I did three weeks with my mom, dad, and sister (some England, some Germany, Florence, and London)

There were a couple of moments where we nearly all strangled each other, but we had a great time. Mom and dad were ready to come home at the end of the three weeks- I could have happily stayed much longer, specifically in Florence- one week was not enough, I was just getting into the rhythm of things and then we had to leave.

>>>have you been to the Barnes?<<<

No, sadly. And it doesn't look I will be, at least in the immediate future. I know very little about Barnes or the collection, only that there are some Picassos and other pieces I would love to see, including the Soutines.

Did Barnes himself dictate how the paintings should be shown? It would be interesting, seeing pieces grouped in a particular way and trying to figure out their relationship, or one person's ideas on their relationship. Like a puzzle.

I do want to finish this trip report, mainly because I'm bad at finishing what I start but also because I'm now officially sick with longing for Paris. I hate not being in Paris. It's no fun at all.

I so understand. When I came home from my month in Paris I was totally depressed for months! I was trying to figure out how to stay longer but couldn't. I think I'm a city person but am stuck in the burbs.

I was thinking about doing a trip report from my visit to the Barnes. Yes...he placed all the artwork himself for particular reasons and it's not supposed to be moved from its arrangement. Alas...the collection will move but I hope the placement will remain intact.

Finish this report please!!

Okay, trying to finish this off and not ramble on so much...

SUNDAY

LOUVRE: Northern School Paintings (and Jan Fabre installations)and the Babylon Exhibit

On Sunday morning I took the metro to the Louvre. Museum Pass in hand, I got off at Palais Royal Musee du Louvre and followed a small herd of people to the Passage Richelieu. The line was fairly short, made up mostly of a group of American high school students. Security checks went smoothly, and I was inside the museum in about 10 minutes time.

I headed over to the Richelieu wing because I knew as soon as I booked this trip that I wanted to tour the galleries of the so-called Northern School Paintings. This one area alone is enormous, bigger and with more masterpieces than many major museums alone. I spent about 3 hours and loved every minute of it, even the sometimes retarded but almost always amusing installations done by Jan Fabre (shown until July 7, 2008)

I could seriously go on and on about Albrecht Durer and Rembrandt, but I will restrain myself. My only tip is, study before you go- something like the Louvre website or the Blue Guide or something that tells you exactly where pieces are hung/kept, so you can find the things you want to see.

Also, be aware that a lot of incredible pieces are hung in pokey little dark corners that people never even notice. Something that would be the star piece of any other museum will be tucked away somewhere almost as an afterthought in the Louvre- the place is that big and that chalk full of treasure. So keep your eyes open or you might miss something good.

My original plan was to go back to the Louvre the next day, on Monday, to see the Babylon Exhibit. After I was done in the Northern School galleries, I headed over to the ticket machines. I thought I'd be clever and purchase my ticket for the exhibit ahead of time. It was only after the machine spit out my receipt that I realized it never asked me what day I wanted the ticket for. I looked down at my ticket and yep, it was valid for that day only.

So it looked like I was spending the day at the Louve. I was starving, though, and went to have lunch at the self serve cafeteria first.

The self-serve caf isn't so hot, but it's not completely horrible either. I got a slice of pizza and a salad, and bought 3 bottles of water thinking I was being smart and planning ahead.

Turns out the caf has a self-serve tap water station, complete with jugs and glasses. You just help yourself, and you can fill up your empty water bottle before you leave. I don’t normally drink tap water at home but I was impressed with the tap water in Paris- it tastes very clean and quite good. So don’t be hasty like I was, stocking up on bottled water- take advantage of the tap water while you eat and remember to fill up your empties before you go.

The Babylon Exhibit is excellent. It's a joint project between the Louvre, the British Museum, and the Staatliche Museum in Berlin. It just finished in Paris, and will open in Berlin from June 26, 2008 to October 5, 2008.

Then it moves on to London on November 13, 2008 to March 15, 2009, where apparently the exhibit will be smaller and more narrowly focused on the ancient city only, due to limited space and IMO perhaps political reasons.

The Babylon exhibit as I saw it in Paris and as it will be presented in Berlin, encompasses not only ancient history but architecture, art, film, military history, literature, mythology, religious studies, all up to more or less the present day.

The first part of the exhibit focuses on the artifacts and history of Babylon- then it goes on to examine how Babylon became mythologized in Western society.

