Backpacking While Black

Paris, March 2006: Day 4, March 17, 2006, Paris, France (Montmartre, Sorbonne, Palais du Luxembourg, Saint Michel, Marie, Barrio Latino)

Waking up late was starting to become a habit, but I wasn’t about to miss a free meal. The package through Gate 1 Travel included breakfast with our hotel room every morning of our stay. Although breakfast ended at 9:30 a.m. my eyes didn’t open until 9 a.m. I left Matthew slumbering and without caring how I looked, went downstairs to appease my stomach’s morning call to action.

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. It’s also one of the reasons why I appreciate the American appetite. I’m used to getting all four food groups usually in the form of scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice, turkey sausage, fruit salad and a slice of tomato. On both my trips to Europe, I’ve run into the European style of breakfast which is sometimes just coffee, bread, preserves and a piece of meat. Mind you, I appreciate all cultures, but nothing comes close to a hearty American breakfast – well, maybe my mother’s ackee with saltfish, sautéed liver and fried festival. Breakfast at the Kyriad La Villette was no different from any other European hotel I’ve visited. It was served buffet style in the adjoining restaurant, Cote’ Cote’. I was lucky to catch the last few minutes of the buffet service. The waiter showed me where to get my utensils and left me to figure the rest out on my own. I piled a slice of ham, a croissant, a slice of cheese, preserves, cereal with cold milk, fruit cake and yogurt all on one plate. I managed to get some good cups of coffee, orange juice and water before the staff cleared everything. The restaurant was mostly empty with the exception of an elderly couple, so I chose to sit farthest away from the street-facing windows and in a quiet corner where no one else would see me devour the pile of food on my tray. I’m not one to pass up a free breakfast, French, American or otherwise.

With my need for food satisfied I returned to find Matthew only half asleep. I asked him about the internet café he found the previous day during his search for a phone card. He directed me towards a place five blocks away from the hotel due southwest down Rue de Crimée. I cleaned up, dressed and left him half snoozing. This was the first time we separated during the trip and it felt good to experience a new place on my own for a while. I ventured out into the busy streets of Rue de Flandres and headed towards my destination, alone, but full of excitement. I passed the shop on Rue de Nantes with the great Greek sandwiches and headed down three more blocks until I hit Rue de Crimée. In my initial observation about the area of our hotel, I saw many shops, markets and any other services that locals and travelers would need. During this walk I saw more of the same thing, but appreciated the fact that I could easily get a toothbrush, baguette or designer shirt if needed. I walked another three blocks down Rue de Crimée until I saw the flashing neon “@” symbol above a shop door – the international symbol for cyber café. As I fumbled through my French, the attendant politely answered me in English and assigned me to a computer. I only paid for 15 minutes seeing that I just wanted to check my e-mail for any important job interviews and my bank account to see if I had received my last paycheck from my former employer. Unfortunately, all websites were in French and there was no way to change anything to English. So, I did the best I could, checked my e-mail and my account, and promptly left using most of my 15 minutes trying to figure out if I was transferring funds or answering e-mails correctly.

Back on the streets, I decided to go into a Monoprix, a local supermarket, to pick up a big bottle of mineral water, again a luxury item to me. I still wasn’t hydrated enough from the flight over coupled with the effects of the previous day’s tear gas. Not knowing where bottled water was kept, I explored the store to find out that it not only offer food products, but clothing, small electronics and other products. I liked the variety and availability, but had to restrain myself from falling into my “can’t just buy one item” syndrome. I found a two-liter bottle of Evian and was wowed at the €2.50 price. I usually pay almost $5 for a bottle of Evian back home. Happy with another “smart buy” I headed back to the hotel to find Matthew awake this time and ready to head out to meet Francesca.

In my absence, Matthew arranged to have us meet Francesca in his old stomping ground, Pigalle, Paris’ “red light” district. During his study abroad trip four years ago, he and his classmates lived in the district which was near their school. I thought he was studying screen writing not sex education. We caught the Metro to the Pigalle station and emerged in heart of the Paris’ equivalent to NYC’s 42^nd Street, Amsterdam’s Red-Light District and other destinations of sex around the world. You look any direction and all you see are businesses that cater to sex. It’s ironic that high above this area sits one of the most magnificent churches I’ve ever seen. We met up with Francesca in Place Pigalle and with no desire to hang around the sex shops we began a long climb up winding hills and stairs to the highest point in Paris, Montmartre.

Montmartre is a hill and community in northern Paris, in the 18^th district, primarily known for the white-domed Basilica of the Sacré Coeur (Sacred Heart) on its summit, but also as a popular 19^th and 20^th century hangout for famous bohemian artists and musicians. The artist community was still in existence during our visit, but was downgraded to artists in the middle of the main square selling their wares. I was disappointed that the same place that inspired such institutions as the Lapin Agille and influenced the likes of Picasso, Renoir and Van Gogh was now just a historical district. Despite my disappointment, I did enjoy my walk through history and the view from the steps of the Basilica of the Sacré Coeur was awe-inspiring.

The panoramic view of Paris offered spectacular views of the distant Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and even La Defense. I wasn’t the only one captivated by the view; a group of school children were sitting on the church steps trying to draw the skyline. I wondered if they knew how lucky they were to live in a place with such history, culture and beauty.

After taking in more sights, we headed downhill to get the Metro back to Saint Michel. Along the way, I saw how modern day Montmartre kept its historic heritage. Development was at a minimum, but the historic buildings that once housed artist colonies now housed galleries, convenience stores and the occasional real estate office. Matthew, who’s also a real estate agent, lingered at one of the offices trying to turn his vacation into a business trip.

