Travel Planning: What to Do – Page 20 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Versailles, An Hour Outside Paris

We woke up earlier today to catch the 10am train to Versailles. My father wasn’t feeling well so he opted to stay in and wait for us in the apartment. Not wanting to deal with drama our last full day in Paris, my mother and I left for the RER C train to ChÃ¢teau de Versailles. The ride was less than forty minutes; the walk from the train station to the chÃ¢teau was less than ten. We joined the queue for the “A” entrance and paid â‚¬8 each for individual passes to the Grand Apartments, the Hall of Mirrors and the Queen’s Suite.

And grand it was! The ChÃ¢teau de Versailles is sumptuously gaudy, yet impressive. The frescoed ceilings, the Rococo woodwork and all the marble tell you how preciously the monarchy lived. They loved themselves, too, because there are murals and statues of Louis XIV and Marie-Antoinette everywhere. Our favorite was the exhibition of Louis-Nicolas van Blarenberghe’s gouache paintings. He was a battlefield painter and he produced detailed accounts of what he saw during the wars. We used the magnifying glasses attached to the paintings to look at the details–obviously Flemish in style and skill–of his miniature soldiers, animals and weaponry.

After walking inside the chÃ¢teau, we braved the cold and visited the gardens, over 815 hectares in total. Trees and plants were pruned to shape and there are fountains at every turn and even more statues of gods and mermaids on every corner. Apparently, they all dance to classical music in the summer.

We went to the cafe downstairs before we took the train back to Paris and ate a quick bite of horrible pizza and instant tea and coffee. We picked up my dad from the apartment and we started off again to Voltaire Boulevard to buy some wines to take home. Les Domaines qui Montent sells bottles of wine at the same rate as their producers. I walked in and told the super-friendly bearded guy to help me pick four bottles of French wines. He gave me a Bourdeaux, a CÃ´tes du Rhone, a Burgundy and a Cabernet-Merlot blend.

A couple of hours later, we went to Le Caveau de l’Ile for dinner to celebrate our last night in Paris. I was surprised that my father wanted the frog’s legs (meron nyan sa Ilocos!) with the squid and my mom wanted the duck. I chose the lamb chops with the salmon tartare.

Everything was delicious. We also ordered a bottle and a half of CÃ´tes du Provence rosÃ©–yes, I drank most of it–and black currants sorbet for dessert. We walked by the restaurant this afternoon and saw that the menu posted outside was in English and we figured it was “safe.” As expected, the waitress spoke English and was very accommodating to us and to the other Americans that came in after we did.

We toasted to our week in Paris. I half-joked at how we will never go on vacation together again because my dad is so maarte. But if you put all the father drama aside, I have to admit that we all had a good time. I liked spending time with them; sharing a new city and at the same time getting lost with them. We all experienced something new and we were together as a family in a country we’ve never visited before. We wished kuya could have joined us but I think we had a good time because we wanted to show him that we’re that kind of a family–the B family.

Au revoir, Paris!

Sacre-Coeur, Montmartre, Les Halles, Berthillon Ice Cream

It didn’t rain at all today but it was nippy enough to keep us awake and active all day. On our way out, we stopped at the boulangerie near the Seine to buy some fresh croissants. The bakery downstairs was closed. We took the #7 to ChÃ¢telet, transferred to the #4 and got off on BarbÃ¨s-Rochechouart to transfer again to the #2 for the Anvers stop.

Montmartre was the home of Picasso and other artists in its heyday, but today it is as busy as 34th Street in New York, full of stores selling everything from cheap trinkets to housewares. We climbed the hill to SacrÃ©-Coeur and saw the view of the entire city–it’s the highest point of all Paris. We realized once we got to the top that if we’re not walking, we’re climbing up steps during this vacation.

The basilica looks like it’s from the Byzantine times, but it was actually built later in 1876 to atone for the sins of the French during the revolution. They were being killed by the Prussians so donations from all over the country poured in to build a church and strike a deal with God. It’s a pretty funny story if you think about it. It’s so French. My dad did the Filipino thing: he bought a small statue of the Sacred-Heart to atone for his own sins.

