Shalom

On Tuesday morning, Josh and I left London for Israel after retracing our steps back through Paris to England over the last few days.  We had been warned that the security screening would take a while and that we should have our itineraries, answers, and carefully-sealed quart liquid bags ready.  But there were few lines and we breezed through with nary a question on the Heathrow side.  Heathrow has a rather strange set-up where you wait in a central sitting area until less than an hour before your plane departs, when your gate is finally announced.  Then you race to your gate - potentially a 25 minute walk away due to the size of the airport - board, breathless, and collapse into your seat glad that you made it.  Luckily, we were at one of the gates that was a mere 10-15 minutes away and could amble easily to our new seats.

Once in Israel, there were questions but it was easy to get through, armed with our detailed itineraries (thanks, Mom!).  The airport was busy with Maccabiah athletes, here for the Jewish Olympics that opened on Thursday.  It was also bustling with groups of 30-40 Jewish high school and college students going to summer camps and birthright trips.  We withdrew some sheckels and left the crowds behind, winding through Tel Aviv to our hotel.

We met up with my parents and headed out to dinner at a lovely restaurant named Suzanna.  Though we were eating at 8:30 pm, the streets were filled with traffic and the restaurant was completely full.  As a result, it took a long time (and several clarifications) to get our food, but it was delicious.  

 Lamb stuffed into dried fruit. Yum!

 Our first falafel in Israel

As we walked back to the hotel, we saw construction, graffiti, and clothing stores.  Apparently this area is just becoming "hot" and is called the new Israeli SoHo, but it has a long way to go in terms of gentrification.

Though the midday in Tel Aviv is brutally hot in the summer sun, the evenings are perfection.  The warm air hangs around your shoulders as sea breezes dance under awnings and through palm trees.  The crash of waves near the shore mingle with the hum of traffic running parallel to the sand.  The evenings show why people have come here for thousands of years to make their homes, regardless of the failures of previous cultures.  It's beautiful.

Spotted: Falafel! And humus!  Israeli foods are some of my favorite in the world, especially those involving chickpeas.  The first night was a pleasant glimpse into the delicious eating of days to come.

Here Comes the Sun

If you're going to do something, do it right.  And spend half of your country's GDP on it.  Such is the wisdom of Louis XIV, who seems to have done exactly as he pleased.  He called himself the Sun King, raised himself to the status of God, and built the greatest palace that Europe has ever seen.  Versailles is absolutely unrivaled.  It's palace features priceless works of art, the history of World War-ending peace treaties, the gorgeous Hall of Mirrors, portraits of the two most self-centered leaders of France (Louis XIV and Napoleon), and gardens larger than the island of Manhattan.  It is a reminder of all that France once was on the international stage: the country that every country wanted to be.

Logically, I wanted to see this incredible estate.  So Josh and I arrived bright and early and... joined the line winding four and a half times across the large square in front of the palace gates (this was the line you joined after buying a ticket).  We listened to various audio guides about Parisian cuisine and history while in line, immersing ourselves in this wonderful culture that appreciates the good things in life like conversation, food, and leisure.  And then, at last, after watching frustrated tourists break every rule of Waiting in Line, we made our way into the palace.  It was gorgeous.  Huge portraits on the walls of haughty royals and garden parties.  Models of the palace as it grew, wing by wing.  Murals on walls and ceilings ridiculing French foes who fell quickly in battle or depicting conquered nations who contributed their culture to the richness of the empire.

And the Hall of Mirrors.  This was the part of Versailles I had always dreamed about.  One entire wall of the long hall is mirrors, the opposite wall is a series of doors opening onto the gardens.  It was built at a time when mirrors were precious and rare.  Lit by hundreds of candles in crystal chandeliers, the room is incredible now but must have been overwhelming when it was built.

Finally, after we had our fill of the palace, we took a quick walk through the gardens.  

It was getting late, so we made it quick.  It was a Tuesday, so they had the Musical Gardens.  In the time of Louis the XIV, orchestras would be camped out throughout the gardens, playing music to entertain guests.  Today, hidden speakers play classical orchestral music, bringing you back to an age of elegance when a walk through the gardens at the palace meant that you were a very special someone.  We also got to witness the fountain shows that dot the palace grounds.  Apparently the fountains are powered by gravity, with the water pressure coming from the river Seine pouring down into the fountain system.  Pretty cool stuff.

Another day, another adventure.  Paris has treated us so well.

Spotted: An interesting modern art/sculpture exhibit at Versailles.  In the gardens were a series of reimagined trees, from a trunk fractures open to reveal a golden interior to another turned upside down.

Paradigm Shift

After another gorgeous run by the Arno, Josh and I followed Rick Steves('s audioguide) around Florence for an education on the Renaissance.  That famous movement that brought human realism and appreciation of natural beauty back into art is said to have started in Florence in 1401.  Numerous Florentine artists were prominent in the early Renaissance, and masterpieces (usually reproductions now, with the originals protected in museums) decorate the city squares and facades of buildings.  The church of Orsanmichele alone has multiple statues by Donatello that are known to have directly inspired Michaelangelo on its outside walls.  The inside shows the late pre-Renaissance art style, providing good contrast for comparison.  And that is just the tip of the iceberg in Florence.  A reproduction of Michaelangelo's David sits in a public square (the original inside the Accademia museum nearby).  

