Bob and Gayle's France Trip

Parking, Motorcycles, and Visitors From Outer Space

Parking, Motorcycles, and Visitors From Outer Space

Motorcycles and their cousin scooters buzz and scream around this city like busy bees, Their mission, accessible parking and nimble forward motion. I’ve seen them parked on what were once pedestrian sidewalks, hanging from fancy wrought iron gates, in courtyards, and in picturesque parks. When Parisians drive them it’s not a simple action of forward progress, they’re often talking on their cell phones, gesturing wildly at cars in front and pretty people on the sidewalks. These two-wheeled demons weave between the honking and stalled cars and when necessary to accomplish their mission, they drive on the sidewalks forcing pedestrians into the honking melee of the street.

Watch what you pray for! I was just thinking I would love to see one of the screaming devils wipe out, and 5 minutes later a high-speed scooter abruptly turned into our one-way street, against traffic. This young man splatted on the street mere feet from a waiting car with a police car right behind. No one was hurt besides the scooter but I promised to keep my thoughts to myself from now on. Having dreamt you are the Pope gives you a great deal of power!

Owning a car here means constantly thinking about parking. If you have seen the movie French Kiss, Luc drives his car wildly onto a street corner sending people fleeing for safety. The car pierces the corner like the stem on a pear. The only theatrical portion of this scene was Luc’s was the only car parked in that way. Every piece of asphalt, concrete or dirt is eligible for parking here. In desperate situations you can just pull over, turn on your flashers, and handle that emergency.

While sitting outside in a sidewalk café a tiny Peugeot pulled up, snuggled against some plastic street barricades and began emitting distress warnings. Out comes a +6’ tall, stock car racing professional in his Lucky Strike and Michelin leather jacket. He confidently walked beside us into the bar portion of the café and ordered a Pastis. I assume he was so stressed out over the motorcycles he needed an aperitif to settle his nerves. Cars immediately began slowing, drivers craning their necks trying to ease by this distressed vehicle. Not to be hurried, two Patis’ and an hour later, our professional driver mounted up, ready to brave the streets of Paris.

The reason for our long relaxing wait at the café was to meet Dave and Linda. A tad over 2 hours after landing they pulled up in their blue shuttle van. Part of the delay was that their Indian driver, with blasting belly dancing music, was locked into a quest to find a location for a couple who had an apartment that was given to them by a friend of a friend of a friend. The location did not apparently exist, so the moral is never go beyond two degrees of friendship to secure an apartment!

Otherwise, Dave and Linda are fine, safely nestled in their charming but quirky apartment with a full view of the Eiffel Tower (and a yet to be identified gold, domed building). The instructions on getting to their room was a journey unto itself. It started with, “Enter this code number at the door keypad, go inside and down the steps and find the lock box on the rail”. Note: once the door closes it’s pretty much dark and dim in this passage. We felt for the box and somehow entered the code. With the key the instructions continued, “proceed down the passageway and up a flight of stairs to the elevator.” The elevator is only big enough for 1-1/2 Americans or three Parisians with luggage. “Go to top floor and take staircase up one flight, wave hands if light does not go on.” The elevator lurched upward, shuttering side to side several inches between each floor. And Linda said, “If this elevator stops between floors I am going to loose it.”

At the top of the landing, we waived in utter darkness. Thank goodness it did go on, cause the staircase was like going up a lighthouse tower only this tightly, circular wooden staircase was so worn that it smoothly, slanted to the center and slightly down.

“Follow passageway to left and keep waving. Use key when you get to the room.” We kept waving and groping our way forward. All we needed was cobwebs and men with sharp knives. The apartment was not numbered or labeled, so the instructions told us that if we got lost, we were to knock on doors and say “Layman Apartment?” and someone would surely help us. This was a bold leap of faith!

France is a country with lots of history so we knew that time was on our side!

P.S. When we left Dave & Linda, they were still unable to find the light switch for the shower. Maybe if they go in there, remove their clothes, and start waving, it will turn on! Voila!!!

Reunion and Meals
We had a short but sweet reunion with our American friends, Kimball and Marilyn at our little place on the Bastille. We prepared a typical French luncheon for them. In culinary terms, the Parisan’s would say we provided the “hello” and “goodbye” but no food conversation.

Let me give you a sampling of the process to build a pleasant spread. It begins and always ends with ends with the sweet songs of, bonjour “hello”, merci “thank you”, and au revoir “goodbye”. Fromage is a good place to start. When we arrived at the cheese man’s booth in Paris largest market he had one customer. Cheese is serious business. An elderly Frenchman made our acquaintance while we waited for our turn. All of us watched the careful selection made by a madame. Cheeses were squeezed, sniffed, sampled and basically examined in great detail. Five minutes later it was our turn. Our French friend watched in amazement, (or was it amusement?) while we went through the dance. A round of Cambert, a small cylinder of goat cheese, a hard wedge of comte, and a stinky crumble of Roquefort. Our companion smiled and clapped when we were done. He quickly asked our cheese man how much we spent!

The same process extends to the Italian brothers stall for aged Parmesan, our Greek guys for olives, Spanish madame for various tapenades, florists, 3-4 vegetable and fruit vendors and a fresh made nutella crepe from our rosey cheeked creperie lady for some quick energy. On the walk back there were stops for our baker, our dessert shop and we finished up with a wine selection from the good-looking sommelier at the Nicholas wine shop. Yup, 13 delightful hellos, thank yous, and goodbyes, a smattering of French conversation, one new admirer of our purchasing prowess, and we were done! Sometimes buying the food in France is more fun than the eating! It’s no wonder we eat so late and so long, as we savor the entirety of our food experience.

The same evening, we met up with Dave and Linda for a Gospel concert at the American Church. The group hails from the far away village of Seattle in the region of Washington State. They are famous for burnt coffee and bloated, broken software. We had a joyous time, clapping, standing, and swaying with this lively group. One song says, “show me that you have the holy spirit.” Today’s time with Kimball and Marilyn, Dave and Linda, our food celebration, quiet time lounging in the Luxembourg garden, and singing praises, I feel the thankfulness of the Holy Spirit!


Picture Set 1
Picture Set 1
Picture Set 1

posted by Bob and Gayle @ 2:27 AM