There are medieval illuminated Christian texts, and medieval Torahs and Korans; there are paintings and drawings from Brugel to Blake; there are excerpts of an old silent film playing- the story of the collapse of Babylon, a real honest to goodness melodrama with a supporting cast of what must have been thousands. There are sketches done by Frank Lloyd Wright; there are the first aerial photographs of the ruins of the ancient city taken during WWI, and pages of diaries of soldiers describing what it looked like and the things they found from the site. All this is presented within the context of what’s happening to the excavation site of Babylon and its priceless archeological wealth today (and yes it’s a travesty and a tragedy)

To sum up, if you can’t find something in this exhibit that interests you, check your pulse because you might already be dead. I highly recommend it.

After spending way too much time like a zombie in the gift shop, I freshened up in the washroom, and then sat for a few minutes on a bench near the coat check so I could look at my Michelin atlas and have a drink of water.

As I sat, a couple of other people came and went, sitting down beside me, doing the same sort of thing (checking their bag, looking at their map, making a phone call, putting their feet up for a few minutes, that sort of thing).

The last of these was a guy who I figured was another tourist- young, clean cut, better dressed than a backpacker and in fact he had no backpack.

I got the sense that he wanted to say something to me, but I already was getting up to leave. Sorry guy, you'll have to ask someone else for directions, or a restaurant recommendation, or to take your photo under the pyramid.

Okay- here is a major digression but since this topic gets discussed so much here, I'll take a moment to say that I have a theory about people who get asked for directions...

My theory is, there are just some people who will always be approached by other people and get asked for directions, no matter what they look like or how they are dressed. It has nothing to do with "looking like a local". It's just one of those things you have no control over, like your height or eye colour. You're either one of those people who always get approached, or you're not. It must be karma.

And guess which category I fall into?...

So this is something I've pretty much come to expect every time I leave the house, and the guy on the bench at the Louvre seemed like another one of these people who mistook me for a walking information booth and figured he'd ask me a question. Lucky for me his timing was off and I was on my way before he could open his mouth.

I spent a while walking around the courtyard of the Louvre, admiring the pyramid and the palace. I left back through the Passage Richelieu, walked up the street, and saw a group guys doing rollerblading tricks in a public square. Lots of people wee hanging around watching them, and I stopped a while to watch them myself.

That's when I heard someone beside me saying something to me in French- I turned around and couldn't believe it. It was the guy from the bench at the Louvre. What was he doing here?

I shook my head and started to walk away. He followed me for a couple of seconds- do you speak French? English? Please, don’t go...

I kept shaking my head and kept walking. I don't know if he followed me or if he coincidentally ran into me, if he was a lonely tourist or a con artist or what. Whatever he was, thankfully he didn't keep following me. I checked my purse and luckily everything was there.

It was nice outside so I decided to just walk around and see where my feet would lead me. I walked past the Comedie Francais, and saw a very well dressed May-September couple with a toddler in tow. He, the toddler, was carrying his own Longchamps bag. Mother looked proud.

I walked up through the Place de Victoires, to the funny little Place de Petits Peres where some kids were playing football in front of the church, and up rue de la Banque to the Bourse. Rue de la Banque was quiet and looked like a very wealthy residential street, with attractive and expensive looking buildings lining the road.

I watched as a couple of young children were brought home by their driver/butler, and I saw a teenage girl, short and somewhat dumpy, looking horrible in black leggings and flip-flops, walked along talking very, very loudly (in French) into her cell phone.

What an icky street. I jumped into the metro at Bourse and 15 minutes later I got out at Goncourt and was on a different planet.

In the "green book" made by the owners of my apartment, they say that the Monoprix nearest to the apartment is at Goncourt, on rue du Faubourg de Temple. I thought I would pop over to check it out, only half expecting it to be open. It was closed of course. Monoprix's are always closed on Sundays.

The area immediately around the Goncourt metro was very different from area around the Bourse, to say the least. It was a bit like St Denis, only grittier, because it’s in the middle of the city and not a small town with wide roads and public squares with families. There were some rough looking bars already open, and a few that were closed with the metal door down, that looked a lot like the sort places on JP Timbaud and rue Oberkampf. There was some minor drug dealing going on out on the street. There was some staring, though not as bad as in St Denis.

I was too tired after my long day at the Louvre to explore much. I decided to return the next day, look in the Monoprix, and walk around the area a bit. But for now I was beat, and starving, so I called it a day and went home.

Yay, you're back!

The Babylon exhibit sounds amazing - and a great excuse for a trip to Paris before October

Please continue to "ramble on". I love your writing style - it feels like we are there with you.

OK, well, duh! I missed it in Paris. Oh, well, I've never been to Berlin . . .

It was really good (and unique I think in it's approach)- definately the perfect excuse to go to Berlin.

The London exhibit will be good, of course- I forgot to mention that the show includes the Code of Hammurabi and many other very famous artifacts, like several examples of the beautiful indigo animal friezes- but it will be limited, as I mentioned earlier.

