Minutes after finishing the last blog entry, the Mr. and I decided to load up the car with our luggage for the next morning, thinking that we’d just roll out of bed and into the car for our drive up to Paris. Despite the fact that it was nearly midnight, it was still a hot, humid endeavor, which left us both looking and feeling rather wilted.
After loading up the Peugeot Alex and I came upstairs, looking forward to a shower, and a few hours of sleep before we had to hit the road. Just as we climbed the stairs to the top of the third floor for the sixth time, (Hey, we’ve got a lot of luggage and rocks folks) I rounded the corner and came face to face with a bat. Yes. A bat.
At this point, fearing for my life, and the mythical ‘bat caught in your hair’ scenario, I dashed forward from the hallway into the bedroom. I grabbed Alex on my way into the room. and slammed the door on the monster flying in circles in the hall.
In classic horror movie fashion however, just as I closed the door thinking myself safe in the confines of our bedroom, I turned around to find that the monster was in fact, in the bedroom with us!
We BOTH then screamed, ran out into the hallway, locking the flying rat ‘safely’ in our room. I was content to cut our losses and leave the rest of our belongings in the bedroom, but Alex insisted that we needed to shower and sleep that evening. So while I retreated to the stairwell, he opened the door to let the vile creature out. At this point the winged demon came screaming out of the bedroom, into the hallway before eventually flying into the vacant room at the end of the hall. Alex then shut the door on that room, locking the beast in Chamber 4.
It didn’t take long for us to begin feeling guilty. The room in which we had sequestered the bat did not have any open windows, and he would most assuredly meet his demise in the room formerly occupied by the Swiss students. (A nasty fate for any creature). Alex spouting off random facts about bats didn’t help my conscience either (did you know they eat their weight in mosquitoes every night?).
So, my brave husband decided to go into the bat occupied room, open a window, and then shut the door again, hoping the bat had enough sense to find a way out.
I of course insisted he protect himself.
What Alex discovered was that the poor little guy had pooped himself out while flying around our room, most likely scared to death and was now sleeping on one of the walls. Upon closer inspection, he wasn’t so evil looking. Actually, he was kind of cute.
The drive up to Paris was not nearly as eventful as the preceding evening, though due to our late night bat-capades we were both rather tired, and had to keep ‘tag-teaming’ during the drive. Dropping off ‘Robert’ (as we’ve come to refer to the Peugeot) was bitter sweet.
And any feelings of embarrassment we may have had regarding the dirt plastered inside the interior were soon put to rest once we saw an identical car that had been in a rather bad accident.
It wasn’t until we left the comfort of our air conditioned ride and hailed a taxi that we realized just how hot and sticky 95 degrees in Paris feels. (Granted, the 8 bags we were hauling around didn’t help matters).
Our hotel in Paris, the Normandy Hotel was a grand old hotel in its day, but in recent years seems to have let it self go. Still, the hotel boasts a 4 star rating, and we soon realized that the prime location (less than one block from the Louvre and the Opera house) may have had a large part in the assignment of multiple stars.
We took advantage of our proximity to….everything, and after another failed attempt at the catacombs (7 minutes late for the last tour departure) took to the streets in the heart of Paris.
Our first stop was to a shopping center…that’s what I said. Really? A shopping center? But you’ve never seen a shopping center like this. Beautiful domed ceiling in the middle of hundreds of famous (and ridiculously overpriced) designers and brands.
Though we tried our best to ‘look rich’, Alex’s Hawaiian shirt (sans a button) and my grungy shoes didn’t fool the folks at Cartier and Prada.
After nearly 10 floors of browsing we found the real draw (and apparently the make-out center of the city) of this super shopping center-the roof. From here we had a marvelous view of Montmantre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Arc de Triumph, and the Opera house.
After some exhausting ‘none-shopping’ we found ourselves extremely hungry, having only eaten chicken flavored potato chips that day. We strolled around looking for the ‘perfect’ restaurant. Something old fashioned (to match our hotel), within our price range, something that would accept two sweaty tourists, and something tasty. It took a while, but we finally found it. And we knew immediately as soon as we walked inside we were in for a treat.
Mollard, founded in 1867 is about as old school Frenchy French as you can get. The entire restaurant is covered in magnificent tile work, old fashioned wood work, gilded everything, and the maitre d and waiters all wear suits with bow ties.
The food, like the service and the setting, was superb. Fantastic Onion Soup, A fish dish for Alex that he raved about, the best steak I have ever had in my life, and 3 fantastic deserts.
