parisescapes -

many of us have been really enjoying your trip report...hope you will be able to post soon!

Hi everyone. Sorry for the delay.I had a very busy week - too much work and not enough play :)

The next chapter is below. For recipes, pictures, menus and links visit my page at:

http://www.parisescapes.com/paris_tr...hap4_cont.html

Chapter 4: Crazy for Costes Cafes and the Enormous Profiterole (continued)

Cafe Beaubourg is another Costes cafe with a killer view of a famous museum, the Pompidou Center. The Pompidou Center, like the Louvre pyramids, was hated by the Parisians when the initial designs were displayed. Now, the Pompidou is beloved and actually receives more visitors each year than the Louvre.

The Pompidou Center is an amazing building in that the architects' designed it "inside out". All duct work, electrical conduits, etc. are not hidden behind plaster walls. Instead, they are exposed and coded in bright colors on the outside of the building. The colors are blue for the air ducts, green for water pipes, yellow for the electrical wiring, red for the people movers (e.g., escalators and elevators) and gray for corridors.

The Pompidou Center's architect, Renzo Piano, wanted the building to "not be a monument, but a celebration, a large urban plaything." I think he acheived his vision.

I love to sit on the large patio outside the Cafe Beaubourg and watch the action taking place in the square in front of the museum.

Many people aren't too fond of this area with the masses of teenagers hanging out at all hours doing what teenagers typically do - looking bored enough in large groups to worry adults about what they are up to. This area seems more like "real" ethnic Paris to me, than the gentrified neighborhoods around the Louvre and the Left Bank.

At Cafe Beaubourg, I enjoy watching the street performers while tracing with my eyes the various "inside-out" parts of the building. On this wet November day, this was not going to happen. It was raining and the chairs on the terrace were soaked. Samantha was relieved that I didn't push that we sit on our purses under our umbrellas just so that I could admire the architecture.

The inside of Cafe Beaubourg takes its cue from the modern art museum next door. The minimalist, industrial space with cement floors and exposed steel beams contrasts with the thick red velvet curtains, gray leather armchairs and marble candle lit tables.

There are two beautiful, but slow servers working tonight. We decide to order appetizers for dinner. Tuna tartar with avocado (11 euros), Fois Gras de Canard (14 euros), and the plate of Calamari (11 euros). We order our Parisian drink of choice, French Champagne (Lanson Rose - 11 euros/glass). The portions were large and delicious.

As Samantha and I dig in, we hear the first crash. We look over and keeping with the Costes tradition, a stunning, tall brunette waitress is holding askew a tray of tipped over glasses. Bummer. But, spilled trays happen to every server at times.

We continue debating about what to do later that evening when we hear the sound of glass breaking. I turn behind me to notice the French waitress lackadaisically do the "Parisian shoulder shrug" before bending down to pick up the broken glass.

The crashing continues.

I usually have pretty good service in Paris and don't understand the complaints I hear about French waiters and waitresses. It dawns on me that maybe the popular Cafe Beaubourg is the root of the discontent.

After the sixth crash, I turn to Samantha, "She just dropped a full tray of five dinners. Food is flying everywhere." I feel really bad for the party who is going to wait even longer with the slow service for their dinner.

A few minutes later, I stare incredulously and relate to Samantha. "Oh no, she is going over to another table to take their order. And, the table of four looked freaked out and ran away." I've never seen a group of Parisians move so fast.

Fascinated Samantha looks over, "They have our waiter trapped against the wall. Probably asking if he'll be their server. I don't blame them."

Our waiter now is basically serving the entire restaurant. Poor guy. He is paying the price for being competent. Exhausted, he comes over to ask if we want anything else.

Samantha says, "I'm still hungry. I'll have a dessert. The creme brulee."

He looks at me inquiringly. "I'm fine." Then, I suddenly change my mind. I'm not the least bit hungry, but figure with one waiter working the increasingly busy dining room, I'll probably be starving by the time he returns with Samantha's dessert.

I quickly glance at the menu and order "The Profiteroles". Profiteroles are a standard dessert on most menus in Paris. They are miniature balls of pastry, like a cream puff, but usually filled with ice cream and smothered with a dark chocolate sauce. Yummy.

Our desserts arrive. He serves Samantha's creme brulee. Then, he places this huge, white ball with brown sauce running down it. It is the size of my kid's small soccer ball. It looks like nothing I've ever seen before. At least, not in a restaurant.

"What is this?", I ask horrified.

"The profiterole, madam", then the waiter rushes off.