My sister works in the musuem business in England and she's planning on going to the Berlin exhibit.

MONDAY

...was a fairly lazy day. I woke up with the dreaded Scratchy Throat (we all know that feeling of feeling like your about to get sick) but washed it away with lots of coffee for breakfast. Weather this day was a bit windy and wet, with light rain and off, though by lunchtime the skies would be clear and sunny.

I took bus 96 down to Ile de la Cite and basically spent the morning wondering around the islands as slowly as I wanted (which was pretty slow). I'd already visited the big sights on my first trip- notre dame, concergerie, st chapell, etc. and didn't feel the need to return to any of them. I just felt like enjoying a long walk through this beautiful part of Paris.

There were a lot of toursists. A lot. This was very different from my neighbourhood in the the 11th, but I had fun watching them and photographing them. Everyone would be snapping shots of Notre Dame, and I was taking pictures of the crowds in front of Notre Dame. I also took lots of pictures of the police outside the courts, trying to be subtle because maybe they would get suspicious of me and deport me somewhere.

I did pop into Notre Dame, but immediately made my way out, it was so crowded. I was so glad that when I first visited in 2002, there were far less people and I was able to enjoy my time in the cathedral and the other places on the island. I would have been disappointed if this was my first visit.

I also got sucked into the chotchke stores lining the streets around the notre dame (didn't visit them on the first trip) I wanted two things, mainly- some gargoyle magnets and some little silver eiffel towers that I could make into xmas ornaments, both ideas for inexpensive gifts/souvenirs that I read about here on the boards.

I was sucessful in my quest, but that didn't stop me from wondering in and out of several more tacky tourist shops- I think I already explained my susceptibilty to shiney objects laid out in front of me. I'm like a goldfish.

On to the Ile de St Louis, where more expensive chotchke shops masquerading as boutiques were to be found. I decided to just allow myself this guilty pleasure of browsing through the shops. I bought some postcards at a toystore called L'arche de Noe (noah's arch?) with barbapapas and le petit prince and balthazare the elephant. I bought myself some earrings at a costume jewelry store.

Service was ok, but very different from what I had gotten used to in the area around my apartment. It was fun looking around for a couple of hours, but I just couldn't imagine ever staying on the ile de st louis. It is lovely, and I adored walking around, but it's a tourist wonderland and the shops, restuarants, and service are geared accordingly.

I was so, so glad to be staying in the apartment where I was, and that I had decided to "sacrifice" (ha!) location for a low price.

Of course, my walk on the island was played out to the soundtrack of rolling suitcases rattling on cobblestones. It was fun to see everybody so excited to be in Paris, though, dragging these enormous suitcases behind them and making such a ruckus, but obviously so happy to be in Paris.

Lunch that day was a grilled panini and a can of Fanta, which I took over to a bench behind notre dame. I must have spent about 2 hours just sitting there, people watching. This is the sort of thing you can indulge in when you travel alone, you don't have anyone complaining about wanting to get going or being tired or too hot.

The weather was beautiful by then, sunny and warm and breezy. A steady stream of tourists with suitcases kept walking from the St Michel RER station- they would trudge over behind the cathedral, and their jaws would drop and they would pull out their cameras and smile and just look really happy and amazed.

There were French school groups who I recognized earlier from Notre dame, eating lunch in groups with their teachers. There were women walking their young children home from daycare. There were tourists taking photos of the tulips in the garden, and office workers eating their lunch on the benches.

I think I would have stayed all day, except I was going to the ballet that evening and I wanted to get home in time for a nap and a shower. I also wanted to check out the Monoprix at Goncourt- and I was out of coffee at the apartment. So it was with some reluctance that I finally dragged myself off the bench and went down into the cite metro station. It was well past 3 o'clock.

If I haven't told you before, I LOVE your writing style and your report . . . you are a GREAT writer.

Thanks for posting,
Sandy (in Denton)

WOW! Your photos are amazing-I come from a family of photogs, and I'm drooling! Love, love love the tombs at St. Denis and the mother and little girl from waist down. Amazing composition.
Don't ever apologize for "only" looking at art and people watching, or going "at a snail's pace"-that's what Paris is all about. Now I have to go back!!!!

We stayed around the corner from Rue Jean Pierre Timbaud in the 11th last year for a month and, if you want to eat out in that neighborhood, we found three very good, reasonable restaurants (2007 prices):

Au Trou Normand, 9, rue Jean Pierre Timbaud. Delicious food, 50 Euros for two with wine, no prix-fixe, gets crowded by 8:30. We went there twice and loved it.