Fun fact: his arm broke off in a riot, but clearly they fixed it.  In the same square, a fountain of Neptune, with the god modeled after the commissioning patron, rises up above the merely mortal tourists.  On the other side of the David, a cluster of statues shows artists' experimentation with statues of physical confrontation, which allowed them to display a deep understand of anatomy.  In a move that defies the normal pre-med/fine arts divide at colleges today, these artists performed (illegal) dissections of cadavers because it made them better painters of the human form.  And they did it without preservatives.  My hat is off to them.  Anyway, it was a great tour to introduce us to Florence's contribution to the early Renaissance before the movement grew and spread to both the north and south.

The huge and labor ate church accompanying the famous dome.  Beside the dome (the place is called Il Duomo, after all), the cathedral is renowned for it painting off Dante and the Divine Comedy by Domenico Di Michelino.

Ghiberti's magnificent bronze doors for the baptistery

That afternoon, we hiked up to San Miniato al Monte for some of the best views of the city.  We decided to take the scenic route past various gardens and, despite a few wrong turns, made it.  The sun was pounding down; it was so hot that even the men hawking counterfeit bags, cheap painting reproductions, and counterfeit sunglasses couldn't pull themselves out of the shade to harass us.  We admired the views of the city spread out before us.  Since most of Florence is built relatively low, monuments like the Duomo and its belltower stuck up boldly.  The Ponte Vecchio, with its quaint little shops, was easy to pick out.  It was fun testing our knowledge of the city.  We have become experts at learning new subway systems and city layouts.

We meandered back down to the city and returned to a street from our audioguided walking tour that was reported to have great gelato.  It did.  We sat on some steps, admiring the art of the Orsanmichele church as we slurped up mixed berry, passionfruit, and white chocolate gelato.

Wandering back, we packed up our things and decided to go to an early dinner at our local favorite, Gusta Pizza.  Except that it was 6 pm, and they don't even open until 7.  No matter.  Armed with our kindles, we sat on a bench in the square and read, peeking over ever few minutes at our bench neighbor who was sketching the beautiful square.  Around a central fountain, the rectangular square was edged with benches.  A larger concentric rectangle included a pathway around the benches and was edged with shops and restaurants, the tables for which spilled out into the pathway.  In the central square, a group of Rastafarians with their kids stood gossiping and laughing, shaking their dreadlocks over their shoulders.  Just in front of us, in the center of the square, a middle-aged man on a bicycle stopped to talk to a similarly-aged woman dressed up for a Sunday walk.  The woman's small, tan terrier seemed an incongruous companion for her.  She was calm, he couldn't sit still.  She was proper, he sported a cheeky Mohawk.  And yet she clearly loved him, and he wouldn't stray more than a few feet away from her side.  

Around the central fountain, a father with a curly brown beard rode a child's red bicycle as he chased two shrieking toddlers around.  One toddler, laughing so hard he could barely stay on his feet, dragged a black leather leash and hopped every time his father circled close.  Three dogs, perhaps one of them belonging to the toddler's family, frolicked on stoops and down side alleys, chasing each other around and around.  Off to one side, two street musicians played live music, singing along to the nasal hum of the accordion.  It was the perfect way to say goodbye to Italy.  Well, it was perfect once we got our pizza to go with it.

As we were eating, the strangest thing happened.  A friend from school appeared with his two brothers.  In a small square in Florence, the darnedest things happen, don't they?

Spotted: Italian drivers gunning their luxury cars through the hills of Florence, taking the narrow stone streets like a personal highway.

Spotted #2: Boat clubs.  We found two along the Arno!  Josh tried to go and talk to them at the first one, which seemed to be rowing-only, but it was a members-only club. Most of the members appeared to be beginners, though.  We found the second one further east on the Arno on the outskirts of the city.  This community boat club had crew boats but seemed to focus more on canoeing and kayaking.

The Scent of Leather

On our first morning in Florence, Josh and I set out on a run along the River Arno.  The city was full of runners and locals out walking their dogs.   Hadn't seen as many runners in a long time.  While the Asian populations were quite active in the mornings, it is hard to call them runners.  Most do tai chi, pla badminton, or walk.  A few jog, but so slowly that they are nearly walking.  For the first time in months, I was surrounded by real runners who embraced the sport and needed this form of sweaty meditation as much as I do.  Just outside the city are beautiful path, riverbanks where fishermen cast lines, and parks full of winding paths and trees.  If you go, definitely step outside the bustle and go west along the Arno for a bit.

