The Coat In Paris, Part 2
 

Awoke at 10 AM to a brilliantly sunshiny day. We sailed out the door to breakfast lightly clad, then immediately hustled back inside in search of our coats. Note to Floridian self: sun don't mean a thing if the air ain't like Spring.

Heads tucked against wintry blasts, we marched to the Ecole Militaire Metro with the carefully plotted schedule of Day Two's activities in hand. That was perhaps our last moment of compliance with my grandiose scheme to maximize travel to designated targets and minimize aimless wandering.

The next nine hours were spent meandering about in serendipity's Lost and Found Department, randomly popping up like inquisitive rabbits from Metro stations in arrondisments scattered all across the city's center.

Though we searched from one end of rue de Bac to the other and were repeatedly directed to Deyrolle's taxidermy shop, we saw not one hair of a stuffed house cat or a dead chihuahua. The Permanent Pets have evidently decamped to warmer climes. The entire menagerie may in fact be at this moment sprawled in lounge chairs on the lawn of my Florida apartment wearing Ray Bans and bikinis.

Ah well, another day, another Parisian safari.

Deyrolle is UPSTAIRS!! closer to St German than the Seine!

Yes, but there should have been some critters in the windows that are street level. Did you find the actual address (46, rue du Bac)? Was the door locked? Was there a sign?

Thank you, dear ladies, but confusion reigns. Along the way to nowhere, though, we found lots of other fun things to do, lots of sumptuous window displays and lots of tempting goodies to eat, so actually the day was a triumph, not a loss at all. Thanks,too, for Deyrolle's street number, 45. We'll make a direct beeline for it tomorrow.

Please overlook the multiple errors of spelling and general composition. My struggle with a maddeningly unfamiliar keyboard situated in the hotel bar leaves no concentration for petty details or revision.

Inebriation by osmosis and utter ineptitude will, I'm afraid, be the hallmark of this attempt at serial travelogue.

No sign of the notorious OliveOyl, but she may not recognize me now that The Coat (which thankfully grows more pliable with use) is topped with a fabulous cashmere shawl, a Christmas gift from a much loved Yokohama friend.

Thanks, Ira and everyone, for the apparel advice. Isn't Fodors just a grand place to visit?

<b>46</b> Croque Madame, not 45!!
It's on the west side of the street, that's the right side if you are going away from the Seine.

Those French keyboards will drive you mad.

Good luck, glad you are having fun, and we MUST have a report if you return to Deyrolles.

And give Olive my regards. Have a fantastic time, Ladies.

<b> &quot;Inebriation by osmosis&quot; <i> LOL</i></b>
<i> I cannot wait to hear the next installment! Have fun!!</i>

At street level, there are large glass display cases on either side of the door; beyond that, a dark foyer. There was no sign saying ?Ouvert,? no lights on, no people, no signs of life. In fact that last point should have been the tip-off that everything was normal. We tried the door; it opened. There was a creaky old staircase ahead of us, and we tentatively mounted the stairs. When we got to the top we were greeted by the reassuring glow of fluorescent lights, and the somewhat less reassuring sight of a moose staring at us.

Perhaps, on an island somewhere, there are all of these stuffed animals, romping and &quot;living&quot; it up for the Christmas holidays. They will be back on rue de Bac , January 2nd.

Oh Scarlett, what a funny image! :-D

what fun thsi thread is....looking forward to tomorrow's installment...from the bar....

Sorry, Rex! Thanks for the advice. OK, here goes:

BENEATH The Coat In Paris, or Part 3

Have suffered an unexpected setback. To wit, an inflammatory, allergic reaction in a most awkward location.

After hearing the myths about underwire bra's setting off alarms at airport check-in, before leaving for Paris I craftily cut the metal wire out of an old white bra. Then, not wishing to be mortified by the slightest hint of dingy lingerie should I be required to disrobe for closer inspection, I washed the deboned bra in detergent and lots of bleach.