Now, we actually only paid for two deserts. Alex got some nice crepes, and I went for the ‘omelet surprise’. The surprise being, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
Basically, they put a flaming ball of marshmallow, swimming in alcohol, in front of me. The idea being that the alcohol burns off as the marshmallow thing cooks. I watched it (very quickly) go from a perfect golden-brown-and-delicious state, to charcoal. Now, Alex is partially to blame. I went to blow out the fire around the 'golden-brown-and-delicious' stage, and he panicked, fearing that I would blow the flaming alcohol onto his shirt. (At this point he thinks it necessary to point out that when I did attempt to blow on it a little, he saw his life flash before his eyes as a 'huge' fireball went sweeping past him). He said ‘Just let it cook’. About 5 minutes later it finally died out, and I was left with a big black blob.
Basically, they put a flaming ball of marshmallow, swimming in alcohol, in front of me. The idea being that the alcohol burns off as the marshmallow thing cooks. I watched it (very quickly) go from a perfect golden-brown-and-delicious state, to charcoal. Now, Alex is partially to blame. I went to blow out the fire around the 'golden-brown-and-delicious' stage, and he panicked, fearing that I would blow the flaming alcohol onto his shirt. (At this point he thinks it necessary to point out that when I did attempt to blow on it a little, he saw his life flash before his eyes as a 'huge' fireball went sweeping past him). He said ‘Just let it cook’. About 5 minutes later it finally died out, and I was left with a big black blob.
The maitre d walked by, saw my chunk of charcoal, and quickly swept it up, reprimanding the waiter for not having instructed me properly. I then received a new marshmallow, and was told to blow quickly to extinguish the fire. It was delicious, and the waiter was very kind, and even jokingly brought over the fire extinguisher as I was eating it! (The real surprise, by the way, was the ice cream and delicious goo inside).
That evening, as the night crept on, we were faced with another difficult dilemma. Good night’s rest, or spend more time in Paris? Okay, not so much as a dilemma, but another ‘What we should be doing vs. what we want to do’ discussion. Guess which won?
Around 10 pm we headed over to the Louvre area, half afraid of the sketchy pick-pocketers that might be lurking about in the shadows. What we found instead, were hundreds of people picnicking on the grounds, drinking wine, and eating cheese. Across the way, a giant fair had been set up since we were last here in May. We ran around the fair, playing carnival games, tripping and laughing around the ‘fun house’, all the while looking at the Louvre, the Eiffel tower, and Montmartre in the background.
The ‘piece de resistance’ of the fair, and the most terrifying of the rides, was the Ferris wheel. Ferris wheels, though not generally perceived as giant death traps, are quite frightening to us. You see, neither Alex nor I ‘do’ heights. But we couldn’t pass this up.
And it was beautiful. We had a complete panoramic view of the city, of the Eiffel tower lit up at night, of the Louvre with all of its picnickers on the lawn, of Montmartre up on the hill, Notre Dame, and the Arc d’ Triumph. Easily one of the most amazing things we did in Paris, and the fact that it was Paris at night, in the summer, made it all the more romantic! (We even managed to pull ourselves together long enough to get a kiss or two in).
While I’m sad to be leaving France, I realize that I am I fact, leaving with the love of my life, to our happy, happy, home, and returning to our two ornery, co-dependent cats.
We’ve had an amazing trip, with more than a lifetime of memories. We each have our favorite ‘perfect’ moments, and even the not-so-perfect moments (the bat attack, my failed desert, Montezuma’s revenge) are some of the most memorable (as ‘not-so-perfect’ moments tend to be).
On our honeymoon in Fiji we had matching shirts from Active Endeavors, a local outdoors shop. People kept approaching us asking us if we were a part of a team. We finally started responding “Yes! Team Woods!” This trip has re-affirmed the fact that Alex and I do indeed make a great team. While we’ve always known this, traveling seems to bring out the best in our relationship. Whether it’s trekking around islands in Fiji, maneuvering our way through busy, confusing subway stations, eating ridiculously amazing food in Philly, braving the bitter cold of Boston to walk to the ballet, dashing through the Louvre, or hunting around for rocks on the side of the road, together, we can do anything. And together, it’s always more fun.
I could say a lot more about my husband, and our marriage, but that would most likely make you sick to your stomach. Suffice it to say, we’re both so thankful for the lay over in St, Louis nearly 4 years ago. And while we’re sad to see this trip come to an end, as I sit here in the airport next to my husband wearing one of his ‘loud’ Hawaiian shirts, I am sure this will not be the last of our adventures together.
