Day 3 - Paris (Part 1/2)

DISCLAIMER: We did a lot this day in Paris. Saw a lot, said a lot, ate a lot. So this day's post is appropriately really long -- two day's worth actually. So read at your own risk.

When we left off, your traveling heroes -- Ryan and Emma -- went to bed around 3:00 p.m. Los Angeles time, and somehow, we managed to get around eight hours of sleep.

It wasn't good sleep, but it was more comfortable and relaxing than 17" of leg room. Still, exhausted.

A redeeming moment though -- still in bed trying to wake up, through the open window comes the sound of a woman singing opera. At 8:00 in the morning. In Paris. Gorgeous.

Sure, the singing source was a stereo coming from an apartment around our hotel, but the environment was something special.

We need to eat
When we were planning out this trip, one of the items we agreed we simply had to do was find a cafe in Paris, sit, and have a pastry.

So that's what we did. Because it was something on our list, and also because the today would mostly consist of walking throughout Paris, and we needed energy.

We went back downstairs to Le Ponte de Seine for a quiet brunch consisting of a pancake with sugar (crepe, not the syrupy kind), tea, orange juice, and perhaps the best croissant we've ever had.

It was a quiet brunch because there weren't many other people in the cafe (me thinks the late night life means a later morning brunch), not because of the 70s era French music videos playing on the flat screens around us. Truly scary.

The tower, finally
It was my one goal for the entire trip. Seeing the tower from the plane was exciting. Sleeping just a few blocks away was grand. But in order for our entire trip to be a success, Emma had to touch the tower, she had to be on it (in it?).

We walked the few blocks from our neighborhood, up along the Seine, passing street vendors and their sheets of identical keychain towers, towards the tower itself. And as you get closer, you're reminded how monstrous a structure the tower is. Simply huge.

Back home a few months earlier, I bought tickets for the tower online. Turns out it would be one of the smartest things I've ever done. We had an appointment to go up at 1:00 p.m.

We got to the tower around Noon, took a photo of a happy, Parisian-dressed wife standing closer to the tower than ever before, kept walking -- passing underneathe the tower, looking up at its lines, looking down at the shadows it cast, and looking around at the thousands of people waiting in 2-hour lines.

We wasted time walking around the Champs de Mars, down to the old French military school where Napoleon learned how to be small and powerful, and then back along the Christmas tree lined open grass area, back to the tower for our ride up.

At 1:00, we entered a line with maybe 30 people in it. A big contrast to the snaking lines of thousands of people. Lesson: buy your tickets before you leave.

A few minutes later, we piled into a lift in the East leg of the tower with 40 of our closest friends.

Quickly and smoothly, you rise above Paris; surreal. The lift makes a stop at the first level, but only allows exit for those passengers who have reservations at the swanky restaurant -- Jules Verne.

We didn't, so on to the second level we rose.

At 115 meters (377 feet) above the Parisian ground, you have quite the view of Paris from four very different angles.

'Twas our plan (and frankly, I paid for it too), to go up to the third level (276 meters), but it was already closed at the time of our visit due to capacity. And then it was closed due to the wind. In either case, the top of the tower was closed. But the second level was plenty high enough; amazing views up there.

So on the second level, we looked out over the Seine, we saw the towers of Notre Dame, and we spied the Arc de Triomph in the distance. Here, we stared out at the Arc with a bit of worry -- seeing it looked really far away, and that was our next destination... walking the entire way.

After an hour or so of photographing the same buildings in the distance over and over again, we decided to head back down.

When you're up on the tower, you have the option to take the lift back down, or you can walk back down via the staircases. The staircases are built well, they're sturdy, you're "in" the tower, but it's still open-air. And that's an interesting part of the tower -- it's not as tall as other structures around the world, but it's the only one where you're not actually "inside."

What we learned walking down the tower was that you can stop at the first level at will. So we did. Partly because Ryan's now-30-year old knees were starting to get whiny, but more because it was another place to explore.

The crazy discovery being that there was not only the swanky restaurant on the first level, but there was also a separate bookstore, a separate cafe, a garden area, and a host of factoids scattered around the walk around the tower.

It'd been a good 4 hours since our last "we need energy" meal, so here, on the Eiffel Tower, we had lunch. Or an excuse for lunch -- two sausages (hot dogs sans buns), French fries (they actually call them French fries; lame), and a Coke (or as Emma diagnosed it, "this Coke is flat!).

Whatever it was, the food was enough to keep us going. And more than that, it was crazy to eat a meal on the tower, outside in the middle of a garden.

We're both so glad to have stopped there -- to learn about the tower's design changes throughout the years, the colors that've been used throughout its history, the secret plan to move it to Montreal in the 80's, and other really interesting stuff.

All stuff you can learn when you take us out for dessert.

And it's all stuff we would've missed if we had taken the lift back down.

Flame of Liberty
Back on the ground, the Parisian walking tour resumed. On this leg, we'd end up at the Arc, but not without two stops along the way.

First, we walked along the Seine with our backs to the tower. Then we walked across the Seine. On the other side, we came to our next scheduled stop -- the Flame of Liberty.

The flame is a full-size, gold-leaf replica of the New York-based Statue of Liberty's torch flame, given to France to demonstrate the warm relations between America and France, but given via donations from around the world. The flame itself is interesting to take-in (it's about 10 feet tall), but more so may be its location.

The flame sits atop one of many tunnels in Paris. But this tunnel isn't just any tunnel.

This tunnel is the tunnel in which Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed died.

Walking just past the monument and looking down at all the cars driving by is a bit strange -- to think about the significance of what happened just "down" there and how it likely changed the landscape of the social world.

On the day we visited, Princess Diana would've been 50 years old.

So around the monument, we found cards, floral arrangements and well wishes.

But on the tunnel wall itself we found permanent wishes from fans across the world who've visited the site -- each writing their own messages.

So while the flame was installed in 1989 (years before their deaths), it's been adopted as a Princess Di landmark. Not sure how I feel about its evolution, but the location itself was breathtaking.

How were the people?
This is one question everybody seems to want to know -- were the French mean? Sad that the idea of that is so prominent, but with one exception, I can honestly say they were terrific. Accommodating, friendly, made us want to come back.

The one exception being a guy at Fnac -- which is France's largest retailer (I'd compare it to Borders or Tower...strangely both dead or dying brands).

Again, before we left the U.S., I pre-bought tickets, this time for the Louvre. And while I had assumed we could print them out before hand (like with the Eiffel Tower) or pick them up box-office style, I had indeed pre-bought tickets that could be picked-up only at Fnac locations. Very similar to the way Robinsons-May/Macy's did (does still?) Ticketmaster.

Here, at Fnac, two things happened.

First, I took off the backpack that I don't think I had removed since around 10:00 a.m. This provoked my loving wife to tell me to put it back on because I was sweating through my shirt (did I mention it was around 85 in Paris and I was wearing pants?). But, to be fair, she also offered to carry the bag for me while I "dried out." Needless to say, I continued carrying it.

Second, we encountered the first and only guy who made me want to shove a crepe in his mouth. He didn't do anything really bad necessarily. Let me explain.

We walked up to the ticket counter and said, in English, something about picking up tickets to the Louvre. He responded, quickly, without looking-up, in French. He then sighed, and repeated the information in English.

This pattern repeated itself for a good five minutes. First, he'd say the response in French, then, in English. Each time, to make a point. Yeah, point taken. Tickets, please?

Tomorrow, we'll move on from the lone sad French soul, to the Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, and Notre Dame.