My friends, the rinse cycle was evidently insufficient.

My scalded skin now sports a burning stigmata in the perfect image of a crimson bra.

Pause for a moment, if you will, to imagine my trepidation at the thought of attempting to describe this monstrous affliction, in my lamentable french, at the nearest pharmacie tomorrow.

The good news? We found Deyrolle's at last!

The bad news? It's closed on Sundays. Today was, of course, Sunday.

Other touristy ups and downs? Thrilling organ concert in Notre Dame as the last pallid rays of the setting sun illuminated the stained glass windows. Abbreviated sewer tour. Unless you are (like my escort on this trip) only eleven years old, you'll find the surroundings bleak, the ambience appalling. Choppy vendette riverboat ride, water frigid.

Suprisingly tasty gyro's and frites on bustling rue de la Huchette. Propositioned, oddly enough, by apparent gigolo? thief? on corner of Saint Michel. Grandson dropped Lancel tote containing Carton pastries in gutter stream.

Absolutely spectacular view of nighttime Paris all lit up below us as we clung to the fence in bone chilling wind atop Montparnasse Tower. Descended into a swarm of short tempered travelers returning from Christmas holidays en famille, still smarting from the strain of it all.

No sign of OliveOyl. Inquired the identity of one especially appealing American woman, only to be given the strangest look when I shyly asked, &quot;Might you, by any chance, be...OliveOyl?&quot;

Croque Madame, will you make a third attempt to visit Deyrolles? Were there sufficient critters in the windows to fascinate your grandson? Dropping pastries in the gutter? Quelle horreur!! I think another hot chocolate is called for.

The Coat In Paris Meets Many Coats More Hairy, Part 4

Thanks, Marilyn, for the encouragement to again try Deyrolle. 45 rue du Bac, so very, very droll!

In the front window, two elegant deer stood upright on their hind legs, dressed in gentlemen's gardening clothes, complete with appropriate tools. Just inside the door, another upright deer extended a foreleg at arm level as if, like a butler, to take our coats.

Upstairs, a zebra family and their guest, an ox, waited politely for dinner around a table set with flowered china. Behind them, a dignified chestnut horse extended his head through an opening to the staircase landing, solemnly assessing visitors as they ascended.

In the next room were a moose with a bullet hole to stick your finger in, a pair of snarling polar bears, a lion with most of his claws lost perhaps to an African chieftain's necklace, several shaggy bison, a morose chow, two cows conversing very quietly in a corner, a black bear, some lambs, and a curly fleeced, sturdy sheep.

All these and more in a room the size of the average American bedroom, the unmoving, silent animals available for hands-on petting, tactile comparison of textures.

Another little room with a creaking wooden floor had a llama at the window looking down on pedestrians in the street, while a calico cat and a gray rabbit warmed themselves on the radiator. Two ancient Siamese peeked warily from behind a grinning fox with a dead bird in his mouth. Lots more birds and butterflies of many species.

In the course of a lifetime, how many of us do you suppose get to knock on a moose's hollow antlers or count a lion's missing claws? Stroke a very angry looking skunk without hesitation?

Think of these things, magnify the effect to the limits of your adult imagination. Then, look at it all with the unfiltered vision of a child.

Who cares if, for the second time, the line to ice skate in front of the Hotel de Ville was again too long to consider joining?

Deyrolle has provided us with the stuff of tonight's dreams.

Ah, Madame, je suis tres hereuse. Merci beaucoup for the charming description. I hope the rest of your stay is just as magical.

Guess what, folks? Angelina's is no more! Fauchon spread its tentacles into Galeries Lafayette and snatched away the best place in Paris to have a frothy cup of chocolat chaud!

Fauchon has also taken over the former Flo Prestige store next to the Ecole Militaire Metro stop, usurping that inexpensive take out option.

After a long, busy day, this evening we stood in line for more than four hours in beastly cold weather, waiting to ascend the Eiffel Tower, heartily wishing the most torturous of karma's on the multi-national line cutters ahead.