Samantha starts snorting champagne out of her nose.

"What's so funny?"

"Didn't you read the menu?"

"Sort of," I try my best to do a "Parisian shrug".

"You ordered the "enormous profiterole". I wondered what you were thinking?

I stutter. "I knew it was the enormous profiterole. But, but... I thought it was an enormous dessert by French standards making it a normal sized dessert by American standards. I didn't expect an "all-american-super-sized" puff pastry filled with a gallon of ice cream."

I try my best to dig my spoon into the soccer-balled size dessert to Samantha's amusement. I slowly eat the profiterole until I am stuffed. I didn't make a dent in it.

As we walk out of the Cafe Beaubourg, Samantha laughs and points to a table behind me.

"Look, they're eating your dessert." I watch as five large guys who look like Rugby players dig into the "enormous profiterole" sitting in the middle of their table. It looks just the right size for them.

At Cafe Beaubourg, sandwiches, salads, and appetizers run from 10-15 euros and are large enough to share. Entrees are 15-20 euros, and wine/beer costs 5-9 euros a glass. Samantha's smallish creme brulee was 7 euros, and my monster profiterole was an amazingly cheap 8 euros.

Address: 100 Rue Saint Martin, 75004 Paris
Tel: 01 48 87 63 96

BTilke - I think that we have similar tastes. L'Esplanade is on my list to visit next time I'm around Invalides. It's also a Costes Cafe with, I've heard, a similar vibe to Cafe Marly and Beaubourg.

Anna - Thanks for the encouragement. I hope you try out tea at the Plaza Athenee.

parisescapes,

Thanks for another wonderful chapter! That waitress gave you an experience huh? Did the locals seem at all concerned(besides the one's that left!)? I'm guessing by the 3rd fall, even they couldn't seem entirely disinterested!

I'm glad you got a picture of the giant profiterole - that is one huge dessert! Despite it's enormousness was it good...decent?

Never knew that these museum cafes where part of a chain - it was only after seeing your pictures for Cafe Beaubourg that I realized it was so modern and airy...and huge! That one waiter must have been exhausted!

What are the other Costas Cafes?

It is so rare to hear anyone mention our favorite Champagne-Lanson. It was the Champagne we had at our wedding so it has great memories for us. Thanks! We went to Riems and took a tour of Lanson. It was a Friday in March and when we arranged it ahead they didn't mention that the facility was closed on Friday in the winter. My husband & I had a tour through the deserted facility and saw places they don't usually take you when it is running. The guide still opened a full bottle for us to sample. What fun!

Anna - Thanks for the comments. The waitress situation was really weird. I've never been anywhere where someone has dropped so many trays. When we arrived it was a very slow time on a weekday, so its not rare that there would be only two servers working. Maybe, she was a hostess and was filling in for someone that was sick. She was very tall and thin (maybe 105), and I don't think she was strong enough or had enough balance to handle heavy trays. The patrons were OK until the food started flying. That's when we saw the one table corner our waiter, and other tables with drinks pick up an move to other sections.

One thing that I probably should have mentioned in the report is that the waiters at the Costes cafes wear uniforms, but the waitresses dress all in black in their own clothes. Sitting and watching how stylish some of these waitresses are reminds me of sitting at a catwalk. They are definately hired based on their "look" and the cache they bring to the restaurant - not on how great they are at serving.


The Costes brothers own over 40 cafes in Paris. I can't find a detailed list of all 40, but here's a list of their most popular cafes/bars/hotels:

1.Hotel Costes
2. Cafe Marly
3. Georges
4. L’Esplanade
5. L’Avenue
6. Cafe Costes
7. Cafe de la Musique
8. Etienne Marcel
9. Hotel Costes K
10. Cafe Beaubourg

I've also ate and had drinks at Georges. This is the restaurant located at the top of the Pompidou with stunning views over Paris. If you visit the Pompidou, peek in. The hostesses will glare at you, but they'll get over it. I've never seen anything like the silver caves where people it dinner. tres moderne ;)And, in good weather, the terrace outside is beautiful - all black chairs and tables with a single long-stemmed rose on each table - very elegant.

AGM_Cape_Cod - I also really like Lanson champagne, but its impossible to get in my neck of the woods. That is awesome that the Lanson folks gave you a tour when the site was closed. I will definately check their tour out next time I'm in Reims.

About the profiterole - it was delicious. But, how can you go wrong with a profiterole :) I'd order it again if I had a table-full of people to eat it with.