From the north of Paris, we took the #4 all the way south, to the Montparnasse Tower. If Montmartre was the home of successful artists, Montparnasse was where the opposite end of the economic, social and political spectrum strived. Artists from all over the world came here to take advantage of the cheap rent. It was like the Brooklyn version of SoHo; well, before the hipsters moved to Brooklyn and made it expensive, too.

We walked to the CimetiÃ¨re de Montparnasse and checked out the, well, dead scene. My dad didn’t like being there and he was opposed to my taking of photographs of the graves, so as soon as we entered, we walked towards the exit. At Denfert-Rochereau, we took the #4 to Place d’Italie and transfered to the #7 towards Chinatown on Porte de Choisy.

Paris’ Chinatown is like Vermont’s–it’s not there. There was construction on the main boulevard and the cranes were all in the way. If I didn’t see the Chinese McDonald’s, I would have walked back to the train and given up. But we ended up having lunch at Thai-Vien where we shared some Laotian sausages, grilled pork chops and tom yang kung, a shrimp hot soup that I like to eat in lieu of phá»Ÿ because of the lemongrass.

From Chinatown, we took the #7 back up to transfer to the #5 and to Bastille just to take a photo of the tower. And here it is:

There’s really nothing to say except for the fact that the Spirit of Liberty is on top, erected to commemorate the 1830 July revolution when “Citizen King” Louis-Philippe replaced the autocracy of Charles X.

From there, we made one final stop at Les Halles, Paris’ main food market until it was replaced by an ugly shopping complex. (And also the namesake of the New York City bistro where Anthony Bourdain used to work.) It used to smell like produce, now it just smells like pee.

What’s interesting is that you can still see the remains of what Ã‰mile Zola called le ventre de Paris, the stomach of Paris, even though it is now referred to as le trou des Halles or the a-hole of Les Halles. (I wanted to go to Rungis, where the market is located today but waking up before 7am has been very difficult. Perhaps when I return.)

Back on St-Louis-en-l’Ile, I finally managed to buy ice cream from the famous Berthillon shop before it closed for the day. They’re famous for their all-natural ice cream, and oh-man, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted better pistachio and apricot flavors in my life!

I went up the apartment to save some for my parents who went straight to the supermarket from Les Halles. I ran back downstairs to catch the prettiest store on St-Louis-en-l’Ile, La Petite Scierie, before it closed and spent a fortune on foie gras and duck meat.

If you’re in Paris but you don’t like foie gras, visit the store anyway and check out the good looking Frenchie at the counter who gave me a taste of the Loire wine they carry with the foie gras I bought.

Mr. and Mrs. B made it back without my help and we spent the rest of the night chillin’ with red wine, ice cream and foie gras on fresh baguette. Life is so good in Paris.

Musee d’Orsay, Jardin des Tuileries, Arc de Triomphe

It was raining when we woke up this morning. While eating my fresh croissant with a glass of cold milk, I poured over our Paris map to see where we can go when it’s gloomy outside.

The boy suggested we visit MusÃ©e d’Orsay before we left. I was willing to skip it, but he told us that we should go anyway just to see the space. It’s open on Tuesdays while the Louvre isn’t, so naturally, every tourist in the city had the same idea. We stood in line for about an hour with our new umbrellas. It felt so good to finally get in and warm our feet. Seeing this as soon as we walked in was just incredible:

What used to be a train station until the modern trains proved that the platforms were too short, MusÃ©e d’Orsay is now the home of Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir, CÃ©zanne and Gauguin. There’s also a nice collection of Art Nouveau furniture in several of the floors.

After the museum, it was defeat: we ate at a Chinese deli for lunch. I wanted to walk to Boulevard Raspail to find a place to eat lunch, but Dynasty King called my father’s name on the way there. He ate like he had never eaten before, the rice making him happier than a pig in mud. Maybe it was the beef with onions or the sautÃ©ed vegetables, but I sat and ate with them; maybe it was my dad looking like he’s finally full. Or maybe I’m just a good daughter.

From MusÃ©e d’Orsay, we crossed Pont Solferino to the Jardin des Tuileries which was bare and quiet because of the rain.

We walked to the carousel and crossed the street to the ObÃ©lisque, a gift from the viceroy of Egypt on the Place de la Concorde. I made a stop at a creperie and bought one filled with strawberries and ordered a cup of hot chocolate with it.

