Arresting

Ah, our last day in Paris!  A day of bucket list items and relaxation.  And a lazy day it was, full of meandering strolls and hours spent reading in the grass.

We started by remedying the large omission of our Parisian adventure with a trip to the Eiffel Tower.  

I must confess that the Eiffel Tower has never inspired me the way that it has other people.  I think that it is a fascinating industrial structure and admire it for being the tallest building of its time - twice as tall as the next tallest building, the Washington Monument, and the reigning champ for almost 40 years.  I admire Eiffel's ability to raise funds for the tower and his clever creation of uses for the tower (I.e. radio communications for to military since it was so tall, a use that proved important) to keep it from being dismantled.  But to me it does not inspire romantic thoughts.  I recently learned that it was a red-orange color when first built, and to me that seems far more exciting than the drab gray that it is today.  Regardless, Josh and I enjoyed watching the fuss that people made over it, reading about the current renovations of the first floor, and relaxing in the neighboring Parc du Champ de Mars.

As we left the park, we walked through a street market of overpriced tourist trinkets: luxury soaps with alluring scents of lavender and melon, silk scarves and cut paper cards from Vietnam (both of which looked very familiar), and an assortment of small trinkets with an Eiffel Tower motif.

Since we had also neglected the Arc de Triomphe, we rode the subway over and meandered down the Avenue des Champs Elysées.  

It was a throwback to where I had lived last summer in Barcelona near the Passeig de Gracia.  Designer stores jockeyed for space, crafting elaborate and eye catching window designs that only hinted at their product.  

It was a beautiful, if expensive, street.  We had heard that the macarons at Ladurée were amazing, but after seeing the price we couldn't believe that they were that good.  (Although, as Zagat says of the famed Parisian confectioner: “Do you wear these little jewels or eat them?” muse admirers of what may be “the most treasured macarons on the planet”). But it was a beautiful day and our main priority was wandering about the city, absorbing the sights and smells of Paris while exhausting ourselves for our overnight train that evening.

After wandering most of the way down the street, we realized that the afternoon was drawing to a close and we should start making our way back to the train station.  We had hoped to find a supermarket where we could stock up on basic provisions, but were at a loss as to where we could find one.  Supermarkets don't usually rub shoulders with Gucci and Prada stores.  Enter Marco, our new Parisian friend.  He seemed to be walking purposefully, like a local would, down a side street away from the designer action.  So we asked him directions and, after telling us how to get there, he walked us personally.  He was quite nice and very funny, asking whether Josh and I were newlyweds (certainly not) and telling us that Venice was far more romantic than Paris (as it turns out, we agree).

On our way to the supermarket, Josh and I both paused at the same moment, arrested by the smell of incredible baked goods.  This is significant, since we had been walking around in a cloud of Parisian bakery scent for several days.  But this place just smelled remarkable.  So we went in and bought quite a sampler, including an eclair with whole raspberries nestled in the cream, a quiche, and a slice of pizza.  We ate the eclair immediately, and - wow.  

Boulangerie Nelly Julien, you are my new best bakery friend.

A whirlwind later, we were safely seated on our overnight train to Venice, sharing a six-person sleeper compartment (3 beds up each wall, the bottom two converting to beds from seats.  These are known as "couchettes") with several men of various backgrounds.  One was Italian and the others were translants from various middle eastern nations to France or Italy.  There were six of us in there initially, but one man left and never returned so we assume he wasn't really in our compartment.  Let me just say, Italian overnight trains have nothing on Thai ones.  First, they are far more expensive, though that is to be expecte.  But the air conditioning also doesn't really work (unlike in Thailand) and the lower bunk is tiny because the headrests of the couch poke down into it.  It's like sleeping in a small horizontal cave with stalactites hanging down.  I could fit, but I'm not sure how any larger person could get comfortable.  Also, the train interestingly has three rooms at the end of each car with sinks, but only one has a toilet.  The other two are washrooms.  That was something that I hadn't considered.  But discomforts aside, we slept well and loved watching the beautiful French and Italian countryside roll by outside.

Spotted: Along the Avenue des Champs Elysées, there was a Ferrari for rent.  You could ride it around for 20 minutes for the easy price of 90 euros.  Josh and I were wondering how long a business venture like that took to pay for itself. Nobody we saw was paying up.