We can't get it in our neck of the woods either but my sister brings it from NY when she comes. Just email Lanson and they will set up a tour. Very nice people.

Thanks for the listing of cafes parisescapes. Forgot to ask you - will this trip report only include your trip with Samantha, or will it also include the trip you took with your family?

Bookmarking

Hi Anna - I guess if people are interested in traveling to Paris with kids I can write something up. When I travel with my kids, I really live like a local. We rent apartments outside tourist areas, eat most meals in, and hang out in local parks. We pick a cafe by the "Mom, I have to go now and can't hold it" method rather than places with character/atmosphere that I pick when traveling with adults.

I love traveling with my little boys, but its more slow paced and less adventuresome than when I go with my friends.

Bookmarking :)

I'm hoping you do report on your Paris with your kids stuff :-) If you keep writing, I'll keep reading!

parisescapes,

Hoping you still plan on completing your trip report - don't make me beg, because I will! :)

Sorry,for the delay and thanks for the encouragement. Flu, work, kids...I'm finally gettng caught up:) Here's the next chapter:

Chapter 5: Café Life and the Eternal Question - What Makes Parisians So Stylish?

To view the pictures of the clothes in the article, read the chapter at my site:

http://www.parisescapes.com/paris_tr...v07_chap5.html

This is a long one, so I'll break it into two parts. Below is part one:

On this trip, Samantha and I spend a lot of time at Parisian cafes. We sat at outside cafes in the famous tourists areas such as the Marais, the Opera, the Latin Quarter, the Tuileries, St. Germain des Pres, Ile St. Louis, Montmartre and the Champs Elysees. We sat in cafes outside the tourist thoroughfares in the Place de Republique, the Canal St. Martin, the Batignolles, Place de Clichy, and La Villette. I guess that saying we hung out in dozens of cafes may be an understatement.

Since this is our "Eat, Drink and Be Merry Parisian Tour", soaking in the sights while sipping champagne in cafes all over Paris seems appropriate. Samantha is a self-proclaimed "shopoholic" and lives to explore Paris with an eye for items that she can't find in the States. Normally, we would mix "cafe hopping" with "shopping until we drop". But, the deplorable state of the dollar has even affected Samantha's willingness to buy.

We decide to spend our money and time on experiences instead of stuff. Regardless of the exchange rate, this is a good travel strategy. Looking back, I remember the wild times I've had with Samantha in Paris more than the purses and shoes I've collected on our trips over the years.

It may sound like a lame vacation spending a week in cafes, but there is something very satisfying about Paris cafe culture. From the wicker chairs, to the harried wait staff, to the familiar menus of croque monsieurs and salad nicoise, I am completely content and relaxed whiling away the days in Parisian cafes.

Why is Paris cafe culture so seductive? Sociologists believe that "People derive pleasure from watching others engage in pleasurable acts. Thus, the popularity of European cafes." What can be more pleasurable than a leisurely drink, a quiet conversation with a friend, while watching the flow of Parisian life occurring right in front of you. This icing on the cake is knowing that you are sharing this experience with dozens of people around you. The cafe is a theater and you are sitting in the audience of a long-running performance called "Parisian Life'.

Most days our cafe chit-chat eventually turns from personal matters to the more entertaining subject of people watching. We watch as Parisians from all walks of life pass by our path. I point to a Parisian woman wearing the a trendy swing coat, short skirt and heeled boots, and tell Samantha about my attempt to be fashionable on this trip.

"I bought a swing coat like that one"

"You did", Samantha asks, "Where is it? How come I haven't seen you wear it?" I relate to Samantha how I was "this" close to being a fashion victim.

A few days before our trip. I bounced up to WT in my smashing new outfit that looked like this one, but all in black with a white trim around the collar of the swing jacket, and fuller arms.

WT looks up from his computer were he is working and chokes back a laugh. "Hey, Flying Nun."

Did he just call me a "Flying Nun. WTF?"

"What did you say?"

"You look like a Nun that could fly away. With all that black and sleeves like wings."

"I wanted a new jacket for my trip and this is the style that's all the rage right now. " I pout, "And, it was on sale."

WT laughs, "Imagine that. They couldn't sale your Batgirl jacket at full price."

I must of looked hurt, because he softened his tone. "Look, you have lots of clothes that look great on you. Just wear what you always wear." Spoken like a true male.

"I'll think about it." I stomp off to our bedroom to examine my fashionable outfit in a full length mirror. I raise my arms up, then down. Oh my God. My arms are really flapping. I do look like Batgirl or a deranged nun.