We walked and walked until we reached the Arc de Triomphe, something I’ve always wanted to see ever since I moved to New York City and saw Washington Square Park’s tinier version. I remember reading somewhere that when you finally see it, you’d feel like you’re in another place; that beyond the arc is a different world, sort of like an opening to something new.

The walk on Champs Ã‰lysÃ©es was long, so we made a few stops along the way, specifically at Lacoste, my dad’s favorite store. It took â‚¬8 each, around 284 steps and some heavy breathing to finally get up the arc, but the view was as rewarding as I expected. It was a bit cloudy from up there but to see the city’s traffic moving away from the arc and Georges Haussmann’s twelve avenues forming like the sun’s rays were pretty cool. Talk about city planning and practical architecture.

The arc was built as a monument to the triumph of Napoleon’s armies but today, it’s just known as a symbol of the sheer triomphe of being French. Parisians gathered here when they were liberated from German occupation and they partied here when they won the ’98 World Cup. Every year, they still use it as the point of celebrating Bastille Day, the end of the monarchy in France. From the gift shop, my mom and I bought each other tiny silver pendants of the Eiffel and the Arc as remembrance from this trip.

We picked up a few items from a grocery store on rue Saint-Antoine on our way home. My feet were so cold I decided to cook dinner and stay in for the night. To find our way back, I remembered Arabella’s tip: stay close to the river and you’ll never get lost. I peeked from one corner and another to look for the water and then we walked to St-Louis-en-l’Ile. I stopped by La Ferme Saint-Aubin to buy a bottle of Bordeaux. I also bought several jars of jam from L’Epicerie for tomorrow’s breakfast before going upstairs.

Dinner was fennel-flavored chicken soup with rice and spinach. I started with a can of Leffe while cooking and finished with a glass of the red wine. We ended the night by doing laundry and figuring out what the French on the washing machine meant. Thanks to Babel Fish, we learned that marche means go and arret is to stop.

It’s not so bad when it rains in Paris.

Louvre Museum, Eiffel Tower

Our hyacinths are still alive and so is the B family!

We hit two big spots today: MusÃ©e du Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. We woke up a little earlier so we were able to eat a fresh baguette and drink hot mint tea before we stepped out. We crossed rue des Deux Ponts to the #7 and took it all the way to the museum where the line wasn’t terribly long before noon. For some reason, we couldn’t enter the Denon section straight to La Joconde, Mona Lisa, so we had to go around to find it. Could there be any more Japanese tourists in the Louvre? They came in droves, each following a leader holding up a stick with a flag.

When we finally made it to the Italian paintings, the famous and familiar painting was just right there encased in bulletproof glass. She hogged the limelight and it was unfortunate that other people just walked by the other famous da Vincis outside the room. We took slow strolls by Jacques-Louis David’s Consecration of the Emperor Napoleon and VÃ©ronÃ¨se’s Wedding Feast at Cana. Then the museum’s alarm went off and we listened to the evacuation announcement in several different languages until we couldn’t take it anymore. An oncoming headache made me skip the two Vermeers, but we just wanted to find the exit and get the hell out. My camera’s battery ran out so we decided to go home, recharge it and eat lunch before continuing on with our sunny day.

Back on St-Louis-en-l’Ile, we ordered duck confit, steak with fries and penne with gorgonzola at Cafe Med. The duck meat fell off its bones and was perfect with a warm baguette. And how can I say no to stinky gorgonzola cheese melted on al dente pasta? I finished with a cappuccino but controlled myself from buying a crepe to go.

Fortified and armed with a newly-charged camera, we walked towards the Palais de Justice and took the RER C to Champs de Mars. The tower was right there as soon as we stepped out of the Metro station.

We spent a total of three hours standing in line to take the elevator to the top floor (â‚¬11 each), taking photos and again standing in line to exit. Within that time frame, the temperature dropped drastically and I could barely feel my toes when my mom finally took a photo of me. It was a different feeling finally seeing the Tour Eiffel; much more exhilarating than being on the top of the Empire State Building (sorry) or the Statue of Liberty (so sorry!). Mona Lisa had no say. When you’re standing right below it and you look up, nothing beats that realization of how massive it really is. All the waiting was worth it. My mom thanked me–I don’t know exactly if it was because she was feeling the same way or if she was thanking me for the entire trip–but all I could do was smile back.