Having been to the top of the Tower on other visits, if I were on my own this trip I would have split at the first sign of frostbite, but such is a grandmother's love that I endured the interminable, frozen wait with a minimum of whimpering and no audible cursing.

Too exhausted, footsore, and possibly pre-consumptive to relate more tonight.

I thought Angelina's was on rue du Rivoli...?

Too bad about Angelina's at the Galeries-we had a nice lunch there last year. Now, due to the amusing tale, we shall have to put Deyrolle on our list, although the sight of the two Siamese may be hard to take.

Wow, you stood in line for more than four hours in beastly cold weather, waiting to ascend the Eiffel Tower?

Or were you joking?

Degas - she's a grandmother with a grandchild in tow! Of course she's not joking!

New Year's Day, 2004. Snow was forecast. Grandson woke up and ran to window at 7 AM to see his very first snowfall, then turned back with a groan of disappointment. No snow.

By the time the shuttle van arrived two hours later, snowflakes were swirling down. Grandson spread his arms, turned round and round in delight, cheering.

Checked baggage three hours prior to departure time, ate breakfast, then sat in boarding area watching together as the snow began coming down thicker, faster. Big, fluffy flakes that covered the runways in white and stymied the Paris control tower.

Planes lined up, awaiting clearance and de-icing. Munich, cancelled. Stockholm, cancelled. St. Petersberg, cancelled.

The man seated next to us grew visibly more and more tense as the delay lengthened. He said he'd just flown in to make this connection and had another to catch farther along. He shuffled through some papers. Scanning the text upside down, I noted Dubai letterhead and other papers in arabic script.

A while later, I mentioned that this weather must be a change for him, compared to Dubai. He gave me a startled look, then said he'd actually been in Baghad, &quot;working for the government&quot;.

As the daughter of a career intelligence officer posted overseas, I let the subject drop. Some people don't talk much about what they do and the answers you get to questions are often indistinguishable from fiction, so why ask?

Instead, we talked of other things, including our coincidental seating assignment.

Nearly an hour late, we received the call to board. My grandson and I joined the other relieved passengers in line, then heard our names called over the PA system.

We approached the USAir service desk with sinking hearts. What could possibly have gone wrong with our return tickets?

We were asked if we would mind changing seats as our seats were needed for someone else. Happy just to still be on the passenger list, we readily agreed.

Then, a miracle! We'd been upgraded to Business Class! Why? Don't know, except that we had the great good luck to have held seats now needed for other purposes. Security?

For the next three hours, as our plane idled on the runway waiting our turn to take off, my grandson and I incredulously luxuriated in the benefits of first class travel.

Our flight home was an absolute joy. This Christmas trip was my grandson's first travel by plane. He got to see Paris AND snow AND be pampered in Business Class for 13 hours. He had Grandma all to himself for a week. The kid's ruined for life.

As for The Coat? It stayed in Paris.

It was new, only worn for a week, with a matching fur-trimmed suede hat. The chambermaid appeared to be my size. I left both items neatly folded for her along with her tip, several unused Metro tickets, and a note asking if she might know of someone who could use the winter clothing as I was returning to a much warmer place.

I do love Paris, but learned she is easier to love in, as the song goes, Springtime and in Fall.I wish everyone who goes there the very best of times, no matter what time of year or time of life.

A huge, heartfelt thank-you to all the Fodors contributors who provided advice, encouragement, and a connection to &quot;home&quot;. Family and friends around the world also followed my postings here.

Now, I too, will download this record of the happiest of holidays for my grandson's memory book. Thank you, everyone, and Happy New Year to you all, wherever you may be!

Welcome home. Glad you got back safely, if late. And in the lap of luxury!
And glad the weather cooperated for your grandson.
What a nice thing to do with &quot;the coat&quot;.
Judy

Welcome home Croque Madame! I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your saga and sorry we could not have met up somewhere for a toast to the city. Our paths must have crossed as we were both circling Deyrolle the same Sunday. I've got a not so mini report down this list somewhere.