Being a petite 5' 1", the wide, flowing arm sleeves were overwhelming on me. What was I thinking. I hurriedly rip off the jacket, dump it in a shopping bag to return, and begin filling my suitcase with my "tried and true" travel wardrobe of black pants, skirts and structured jackets.

After telling this story, Samantha nods in sympathy. It stinks when the latest trend just doesn't work for you. Which happens to me a lot. Being about 5 feet tall and a classic pear shape, clothes aren't exactly designed for my body type.

"I think being told that you look like a nun is more unsexy than being told that you look fat in an outfit. What do you think?"

"Yep", Samantha says, "You can be overweight and still hot. But, I don't think anyone would think of a nun that way unless they had some kind of kinky fetish." We giggle. "You know I've read a quote where someone says , "Parisian women are sexy at any age, because they dress for men. Whereas, American women dress for other women. There may be something to that. Luckily, WT saved you from being a Fashion Victim."

We eye up the women walking by and notice two things. One, Parisian women seem to dress their age. You don't see women who are "of a certain age" wearing clothes off the rack from "Forever 21". You also don't see young girls or tweens wearing skin revealing styles and make-up sporting the "12 going on 25" look popular at my local mall. Parisian women seem to have a natural balance between dressing stylish and embracing where there are in life. Its refreshing.

The men, as always, look classically stylish. Blazer, sports coats, and tailored pants. Pants are cut to fit, not baggy. And, Parisian men are not afraid to experiment with color. You'll see ties and dress-shirts in luscious lavenders, magenta, and cucumber green. More so, even than the women, Parisian men dress a "step up" from their American counterparts.

In our hometown, WT lives in running shoes, Levi's with holes in the knee, and a bright red LL Bean Anorak that I bought him twenty years ago. When we lived in Paris, he would not be caught outside of our apartment in clothes so beat up and casual looking. For someone that cares nothing about fashion, he instinctively dressed the part of a Parisian gentleman. I have to look at the pictures of him chasing our kids at the playground in black cashmere sport coat to remember that in Paris he dressed like a different person.

When I ask him about this at home, he'll say, "When in Rome..." And he'll remind me, "We're not in Rome now." And, I force myself not to argue and to think, "C' est l'vie".

(To be Continued...)

Here's the rest. Please visit the link below if you'd like to see pictures of the clothes, shops, cafes and links to resources (video of how to make a kir royale, etc.)

http://www.parisescapes.com/paris_tr...hap5_cont.html

Chapter 5 (cont): Café Life and the Eternal Question - What Makes Parisians So Stylish?

Another day, another cafe. This time one of my favorite hangouts, Cafe Trésor, on a small dead-end street, rue Trésor in the heart of the Marais.

Once when my wi-fi wasn't working at my apartment, I literally spent hours each day in Trésor working. The staff began saving the red velvet couch with the best wi-fi signal for me. I love the decadent crystal chandeliers and the velvet accents at Trésor and their "claim to fame" as having the only toilets in Paris with goldfish living in them. You have to see it to believe it.

Samantha and I sip our cafe au laits, then decide to go window shopping. We literally walk a few feet, "ooh and ahh" at the window, and walk into TrÈsor By, an adorable orange boutique with funky shoes, scarves and beautiful clothes.

Samantha stops by a manakin wearing a black, trapeze, empire style wool coat. The coat is similar to these below only it was all black:

"You'd look great in that." The proprietress walks up and nods her approval, "Would you like to try it on?"

I feel like running out of the store. The coat is a trendy, flowing style and reminds me of the disastrous "bat cape." No way do I want to be humiliated in the middle of an upscale Parisian boutique.

"Come on. Try it on. Trust me.", Samantha says. I nod OK. Only because Samantha has this uncanny ability to pick out clothes that look great on me. Despite, my initial protests.

The sales lady holds the coat for me, and adjusts the shoulders. I am surprised. The coat looks great, and the black wool material makes the cashmere/blend wool overcoat I was wearing feel like a cheap rag. I can't believe that I don't look bottom heavy with this trapeze cut.

I am just beginning to like the way I look in the mirror. I twirl around and smile. That's when I notice the sales lady's frown.

"Oh No" I panic. "Am I having the same sort of cognitive dissonance were I thought the Batgirl jacket looked good on me? I knew I was going to make a fool of myself." I begin to hastily take the coat off.

The sale lady takes it from me and says, "Yes. I thought so too, you need a smaller size." I smile in relief and choke out a nervous giggle. She runs off and returns with a size 36.

