I arrived in Paris a few days before Pi Chi. I did this so that I could familiarize myself with the city and be able to show her around once she arrived. I also had far more vacation time than she did and did not want to waste it at home. Up to this point all of our travel together had been in Asia. This was the first time that I would know the local language more than she does.
In Vienna I was surprised by how much German I knew. I could get basic information from shopkeepers, order food, and even count without taking off my shoes. The street signs might as well have been in English. In Vienna I was the master of all I surveyed and everyone bowed before my mighty abilities.
In Paris I was surprised by how little French I knew. I could read menus and signs, but as soon as people spoke they might as well have all been Arabic. “Slow down, por favor, surrender monkey”, became my catchphrase. When I speak English too quickly for Pi Chi to understand me it is funny, but when the French speak too quickly for me to understand it is just annoying. The French, especially Parisians, have a reputation among Americans for being rude. Other than one cheese eater at a Planet Hollywood (of all places), they were not rude, but they did all have a habit of speaking French as though it was their native tongue and not slowing painfully down to a crawl so that us camera swinging tourists could buy purple barets with tiny Eiffel Towers sewn flimsily across the brow.
The guy at Planet Hollywood was just an asshole. I do not know what his problem was. Probably too many baguettes up his ass. When I asked him why he had such a lousy attitude he sarcastically apologized, saying that “France can not live up to the rest of the world’s standards.”
“It is not France”, I said. “It is you.”
This little confrontation began because we wanted a non-smoking table. I realize that in France smoking is a national pastime, but this guy was personally offended because I wanted to eat and breathe at the same time. I would have asked to speak to the manager, but I think he was the manager. And we ordered French fries that never came. Oddly enough, the menu called them French fries. Planet Hollywood just sucks.
Damn Americans.
About a week before Pi Chi arrived on the continent I had my second bout of gout. But it was still at the stage where I could pretend it was not there. Two or three days before Pi Chi, I was limping a little and wondering how far it was going to go. By the time Pi Chi arrived it was pretty obvious that I was not going to be able to hide it from her. After hobbling around Paris for a few days I decided it might be a good idea to do something about it. Generally, medicine and rest is the best solution. Consulting with doctors is not usually my forte and there was no way I was about to spend the rest of this trip in the hotel room. There was far too much to see and, really, how bad could it get.
Apparently it just gets worse and worse when you ignore it and continue to walk around all day. Eventually I compromised and bought a cane from a local pharmacy. Although probably not the best solution, it made a world of difference. Another difference between Europeans and Asians; the French actually moved out of my way when I was on a cane. They seem to have some consideration for other people. Go figure.
Pi Chi had been to Europe before, but she had never been to any of the museums. To me this is wrong. So on her second full day in Paris we went to the Louvre. For a first Western museum experience this was not a bad choice. I told her we would be there the entire day. I do not think she believed me until we took our first meal break. While eating what she considered the best sandwich in Paris (to which I strongly disagreed. The best sandwich is clearly from that tiny shop on Rue de la Pépinière. I mean, come on), I showed her all of the things I wanted to see on the museum map. We had been there several hours and had only covered the Denon wing. By the end of the day we had seen everything we cared about, except the 17th Century Holland and Flanders rooms (which were closed), and had even managed to find a few rooms we were not looking for. The next day we went to Disneyland.
Having previously gone to Tokyo for no real reason other than to see Tokyo Disneyland, it seemed only fair to visit Disneyland Paris (often called EuroDisney, although not by them). The differences between the two are striking. I do believe both are about the same size, and both are smaller than California Disneyland (maybe), but where Tokyo Disneyland makes an attempt to look very similar to California Disneyland, Disneyland Paris looks nothing like either. Disneyland Paris probably has all of the same rides as California Disneyland. Tokyo Disneyland was missing several, mainly because there is an entirely separate sea themed park right next door.
Tokyo Disneyland’s Pirates Of The Caribbean was eerily similar to California Disneyland’s. Disneyland Paris’ was completely different, but it made a lot more sense to have the pirates talking in French rather than in Japanese.
One of the most obvious contrasts was that most of the rides at Disneyland Paris are not sponsored by any corporations. This seemed all the more foreign to me. Also, and this is important, when you exit Main Street (called World Bazaar at Tokyo Disneyland and Main Street, USA at Disneyland Paris) a simple left turn should take you to Pirates Of The Caribbean. This was not the case at Disneyland Paris. Their Pirates Of The Caribbean is as far from Main Street as one can get. And that is just wrong. But that left turn will take you to Phantom Manor, which has its own little cemetery apart from the ride that you can actually visit. The cemetery is next door to a hot spring geyser, for some reason.
Pi Chi preferred Tokyo Disneyland. Probably because there was no snow on the ground and very little wind cold enough to slice through bone. I preferred Disneyland Paris. Primarily because there were 10 million fewer people. But to their detriment, neither Tokyo Disneyland nor Disneyland Paris have a monorail. Maybe this is because the citizens of Tokyo and Paris, unlike Californians, do not consider an efficient mass transit system to be some kind of futuristic marvel.
While Pi Chi and I took the obligatory romantic walk along the Seine I kept at least one hand in my pocket at all times. The reasons for this were that it was quite cold, and I was fiddling with a small box in my pocket. When I went to Bangkok three or four months earlier I spent pretty much all of my travel money on a ring. Many precious stones are indigenous to Thailand and it is a pretty good place to buy them at semi-reasonable prices. They are much cheaper from the backs of trucks, but I chose to visit an actual jeweler that was regulated by the government.
The River Seine turned out not to be the right place. Neither were a million other places we explored. I was beginning to wonder where the right place would be or if it would even present itself. Then I thought that maybe it was not the places that were causing my hesitation, but me. Near the end of our trip we decided to forgo the usual pizza or sandwich dinner and actually go to some of the many restaurants Paris has to offer. When we went to a Mexican restaurant in the Quartier latin I had fully intended to finally remove the ring from my pocket. But this was a real Mexican restaurant, full of noise, Mariachi, and cigarette smoke.
On our next to last night in Paris I had the hotel’s concierge recommend a good Italian restaurant. I specifically mentioned that it should be quiet. When we arrived I knew that this was the right place. It was a good restaurant with real customer service, something I do not get to experience at home, and there was only one other occupied table. My mistake was waiting until after our meal. It was a good meal, the best pasta I have had in a very long time, but what was an empty restaurant when we got there quickly became full by the time we were ready to leave. I have no problem with an audience, but I wanted the quiet romantic atmosphere that it was when we arrived. I let yet another opportunity slip away. Only now I was quickly running out of time.
Back at the hotel Pi Chi was looking at the insanely expensive Louis Vuitton purses she bought. I asked her which one she preferred. “Do you like that one or that one?” I then pulled the ring out of my pocket. “Or this one?” I asked her in Chinese if she would marry me.
2 comments:
You took a trip to Paris and the bulk of your photos on this blog are old public domain maps, Disneyland, and Pi Chi in a bad hat? That is just wrong.
I will put up more photographs when time and computers permit.
And Pi Chi likes that hat.
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