Chez Imogene, 25 rue Jean Pierre Timbaud. Wonderful crepes and salads, 36 Euros for both of us, very popular, go early.

Au Coin de Malte, 21 rue Oberkampf. Family style cooking, very small, only open from 8:00 -9:30 pm, simple, good cooking, 3- course prix-fixe meal for 11 Euros each.

And, if you want to spend a little more and have a great meal, try
Astier, 44 rue Jean Pierre Timabaud. Recommended by many on Fodors, 28 Euros per person without wine, prix-fixe. Everyone loves the huge cheese platter. Go early or make reservations 01 43 57 16 35

Apres,

I'm enjoying your trip report so much! I've often fantasized about what it would be like to go to Paris alone, so I'm living vicariously through you.

I came close to it last year when my husband and I were traveling with our 2 teen grandsons and the younger one had his passport stolen at CDG on our way home. He and I spent an extra 3 nights in Paris unexpectedly (happened on a Sat., US Embassy didn't open until Mon., flew out on Tues.)

On Sunday, after filing a police report, I asked him what he wanted to do. We had been in Paris the week before and then flew to Rome before coming back through CDG on our way back to the states.

His answer surprised me, as he wanted to know if we could go back to the Louvre. He'd wanted to see the Code of Hammurabi and we didn't get that far before.

Well, we made it the second time, and I'll never forget how he just kept circling it ever so slowly, eyeing the tiny engravings, and saying "I can't believe I'm seeing this - my history teacher will never believe it!"

We took things slowly that day, and it was pure joy. Your report is bringing back so many wonderful memories, so thank you!

Thanks again for the kind responses-too kind, really, but much appreciated.

nancy, thanks for posting the info on some of the restuarants in the area. You've reminded me that when I was there in April, Astier was being completely renovated and must have been closed for business. Perhaps someone knows if they have re-opened yet, or when they are due to re-open.

Restuarants were the big thing I missed out on travelling alone. I know that lots of people eat in restuarants alone, but for me the main thing about a meal out, besides the food, is the company- meals are for socializing as much as they are about eating. The next time I go to Paris, I hope I am with someone so I can enjoy going out to bars and restuarants like I did on my first trip.

Many women seem to have this desire to travel to Paris alone- my mom said she was jealous, that she always fantasized about going on her own to Paris- the eyes of a lot of my girlfriends also lit up when I told them what I was doing (particularly the married ones with new babies)

There are ups and downs to going alone, but Paris really is great place to go if you have the urge to go someplace on your own, or if there isn't anyone to go with you- and far, far better to go alone than with the wrong person (and I include grumpy husbands who don't want to travel in that category)

Hagan, I love your story about your grandson and his fascination with the Code of Hammurabi (very smart kid, waiting until the END of the trip to lose his passport, lol- and isn't it funny how things work out?)
Moments like that are what its all about, not just travel but life itself. What a wondeful gift to have given your grandsons, taking them to Paris and Rome.

Apres,

Some time when you can't get to sleep, you can do a search with my name and read the LONG report I posted last year. We had a number of unexpected things happen! Yes, it was quite a trip, one none of us will ever forget.

Apres, I laughed out loud at this:
<<I also took lots of pictures of the police outside the courts, trying to be subtle because maybe they would get suspicious of me and deport me somewhere.>>

I agree with you about traveling alone and restaurants. I traveled solo on my last trip to Paris and, even though I did muster up the courage to eat alone at Brassiere Balzar, Le Caveau de L'Isle and L'Insulaire, it was a little difficult and I wished at the time that I had someone to dine with.

Not only is it a bad idea to travel with the wrong person, it is wrong to stay home just because you have no one to travel with. When I went solo, I did it because I had FF miles and, at the time, no one was available to travel with me (couldn't take the time off from work, couldn't afford it, etc.). If you let these things stop you, you'll miss out on a lot of wonderful travel opportunities. Once I booked my solo trip, I broke out in a sweat, came to Fodors, posted my fears, and thankfully, got so much reinforcement from other posters that I said "I can do this!". I have to say that I've never regretted my decision.

I am so looking for the rest of your report since I will be back in Paris in September, showing my favorite city in the world to my sister.

I can't believe my spelling and grammar. Spellcheck has ruined me for life. I don't even think I own a dictionary anymore. And if I did I'd be too lazy to use it.

Here I am talking about how bad my french is, when I can barely communicate in english. Sheesh.

Only two days left so I might as well finish this bugger...

Monday afternoon, after spending way too much time sitting on a park bench doing nothing, I dragged myself away from my spot on the bench in the park behind Notre Dame. I jumped into metro, and decided I had enough time to pop into the Monopix at Goncourt if I didn't dawdle, which meant I'd have no time to wander around the area of the Goncourt metro station as I had originally planned.