Wow. I can't believe how great this coat looks on me. it makes me look voluptuous and thin at the same time. It is a miracle coat. I check the price tag and it is less than I thought for a boutique like this one. 300 euros. I am tempted. Then, I do the math. Around $450 USD. That ends it. Too much for an impulse buy no matter how smashing it looks.

After more window shopping and whining about how the dollar could drop 45% in just a few years, Samantha and I sit at Cafe Hugo, another one of my favorite Marais cafes in the Place des Vosges. The large arcade outside is a great spot for people watching. I, of course, love the idea of sipping Kir Royales in what once was a royal residence, and that the spot "right above our heads" was where Victor Hugo lived and wrote many of his masterpieces.

It is a Wednesday, so the French children do not have school. We watch mothers running after toddlers, pushing baby carriages, and chasing older kids through the park in the Place des Vosges.

Even at the park taking care of kids, the Parisians mothers look fashionable. Not a sweat pant or hoodie in sight. Instead, the women are dressed in riding boots paired with skirts and tights, and long flowing sweaters. Being from Colorado, they look really dressed up to me.

"Samantha, you live in New York." New York City is to me the US center of style. One of the few cities where you see real women look like they just walked out of the pages of Vogue. "Are the Parisians that stylish compared to people where you live?"

Samantha pauses and looks around. She is giving this more thought than I thought she would. I lean forward expectantly to hear her answer. Samantha is my fashion goddess for three reasons. One, her mother owns a boutique so she knows the designer trends. Two, she always looks great. One of the few people that I know that can mix "Target" with vintage couture and get away with it. Three, she lives to accessorize. Knowing how to dress an outfit ten different ways with great accessories is a mystery to me. It is something that Parisian women are also great at.

"Yes. After watching people all over Paris this week..." Samantha says slowly, " The Parisians are definitely more put together. "

"Yeah, clothes look great on them because they are all size zero." I say.

"No", Samantha shakes her head, " Look around you. There are plenty of average size women walking around. Lots of size 12 and 14s. Besides, once you start pushing forty and pop out a few kids, no woman is going to have flat abs and no hips." I nod knowingly at that statement. "I think they just know how to play up their assets. To conceal what isn't flattering and focus on what is. "

She points to the mothers in the playground playing with their kids. "Notice how they are wearing tight skirts and sweaters, but overtop they are draping scarves and long, flowing, lightweight sweaters. The sweaters are hiding the hips and tummies, but drawing attention to their legs and the scarves their face. The sweaters are really lightweight, giving their bodies movement without bulk. "

"And, more importantly. I think they have better choices than American women."

"What does that mean?" I'm confused.

"Look at that coat you just tried on." Samantha explains. "It looked fabulous on you. But, you tried lots of coats on in the US with that same style, and they looked terrible. The quality and the cut are different from clothes that you find easily in the States. Even Monoprix, (which we've dubbed the French Target), has clothes that are styled to fit the average size body better than Target's in the US."

Samantha sums it up. "Its just harder to be a fashion victim in Paris."

I'm still not convinced. I think that Parisian woman demand quality in clothing and are willing to pay for it. In the US, most women view clothes as disposable items and don't invest in a wardrobe that they will wear for years to come. We value novelty over fit. Function over Form.

And, if most Americans spent what Parisians do on their clothes, we'd look absolutely fabulous too.

Later that day, as we are walking down Rue de Rivoli across from St. Paul metro in the Marais, Samantha grabs my arm and pulls me inside a shop. The shop doesn't have a name. It is very basic and kind of beat up looking. Inside there are rows and rows of the long sweaters we saw in the park in shades of brown, cream, black and gray. The styles are interesting - long and varying in length, some are cut on an angle, and others have flowing ruffles. I've yet to see these styles anywhere in the States.

Small strollers are parked along the wall, while mothers grab the sweaters off the rack and try them on in front of the propped up mirrors.

The soft, lightweight angora blend sweaters run in price from 12 to 20 euros. Samantha is right. It's harder to make a bad, fashion choice in Paris. No matter how small your budget.

Addresses: Cafe Tresor
7 rue du Trésor 75004 Paris

Tresor By
6 rue du Trésor 75004 Paris

Many thanks ParisEscapes for finishing your great trip report. What a great time, catching up with a great friend and enjoying Paris!

the 'Cafe tour' was terrific. thanks, lynda

What a great report! How did I miss this before?!

ParisEscapes,

I enjoyed your trip report and your amazing website as well. Thank you for sharing!

gruezi

Another chapter to my trip report.