What a thoughtful departure gift you left your housekeeper! We hung onto the two tickets remaining from our second carnet...because it will not be long before we make a return trip, perhaps, as you suggested, Spring or Fall next time around although I loved the cold this time. It'd be wonderful to see it all with leaves, and water in the fountains.

Snow...we sensed that was right around the corner (we left the 30th and it was getting much colder). I <i>loved</i> your description of your grandson's reaction, which would have been our Dallas-raised kids reactions as well. I could just picture him! I don't know if this is the card I sent you this year Judy, I normally have several boxes going each year, but one of them was a card I found in Apothecary or Restoration Hardware. The message inside was Joyeux Noel, and the black and white picture on the front was (presumably) a Paris backdrop, with about an 11 year old boy, his face turned up in a wonderful laughing smile of pure unadulterated joy, to the snowflakes falling all around him. It was almost exactly as you described your grandson!

I have a sneaky suspicion as to whom may have usurped your seat and sent you to business class! Hopefully the sheer joy of being there was sufficient to push any concerns about other passesngers into a spot which was more comfortable too. Dear me.

My husband and I were stopped for a complete and thorough check as we boarded our flight back home. Back out of our shoes, wanded, full search. lol It was too funny as the young couple boarding just in front of us were (as our son explained to me on our return) Punkers. Both with the sides and rear of their heads shaved, the top long bits of hair bleached white on her, rather harsh clothes to put it mildly, and boots that looked exactly like the ski boots we used to wear in the 60's...plus metal around the heel and toe of the enormously thick soles (useful for holding foot to bindings dontchaknow). (Hey Judy...does that sound like any young girls we used to know? :D) It really was funny as here we come, 60 year old Madame Californeea Excellente in Paris black, and husband in nice pressed jeans with and an Armani sport coat. Definite terrorists.

Anyway...I thoroughly enjoyed your reports. If you don't write for a living, you might consider it!

PS...hope that rash has abated. I've had contact dermatitis and there is no itch as intense. I occasionally get it on the sides of my neck from perfume, with the itchiest bright red rash...at least yours was out of sight and not suggestive of other pleasures!

Welcome home! What terrific memories you have given your grandson!

Hey Croque_Madame!! Love the report. :)

Just finished reading &quot;Paris to the Moon&quot; by Adam Gopnik this past week (a little Christmas gift to myself) and Deyrolles is mentioned several times in that. Is that where you gleaned the idea to take your grandson there?

Especially appreciate the report since I'll be taking my 14 year old son &amp; my 11 year old daughter to various parts of England this year &amp; to Paris!! We had planned to go this March/April but it appears we'll have to postpone until around Christmastime, so it's good to have your perspective on winter/Paris/travel.

BTW, I used to be one of those &quot;punkers&quot;, too. ;) But back in the day we used to wear all black - LOL!!

OliveOyl! There you are at last! So glad to hear that you and Mr. Armani returned safely, despite the additional scrutiny at check-in. Those French inspection guys probably just wanted to feast their eyes on you a bit longer!

My only comparable experience was in a duty free shop at CDG. When I gave him my last thirty Euro to pay for a gift box of chocolates, the good looking young sales clerk asked for my passport, which I carry secured in a neck pouch. He watched with interest as I sighed and unzipped my sweater to reach a hand inside to fish the document out. &quot;Madame,&quot; he offered with a grin, &quot;May I help you wiz zat?&quot;

Well, its after 3:30 in the morning as I type this, sitting here wide awake thanks to jet lag, even though I denied myself the pleasure of sleep yesterday until my &quot;normal&quot; American bedtime last night. I've got a cup of decaffinated tea sweetened with tilleul honey from La Maison Du Miel on rue Vignon and a disorienting inability to comprehend that I'm really here, not there.

It isn't easy to let go of Paris, is it?