See how the best laid plans keep slipping away? I always wonder if people who make these precisely detailed itineraries ever actually manage to follow them.

As I mentioned earlier, this Monoprix is in a somewhat gritty area- not dirty (well, maybe just a little bit) and not dangerous, but definitely different than the highly polished, red geranium-windowed playground of Isle de Saint Louis.

When I went to this Monoprix the day before, on Sunday when it was closed, there had been a small crowd outside the front doors. It was difficult to see, but there was a table set up outside the Monoprix, from which people where busy grabbing clear plastic bags of what looked to me like croissants.

I'm not exactly sure but my impression was that this Monoprix store had put out bags of day-old bakery goods, free for the taking. There did appear to be a guy manning the table.

You don't see large black women in colourful head-wraps and straggly Magreb teenaged boys with their grandfathers duking it out over free day-old croissants on the Isle de Saint Louis.

But it would be a mistake to think that the Isle de Saint Louis is more civilized. When I bought my earrings at this boutiquey costume jewelry shop on the island, I opened my wallet to get out the money to pay for them. The earrings were only 10€ (a nice pair of small chunky square black studs).

In my wallet I had a 10€ bill, as well as four 50€ bills. The 50€ bills came from the bank machine on the Isle de Saint Louis, which to my annoyance only dispenses 50’s. I gave the man a 50€ bill, because I wanted to break it, and figured it wasn’t unreasonable to use a 50 to pay for a 10€ item.

Do you know what the man did? He gave me back my 50, reached into my wallet, and plucked out the 10€ bill.

I was shocked. Flabbergasted. Not only by the extraordinary rudeness of his action, but also because it ran contrary to the wonderful, old fashioned manners I had grown accustomed to enjoying during my short stay in Paris- that formality that some people find off-putting but I for one appreciate very much.

So this rude, smiling man taking money out of my wallet really threw me for a loop. I could even feel the shock registering on my face. Oh, the man started saying in English, is better with ten, you keep fifties, is better. He handed me my earrings in a small paper bag. Thank you, au revoir, he said. I think I went, "mmmhmmm".

I did still want the earrings, and there wasn’t much point in saying anything.

MONOPRIX

This Monoprix was fairly modest. I got some nice cotton dish towels in a deep raspberry toile for 3€ a piece. I picked up a few groceries, and some Amora mustard to bring home (I read about Amora here on Fodors and I agree it is great, I'm so glad I got some)

I needed coffee so I headed over to the coffee aisle- and was faced with an enormous wall of choices, far out of proportion to the size and variety in the rest of the grocery store. I had no idea which coffee to choose.

I am kind of dizzy and indecisive that way- once (and only once) I went to a Walmart at home, not a regular Walmart but a Super Walmart or something, and I was in there for 5 hours, no joke. Deciding which garbage bags to buy was a paralyzing decision, there must have been literally 400 different kinds of garbage bags and I stood there in front of them for something like half an hour before giving up. The coffee at Monoprix wasn’t as bad as the garbage bags at super Walmart, but I had hard time figuring out what to buy.

Then a guy came over to the coffee section, handsome and well dressed and kind of trendy and obviously buying groceries on his way home from the office. I decided to wait and see what coffee he bought, figuring he would pick something good and then I could get the same.

Do you know he got? Nescafe instant. I couldn't believe it. So much for that idea. I was running out of time, so I grabbed a no-name Monopix brand (which actually turned out to be pretty good)

COPS- AVENUE PARMENTIER, PARIS EPISODE

Now the whole time I was in Monoprix, I started feeling a bit off- the early symptoms of what I now know would become a bout of the flu. I was feeling sluggish and had a bit of a headache. My throat was dry, my chest a bit sore. I wanted a nap. I started to worry that in this mood, I wouldn't really enjoy myself at the ballet later that evening.

I was feeling worse by the time I came up out of the Parmentier metro by my apartment. But walking down Parmentier, I came across something of a kafuffle that was unfolding on the sidewalk in front of the DaVinci blood lab, across the street from the big ambulance call centre.

There were police cars pulled up on the side of the road, and a crowd of people on the sidewalk including several police officers. I was heading straight towards them, so I immediately slowed down my pace because I wanted to see what was happening (no one in my family knows where I get my rubber neck from- brown eyes, yes; height, yes; pale skin, yes; rubber neck, no)

There was sudden heaving in the crowd and the cops moved to separate some people and that's when I saw this guy with blood running all down his face.