Before going back up the apartment, I bought an apricot crepe and a Hoegaarden to snack on before dinner. A few hours later, I woke my parents from their nap to eat. I saw a Moroccan restaurant down the street earlier and I was hoping it would be open even though most Parisian restaurants are closed on Mondays. Le Tarbouche was open.

I’ve made tagine at home before but my parents don’t know the difference between Moroccan and all the curries that I cook. I ordered two tagines: lamb with raisins and onions and chicken with preserved lemon and olives. I also ordered several dips of eggplant, red bell peppers with tomatoes and cucumber with onions to accompany ksra, the Moroccan nan. Everything came with vegetarian couscous and a 2000 bottle of Algerian wine from Chateau Tellagh.

I think the three of us had to adjust our waistbands after eating. All that giggling, waiting and walking made us super hungry and tired. The waiter and I communicated just by nodding our heads and doing hand signals. It’s always easier when food is involved, no?

The Pantheon, Jardin du Luxembourg, St-Sulpice

We woke up at 11am after a long slumber. Even my parents who are early risers were surprised they slept soundly. As soon as we all got ready, we bought our first croissants from the bakery downstairs. The boy was right; croissants in France are flakier than American ones. Then I bought a cup of real hot chocolate across the street at Cacao et Chocolat. It was drizzling but we were adamant to start our walk around Saint Germain and the Latin Quarter.

On Saint-Germain Boulevard, we stopped by the St. Nicolas church on rue de Pontoise to dry up and get our bearings. Not knowing how to read a map even if I’m stuck in a big city, we kept trudging on toward rue des Ã‰coles until we finally saw a sign that said PanthÃ©on. We walked up rue des Carmes and voila!

We paid our â‚¬7-admissions–at $1 = â‚¬1.42 rate!–and spent a couple of hours checking out Louis XV’s thank you gift to Sainte-GeneviÃ¨ve, the patron saint of Paris, and visiting the tombs of France’s most influential figures. My mom was most impressed with the naves and the dome, while my dad, as expected, mentioned that there’s a “similar” building in Ilocos Sur. I rolled my eyes at my mom and she gave me that knowing smile. Down at the crypt, Voltaire, Hugo and Dumas–Marie Curie as the only woman–are among those buried.

I was hungry when we stepped back out in the rain. We walked down the hill and decided to have lunch at La Paillote D’or, a restaurant that “spÃ©cialitÃ©s Vietnamiennes.” If my French serves me right, why, I believe that means they got phá»Ÿ inside! I struggled when I ordered, but I managed to get my parents beef satÃ© (boeuf) and grilled pork (porc grillÃ©) and myself a bowl of phá»Ÿ with papaya salad (salade de papaye). My very faint deux bols de riz, s’il vous plaÃ®t got my dad two bowls of rice. (My mom squealed, You’re so cute!) I know that chicken is poulet but goddamn it, I’m not having boring chicken in France!

The rain let up, so we continued on without really being sure where we were headed, but when I noticed the sign for the Sorbonne, we cut through, said a quick hello and took a photo.

Jardin du Luxembourg was unmistakable on Saint-Michel Boulevard. It was so beautiful even without leaves on the trees. The Palais du Luxembourg, the seat of the French senate, was grand and it was a nice backdrop to the Fontaine de MÃ©dicis and its surrounding statues.

Next stop was the church of St-Sulpice, most famous for its Delacroix frescoes. I’ve gone into more churches the last day and half than I have in the past year! My dad bought another candle and lit it in front of the PietÃ .

We spent the last light walking back home. The rain was steadier, so we admitted it was time to give our feet some rest. A couple of hours later, we went to Aux Anysetiers du Roy to eat dinner. I encouraged my parents to be more adventurous. We ordered and shared the salade de gÃ©siers and the half dozen escargots with the sÃ´le meuniere and the fricasÃ©e de volailles.

We also bought milk, butter, tea and beer from the store across our apartment with the friendly Moroccan clerks. My mom stopped by the bakery by herself and bought a baguette by showing the clerk the universal symbol for “one” and uttering “bread.”

I think we’re getting the hang of Paris.