After finding the nearest Metro station, we arrived back at Saint Michel to inspect the damage from the previous night’s riot. The police still had a significant presence, but the crowd had thinned to onlookers, media and a few protesters gearing up for tonight’s rally. Francesca and Matthew struck up a conversation with one of the officers and he warned us to stay away from any of Paris’ major universities tonight and possibly during the remainder of our trip. The warning was duly noted, but that just increased my sense of adventure. We passed Sorbonne and further up Boulevard Saint Michel to the Pantheon, a church built by France’s King Louis XV, but after the French Revolution was turned into a mausoleum for the interment of great Frenchmen and women (the remains of Marie Curie were interred their in 1995).

Directly east of the Pantheon is the Palais Du Luxembourg, home of the French Senate, and the adjoining gardens, the Jardin Du Luxembourg. We strolled around for a while trying to figure out names of the statues of former French royalty and admiring a rather glorious Parisian sunset. It was only fitting that we talk politics in front of the French Senate.
Francesca, like others around the world, held America in contempt for the current conflict in Iraq. She has also taken our new immigration laws rather personally. She might not like American policy, but she loves the American people that she’s visited in the past and would love visit them again. I hope that things become lenient soon. I don’t like the fact that I can travel mostly anywhere in the world to visit people in their home countries, but others can’t do the same to see me in my own home.

As the sun set, Matthew and I were growing anxious to see what tonight’s nightlife would have in store for us. Unfortunately, Francesca couldn’t join us because of a previous engagement, but she did make reservations for us at a Latin Quarter tapas bar called Les Pietons (8, rue des Lombards). Francesca walked us across the Seine River passed Notre Dame to the Hotel de Ville, Paris’ city hall. We made arrangements to meet up at this spot the next day for some well deserved shopping. We said our goodbyes and Matthew and I continued on to Les Pietons in the Marie area.

It took us a little while to actually find the restaurant. Unlike NYC, Paris’ streets aren’t setup on a grid system. The system is setup more like a wheel with a center plaza and the streets outstretched like spokes, thus complicating our navigation. In contrast, it creates a variety of hidden neighborhoods and a true sense of being off the beaten path. We finally found the restaurant in the midst of other kitschy, but cool bars, restaurants and shops. Because of our misdirection, we had missed our reservation, so we made another reservation for an hour later. We decided to tour the neighborhood to see about finding a good bar for some pre-dinner libations. One bar caught our attention with its tropical theme and red velvet walls. It was rather crowded, but the drinks were worth the wait. I had a mojito while Matthew had a margherita. After the first sip we both stopped looked at each other with this goofy smile on our faces. We had just found the best drinks we’ve ever had. Well, I don’t know if he felt the same way, but I was definitely feeling that way. We took in the surroundings and even struck up a conversation with the party next to us about a late night hangout for good drinks, dancing and a straight crowd. They recommended Barrio Latino (46 Rue du Faubourg St-Antoine, 12 arrondissement). We thanked them for the advice and turned back to our conversation. We laughed over the recounts of the past two days so much that we almost missed our second reservation. Unfortunately, our waiter made a mistake and instead of bringing us our bill, he brought a second round of drinks. From my point of view I thought we were rather fortunate. We quickly corrected the waiter, slammed down our drinks, paid for them and ran to Les Pietons as our reservation was called.

We sat in a dark corner of the restaurant near two large parties celebrating either a birthday or some other special occasion. Les Pietons didn’t have as much as a “Latin” feel as other tapas bars I’ve visited, but seeing that we were closer to Spain than in the U.S., I forgave the restaurant’s interior designer. I was appreciative of our good fortune of finding good Spanish tapas in Paris. Overall, the food was a toned down, but pleasing version of traditional tapas. I was feeling adventurous, so I let Matthew conspire with the waiter for a totally unexpected order with the exception of having an empanada. If Matthew can try calamari at any restaurant that sells it, I can try empanadas as well. Surprisingly, for a noisy Friday night crowd, the service was quick and attentive. Our menu included: fried calamari, beef empanadas in a flaky phyllo crust, pan seared chorizo served on a bed of risotto and potatoes sautéed with a light tomato sauce. We topped everything off with a glass of the house sangria and another mojito.
By the time the meal came to a close we were a mixture of exhaustion, but enthusiasm about our next destination, Barrio Latino. We caught the Metro back to the Bastille area and found the club rather easily. Barrio Latino is a multilevel space designed by Gustav Eiffel (same person who designed the Eiffel Tower) in the 19^th century. The space remains an impressive structure with the top two floors dedicated to a restaurant and the bottom floor dedicated to a dance floor and bar. It was a magnificent space decorated with a mix of Latin and 19^th century French motifs. I tried to take the space in more, but I was becoming exhausted and the dance floor wasn’t too appealing with just one couple on it. Matthew and I found some empty bar stools in the rear bar and ordered another round of mojitos and margheritas. Every drink after the red velvet walled club was a disappointment and this round added to the hurt. I expected that two popular spots such as Les Pietons and Barrio Latino, would have better quality drinks, but just because one pays €10 for admission doesn’t guarantee one a good drink.

After about an hour, the club started to pack out, but our bodies couldn’t take being up any longer, plus the Metro was closed at 12:30 a.m. which only gave us half an hour to get back to our hotel. We walked back out to the dance floor, got jiggy for a few minutes and quickly made an exit. Fortunately, we caught the Metro just in time at every transfer station and made it back to our hotel in 15 minutes. When we got back to our room it only took us one minute to collapse in our beds and try to get some rest before our big shopping excursion the next day.

posted by Dre' @ 3/17/2006 01:17:00 AM