By David A. F. Sweet
PARIS — Forty years had elapsed since my last visit to Paris. That one started, as the French would say, mal.
Drinks in this hotel built in the 19th century started the Paris holiday.
Because I had run out of money around Pisa during junior-semester-abroad travels and carried zero credit cards, I needed to go to Banque Rivaud in Paris to receive a transfer of money from my father. Alas, after an overnight train trip involving little sleep and a growling stomach, I discovered it was a bank holiday in the City of Light. Somehow, I convinced my hotel proprietor who wanted advance payment I was good for it. How I procured food is lost to the ages.
Forty years later, I arrived once again after overnight travel, this time by airplane across the Atlantic Ocean with our family of five. Fortified with credit cards and a highly researched plan of where to go, thanks to friends and the Internet, I was much better prepared to embrace all that the city had to offer.
Drinks at St. James Paris Bar Biblioteque kicked off our sojourn. We began with a Fraise, which includes sage-infused vodka, fresh strawberries and tonic. A narrow, winding metal staircase led to leather-bound books upstairs, but an attempt to browse the aged tomes was rejected for safety reasons (perhaps a previous patron had fallen down on the return to the bar).
After departing the grand chateau, a pleasant though not memorable dinner followed — one of the last unremarkable meals of our trip, as many truffle-inspired dishes delighted our palates (next week I will share in greater detail gastronomical marvels from Michelin-star restaurants in Nice).
The next morning, I woke up at 11 a.m. Paris time – not ideal as we were scheduled for a trip down the Seine at 12:45 p.m., and no one else was up. Yet we arrived in time for the Bateaux Parisienne Seine River Cruise, which featured a superb gourmet lunch and bountiful wine.
The two-hour ride passed by many architectural wonders, including the still-under-repair Notre Dame Cathedral.
A well-known Van Gogh painting drew little attention at the massive Louvre.
The highlight of the evening was listening to music at La Caveau de La Hutchette, an underground spot in the Left Bank. The well-dressed, professional band – led by a conductor – played songs by Benny Goodman and other favorites under an old arched ceiling. The atmosphere was joyous, and few wanted to leave at the end.
Our third day was packed. We started at the Musée d’Orangerie, whose works disappointed me for such a highly touted spot. Walking outside, the kids were soon afflicted by dive-bombing pigeons, who always missed by centimeters, but the gardens we traversed were beautiful.
After gaping at its gorgeous exterior, we soon entered the tour de force of museums: The Louvre. As those who have visited know, the scale is astonishing, and the treasures are priceless. Vincent Van Gogh’s self-portrait was mesmerizing, with its tortured look and turquoise spirals dancing above his head. Only two paintings away was his famous Bedroom in Arles. Both were packed with onlookers, yet the one in between – La Salle de danse a Arles – sat ignored. Of course, everyone tried to get a glimpse of Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Dozens held cameras high to take pictures and jostled to see the lady up close.
The following day, we were all impressed by the Musee d’Orsay. Set in a former train station, it’s a beautiful structure abounding with Impressionist paintings. A quick visit to Saint-Chappelle to admire its stained-glass windows preceded our trip to Roland Garros to see No. 4 Seed Alexander Zverev face No. 13 seed Holger Rune. The crowd loudly supported the young Dane, though he ultimately fell to the French Open finalist in five sets. The setting on the clay for our inaugural visit was everything we could have imagined.
The Eiffel Tower at night, as seen from Roland Garros.
On our last full day, we walked ceaselessly, seeing shops on the Champs d’Elysee — such as the new Luis Vuitton one shaped like a trunk — and enjoying the smells of cheese and chocolate shops (I even started my breakfast with a Bouchée Florentin at Angelina Paris). And then, we were slated to fly too Nice. But as you’ll find out next week, that was about as smooth as my excursion as a college student to Paris.
Unsung Gems columnist David A. F. Sweet can be reached at dafsweet@aol.com.