It looked like he'd been punched and nicked on the scalp- he was fine, moving around and talking and the cops didn't seem so concerned about him. I have no idea what was going on- the officers were talking to different people- one somewhat chavy girl in tight jean and long curly hair and wearing a waitress apron was throwing her arms up in the air and talking very fast, like she was angry. Another guy was in handcuffs. The guy with blood running down his face was standing there, a bit dazed. I think he was about to get arrested himself.

Shopkeepers and customers were coming out of the stores to watch, shaking their heads and looking at each other as if to say "what’s going on?" They all looked quite shocked, as did the other people who were happened to be walking down the street- they would slow down, and look around, and seemed confused. There were a couple of men and women in white lab coats standing at the door of the blood lab, looking serious and very ticked off with their arms crossed in front of them.

I think this sort of thing must be quite unusual in this neighborhood because no one was blasé about it, everyone looked quite concerned.

As I got closer, I could see that the police were waving pedestrians through their little crowd, allowing them to continue on the sidewalk and not making them walk out around on the street. A woman was approaching in the opposite direction as I, and we passed through at the same time- she stopped in the middle of the crowd and stared with widening eyes as a short middle aged man was taken behind a police car, made to put up his hands and frisked.

The guy with the blood running down his face was still around, sort of pacing now and swearing under his breath. One of the officers motioned for us to get going, grumbling what I imagine was the French equivalent of "move along people, there’s nothing to see here".

Well! That picked up my spirits considerably. After making my way through the scene and continuing down Parmentier, I spied my two now familiar neighborhood bakeries on the corner and suddenly remembered that it was my second last day in Paris and I had yet to eat any pastries. I went in to the one open shop and bought a half-dozen treats, plus my regular baguette.

By the time I reached the door of my apartment building, I had forgotten all about my headache and being sick and was feeling much better, what with all the excitement of that bit of violence and a box of pastries under my arm (what was it Juvenal said about bread and circuses?)

I went home, had a shower and crawled into bed with two pastries with a cup of tea for dinner. I zonked out for a nap. When I woke up I ate a THIRD dessert, quickly showered again and got dressed- I was a new woman, revived by the magical qualities of French pastry.

PARIS OPERA BALLET AT THE PALAIS GARNIER

I was also running very late- it was after 7pm, and the ballet started at 7:30pm. Lucky for me it was a direct metro ride on line 3 to the Opera. I got inside the theater just as the bell began to ding, to tell patrons to get to their seats.

Actually, the warning bell at the Palais Garnier doesn’t ding so much as it rings like a fire alarm. They mean business at this theater- when they tell you to get to your seats they mean get to your seats right now. And when the performance is over they yell for people to get out of the theater, and then a few minutes later herd everyone in the lobby out the front door like we are rampaging wildebeests that must be brought under control and funneled outside for our own good.

You can't really blame them because the Palais Garnier is so grand inside that people would be hanging around gaping at things in odd corners all night.

None of that mattered anyways- the ballet was incredible and during intermission I stayed at my seat and drank in the lush surroundings. I felt like a diamond wrapped up in a luxurious, decadent Christmas box. Very un-protestant and I relished every minute.

Chagall's ceiling is beautiful. It really shouldn't work, yet it does. One of the many things that I love about Paris is how it honours the past and at the same time embraces the modern, so I loved this nod to modernism in the Palais Garnier, and how Chagall’s figures are so light and whimsical in the rich, heavy atmosphere of the theater, so thick it almost chokes with luxury, and then you look up and there are these pastel fairy-like figures, floating about on the ceiling in a blur.

The ballet was a Mats Ek program featuring two short ballets. Mats Ek is a Swedish choreographer. I had heard about Mats Ek and a little about what his style was like, but had never seen anything of his either live or on video. When I saw this Mats Ek program listed on the Paris Opera website, and noticed that my trip coincided with some of the performance dates, I immediately got quite excited at the idea of going, especially since the first ballet, "La Maison de Bernarda", was based on Lorca’s play "The House of Bernarda Alba"

I loved everything about this ballet- the choreography, the music, the staging, the dancers-it knocked my socks off. I don't think I've ever reacted so strongly to a ballet before.

I also really enjoyed the second piece, "Une Sort de". I was expecting to be disappointed because I didn't see how anything could follow la maison de bernarda and not fall flat, but amazingly enough it equaled it. The entire evening flew by way too fast.

It was afterwards that I experienced my first feeling of real regret at being alone in Paris- there was nothing I would have liked more to do than go for drinks after the ballet- I was bursting with everything I had just seen and wished I had someone with me to talk to, and I was so full of energy from the performance I would have liked to go out.

I thought about taking a walk around to at least blow off some steam, but I didn't have my Michelin atlas with me, and couldn't trust myself not to get lost, and as there wasn't much else for it, I went home.