Chapter 6: A Night in St. Germain des Pres

If you'd like to view pictures/links/addresses, visit here:

http://www.parisescapes.com/paris_tr...v07_chap6.html

I'll post the rest tomorrow - list of my favorite bars and a great restaurant to try.

_______________________

Chapter 6: A Night in St. Germain des Prés - Le Mondrian and Mabillon

A few years ago was the last time that Samantha and I spent a night out in St. Germain des Prés, and things got a little out of control. We started wandering in and out of Left Bank bars and ended up at the Le Mondrian. It was packed, but we lucked out and grabbed a small table next to the bar. We ordered our favorite drink in Paris, Kir Royales, and smiled as the waiter brought the bottle of champagne to the table and expertly filled the slim champagne flutes with ripe strawberries on the rim.

There is nothing like the energy of a packed club to make time fly. We watch the young, Parisians flirt and keep the champagne flowing. We snack on small cups of olives and marshmallows at our candlelit table and watch the bartenders who are putting on a show a la Cocktail, the famous 80's Tom Cruise hit. They throw bottles ten feet in the air to towards each other, then expertly slosh the alcohol in a glass. They make a show of juggling the large conch shells that serve as huge containers for their French Island themed drinks. I make a mental note to order a "Martinique" as my next cocktail.

As we sway to the music, Samantha twirls a toothpick from the cup of olives. She mischievously smiles and spears a marshmallow, then begins toasting the marshmallow over the candle. Yummy! Other tables notice what we are doing and begin toasting marshmallows, too. Just when I think the night can't get any more surreal, it does.

"Ahh!" I scream like a teenager at her first rock concert and grab Samantha's arm. "Ahh!" She grabs me back.

The Grease soundtrack is blaring over the speakers. And, the uber hip bartenders jump on the bar and dance to "Grease Lightening". They sway their arms and shake their legs in the signature John Travolta move and the crowd begins to sing along. I feel like jumping up and dancing on the table too, but Samantha gives me the "you-probably-don't-want-to-do-that-here" nod and I dance in my seat.

We giggle like the 8 year olds we were when Grease hit the big screen - when all the girls pretended to be Olivia Newton John dating John Travolta. We sing along to "Summer Nights" and "You're the One that I Want". I am always awestruck when a part of my American past pops up in Paris. I tend to forget that American pop culture is everywhere.

Then, the soundtrack is replaced by techno-pop, and Samantha is starving, so we get the check, and fight through the crowd to the door.

We stumble next door to the more sophisticated and packed Mabillon, order more drinks, and chicken club sandwiches with large helpings of pomme frites. The fries really hit the spot. Since it is getting late, we walk the few blocks back to our hotel.

As we pass the St. Germain church, I notice that the crepe vendor that sells my favorite crepes in all of Paris and has a line around the block at night is closed.

"That's weird.", I mention to Samantha. "Maybe he wasn't feeling well and decided to shutdown early."

We enter the Hotel Danube and walk up to the desk to request the key to our room. In many, small Parisian hotels, the keys are tied to heavy brass holders and you leave them at the desk when you go out.

"Bonsoir Severin." I say.

Severin, the desk clerk, with the large gray mustache, smiles at me with a twinkle in his eye like an overindulgent uncle. He shakes his head and replies, "No, No, Cherie... Bonjour."

What is he talking about? It is Good Evening, not Good Morning. I giggle and reply back, "No, Bonsoir."

We do the back and forth "Bonsoir, no Bonjour" a few more times and I curse my limited knowledge of French.

As we are walking up the stairs to our room, I ask Samantha, "What was that all about?"

"I don't know. I guess its some kind of French inside joke."

We enter our rooms, get our pajamas on and lay down on our beds.

"Oh No!, " Samantha screams as she is leaning over her alarm clock.

"What?"

"I get what Severin was trying to tell us. It's 6:45 in the morning!"

"No way," I pull back the curtains from the window and look at the pitch black sky outside. "How can it be 6:45 in the morning? Don't the bars close around here? "

"Obviously not. I can't believe we lost track of time. Every place was still packed. And, when is sunrise around here?"

We frown at each other. Our plans for the day included being up at 8:30 and ready to hit the Louvre, then the Musee d'Orsay. Looks like that is not going to happen.

We compromise and set the alarm for noon. Looking back, it all worked out OK. I can't remember where we went to sight-see that day. But, years later, I still remember our wild night out at Le Mondrian.

(to be continued)