TUESDAY

I woke up with a sore throat, but managed to shake it off. That morning I met Dave, my landlord. I paid my rent and we had a nice chat in the apartment. Again I have to stress what a pleasure it was to rent from Dave and his wife. They are very thoughtful and reliable, and just really nice people to know.

Afterwards I headed over to the massive exhibit of Goya's engravings at the Petit Palais. I loved it. Unfortunately, though, I started feeling unwell again- achy and sore, slightly feverish, headache and a painful throat. I wasn't up to visiting the permanent exhibit at the Petit Palais- yet another thing to add to my increasingly long and growing list for "next time".

It was my last full day in Paris, and I had yet to set foot on the left bank. I took the metro over to the 6th and found the famous rue de Buci, where I walked around for the first time.

To be honest, I didn't like this area- I found it a bit twee. It reminded me of the petit Hameau at Versailles, only instead of pretending to be country peasants people came here to play at living in a make-believe Paris.

The display windows of the bakeries were beautiful, though, and I did think about stopping into one and picking up a baguette and maybe some other goodies. However, I took a quick glance through the window and saw a hard, brittle looking blonde with a terse expression on her face, serving two tourists dressed in shorts and tilly hats, and thought better of it. It was time for me to get out of there.

I got caught in the rain and got fairly wet. I had an umbrella but in the strong winds it was only a little better than having nothing at all. I was feeling sicker by the minute, but refused to give in and go home- it was my last afternoon in Paris and I was determined to keep going.

If I had been in my right mind I would have grabbed a taxi back to the apartment immediately- instead I wandered aimlessly along the Seine in the wind and rain, feeling worse and worse as time went on.

Finally I came to my senses and got on the metro and went home. I was feeling so sick I didn’t even stop for a baguette- instead I went right up to the apartment and collapsed into bed.

I didn't wake up until around midnight, burning up and chest all congested and throat terribly sore. Without really thinking, I set the alarm for 4am, telling myself I would get up early and pack and clean tomorrow before my flight at left CDG at 11:30am.

All that mattered that minute was staying in bed and not moving and sleeping. More regret at being alone- I wished someone was there to take care of me, and more importantly to take charge of things.

Apres-Londee,

I'm coming on this late, but thought I'd mention my sisters "tricks" to get someone "off" of her.

1) Start scratching furiously on your arms and legs- noticably bumping the offender. Then say, "Sorry, I seemed to have woken up with this rash and just couldn't get to my doctor before the flight. I hope it's not something contagious."

2) Let the offender see you stick your finger in your nose and "wipe" it on your sleeve or pantsleg on the side you share. (She doesn't really stick her finger in her nose- she sticks it on the side of her nose and it really looks like she is sticking it IN her nose.) It is too funny!

Yes, she has a sense of humor and yes, she says one of these almost always works. But she only uses it when the person is really obnoxious.

Good tips, sarge, lol. At first I thought you were talking about Vladmir Putin, but then it hit me that your sister's tips must be for those lovely airplane seatmates who hog all the space- I wish I had thought of them during my flight to Paris.

Apres,

Very nice trip report.

Apres Londee,

This is one of my favorite trip reports I have read on Fodor's. Thank you so much for sticking with it and finishing it. I can't wait to see what waking up at 4AM, sick with flu and needing to get to CDG is going to be like.

I also particularly love how you integrate your character traits into the story. Our character does dictate our travel style, and it is fascinating to me to see how, since you are traveling alone, you can experience Paris exactly the way you want to. How many people would include a description of how long it took to choose coffee - I loved that!

I am reliving all my Paris days through your report. Thank you again for such a great job.

Baz

I've just happened upon your trip report, Apres L', and I really enjoyed reading it. I've just returned from a very short get-away to Ticino, during which I spent almost all my time in small art museums. Indeed, you are correct that traveling solo is the way to go if one wishes to stand/sit transfixed in front of a single painting now and then. I've come back with a whole list of artists that were new to me.

I'm interested in which Derains captured your heart. Might they be at a website somewhere?

Best wishes and thanks again for sharing your experiences. jw

It's a universal thing (at least in Paris) to give the closest amount of cash to the cashier you possibly can. They aren't into providing change for large bills, especially on a tourist track like Ile St Louis.

I LOVE your trip report...I will be sad when it will be over...


YOU MUST take another trip just so I can look forward to reading about it.

I hope to one day Wow other posters here with my tale of Paris exploits.

Well done.

What were you best money saving tips...

Bookmarking, Thanks

I was thinking, Apres, that perhaps the shop keeper thought you did not know which bill to use - you know how a tourist will sometimes just hold out the money and ask the shopkeeper to take what is appropriate. Just a thought, but Travelnut is probably right.

Sorry you ended your trip with the flu. I hope it does not make your flight home a nightmare . . .

Wonderful report!

I, like many, have enjoyed reading about your adventures. You are a gifted writer.
Three weeks ago I returned from my French tour. I also traveled solo. I started out in Lyon and slowly made my way to Paris. I only had three days in Paris and am determined to return...
This was my first trip to France. As a solo traveler, I had wonderful experiences that I am convinced I wouldn't have had if I had been traveling with a companion. I was often put in awkward situations that turned out to be one of life's blessings. I strongly recommend this to everyone. Being alone in a foreign country can be life altering.

bookmarking

Me too. Don't know how I missed this before. Great report.

bokmarking

Wonderful Apres_Londee!

Do you suppose the man who took the 10 out of your wallet didn't have change for the 50 and simply didn't know how to say it in English?

Can't wait to read about your report on Roma!

Eek! I wasn't expecting to see this topped up. I see now that I never even finished my report, lol. Thanks for the kind words.

>>>Do you suppose the man who took the 10 out of your wallet didn't have change for the 50 and simply didn't know how to say it in English?<<<

It's quite possible. I was just so shocked because most of the shop keepers I'd been dealing with were in the area around my apartment. Because it wasn't really a touristed area, they all had what I think of as being very Parisan manners- formal and very courteous. They'd probably rather die than pluck money out of a customer's wallet. And the guy didn't ask or make any gestures beforehand, he just all of a sudden reached in and took the money.

Oh well. I wear those earrings quite a lot, actually. They were a good buy.

I can't believe I didn't finish this report, because the ending is kind of exciting (well, for me anyways). Here it is in point form:

- I was very, very late getting to the airport the next day. I was very sick, and woke up that last morning with a high fever. I did my best packing and trying to tidy up the apartment. I couldn't get my thoughts straight on the best way to get to the airport. I couldn't deal with the metro in that state. I ended up walking over the the taxi stand at Republique in the rain. It's embarassing to admit but I was crying, not sobbing out loud or anything, but there were tears. I think I was delirious.

-I got into a cab and the driver, a young guy, was a godsend, my knight in shining armour. I told him the situation and he got me to the airport in no time at all. And he was really sweet, too.

"Vous etes malade?"
"Oui"
"les arbres?"
"No...flu."
"Ah" he said with sympathy.

At least I took it as sympathy at the time. Looking back on it, maybe he was concerned I was going to infect him with the plague.

- Got to the airport and was saved by the fact that the luggage belt at the AC check-in desk had broken down. There were still a ton of people to check in for the flight who had been waiting around for over an hour. Safety in numbers, I figured. Maybe I wouldn't miss my flight after all.

-I wasn't in line for longer than 10 minutes when word suddenly came down the pipe- they were evacuating that section of the airport. Someone had left a bag unattended and security was going to blow it up.

-I normally love stuff like that, but I was too sick to enjoy myself. All sorts of officers, young and old, uniformed and plain clothed, were running around. We were all instructed to plug our ears during countdown. When they finally blew up the bag, everyone broke out into applause.

-It was the shortest flight of my life. I simply passed out in my seat and when I woke up, I was home. The end

Apres, last summer I came back so many times to look for the ending, but when it never appeared, I figured maybe since the sightseeing part was over, you considered the report finished.

Thanks again for the introduction to the 11eme and rue JP Timbaud!

P.S.-- Here's a souvenir for you:
http://images45.fotki.com/v1310/photos/8/852267/7008158/F11B5923-vi.jpg

Good shot, fifi!

Those were good stairs. Not such a difficult climb, since they aren't steep and it feels so...I don't know, Audrey Hepburnish to be running up and down a wooden, spiral staircase in Paris

Well, I, for one, am glad it took so long for you to finish posting you travel report! Without the recent entries, I might not have found your enchanting report. I've just spent a couple of lazy hours enjoying my morning coffee and reading over your report from start to finish. Wonderful! Your writing is very entertaining! I'm taking my 3 kids (ages 10, 12, and 16) to Paris at the end of March. Your post has made me even more excited -- is that possible? I'm also appreciative of the fact that I'll be turning 50 a few weeks before we leave and no longer need worry about being hassled by pesky & persistant men. There are advantages to aging!

I also enjoyed your photos -- the image of bightly-colored guitars in a store window really stood out for me. Your pictures are not the standard touristy photos, and yet, they really transported me to the streets of Paris. I look forward to future trip reports from you!

bon journee

Bookmarking--Thanks!

bookmarking

thanks