 After that, we went into full tourist mode and hustled over to the Uffizi for our morning reservation.  While the line wasn't as bad as I had imagined, it was still nice to skip the wait and, upon entering, not pay an additional fee for an audioguide.  We instead relied upon one of our free downloads and wandered the museum according to its directions.  Frustratingly, quite a few rooms were closed and some of the famous works were out for renovation or on loan.  Only when we walked through a special exhibit downstairs did we find some of the missing works.  The most surprising thing, though, was the scale of the building.  Uffizi, which literally means "offices", was the workplace of the Medici family while they controlled the city of Florence.  How they got any work done surrounded by gorgeous (and sometimes quite bloody and graphic) art is beyond me, but they managed.  They ruled with an iron fist for many years and even got their own flesh and blood elected to the papacy.  And they lived well, drawing artists around them (including Michaelangelo) and using their wealth to their advantage.

The Wild Boar, a Roman copy of a 3rd century BC Hellenistic sculpture, which has become one of Florence's talismans.

Post-Uffizi, we wandered again, this time spotting a thrift shop.  I loved a bag in the window and wandered in to discover that I had identified the only Ferragamo bag in the shop and the worn, loved bag was €190.  What a pity that I have such expensive taste.

That, sadly, was a trend that continued.  I have searched for years for the perfect leather jacket - heck, it took me two years to find the right rain boots - and I had a feeling that today was the day I finally committed.  No, it wouldn't come cheap, but it would last forever.  We decided to scope out some of the upscale stores that I had noticed last night, including Matiar (which had a beautiful jacket in the window that had caught my eye) and it neighbor Cavini, run by a long line of leatherworks who had received amazing reviews online.  I loved two jackets at Matiar, but wouldn't commit until I had explored the leather market down at San Lorenzo.  Online reviews of this market ranged from delighted customers to those who had been jaded and duped.  And when you're talking quality leather, you're talking hundreds of euros.  Some people had been promised that their item would be shipped to them, others were waiting for full refunds or VAT refunds eight months later.  But some had found their favorite jackets here, and gotten great deals.  It was Haggle Central, and I felt that after six weeks in Asia I was prepared.

The market was smaller than I had expected, being used to the enormous scale of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, the Ladies' Market in Hong Kong, and the packet streets of Thailand and Vietnam.  This rather normal-sized piazza had about 150 m of winding path through the main shops, with a bit of spillover down a side alley.  And it was a Saturday, so you would expect the merchants to be out in full force.  The square was lined with shops, the warehouse storage behind the small tented storefront.  Want a mirror?  Another color? Another size?  Come with me, and your leather jacket dreams will come true.  And while you're here, why don't you look at our bags, our shoes, our three-quarter length coats?

The quality was highly variable, as was the temperament of the merchants.  Some had the "you know how much?" bluntness of the counterfeit bag merchants, others invited you in with a wink and a "which one you like?", and still others let the merchandise speak for itself.  This last group was generally the easiest to deal with, had the highest quality goods (in material, craftsmanship, and style), and were the least pushy.  They didn't pressure you to buy immediately, didn't launch into a haggle war or pry open the bag and demand you examine the stitching (often a poor move on the part of lower-quality bag sellers).  I liked several bags and one jacket and then... I saw a beautiful coat that was unlike anything I had expected to buy.  It was a deep blue, three-quarter length coat that was reversible.  Soft suede on one side and buttery leather on the other.  I had done my reading the night before and, despite not having any interest in a suede/reversible coat, had been intrigued by the required skill to make one of these coats.  The entire piece is made from a single skin, so both sides must be treated perfectly.  The coats are thin - just one skin thick - and hang lightly on your shoulders.  The buttons for the other direction are sewn just next to the holes to make it reversible.  I figured, why not?  I followed the man into his warehouse and tried it on.

It fit perfectly, hanging beautifully.  The seams lined up with my shoulders, the sleeves were the perfect length, the lines of the coat hung parallel to my torso and opened in a slight A-line at my hips.  Gorgeous.  Both sides were beautiful.  The stitching was perfect.  And the suede was so soft.  Honestly, it was the first time that I had ever understood why people by anything in suede.  I looked over ever inch, willing there to be an imperfection so I didn't fall in love with this coat.  Because leather is expensive, reversible is hard to cut, and getting two high-quality coats in one is very, very costly.  But it was perfect.  I told them I would be back and walked around the rest of the market with Josh, but I had fallen in love.  Josh thought it was so perfect he was willing to chip in as an early birthday present. When your jock boyfriend is lobbying hard for you to buy a jacket, you listen.  It must be good.  So we returned and I haggled down the price to less than a third of what was written on the tag.  Or, for a better measure, down over a hundred euros from his lowest offering price.  Based on the research that I had done, it was the lowest price I could expect for a well-made, reversible coat like that one.  I went for the kind, innocent, really-in-love-with-this-coat strategy rather than the confrontational one.  I oohed and ahed, I tried it on again and again, I examined it closely, I never put it down, I looked pained, I feigned upset, I looked longingly at it.  And so the games went.  As the wisdom goes, they will never sell you something if they are losing money on it.

And thus I won my first jacket.  But this was a nice coat, not an everyday leather jacket that Casual Jess could throw on.  So, since none of the jackets at the market met my specifications for quality or style, we headed back to Matiar and tried on the others again.  And again.  And again.  We got two Italian women buying shoes to weigh in.  They were hilarious, telling the store owner that both looked so good on me that he should give me two for the price of one.  I hugged them and laughed.  I picked a jacket and we haggled it down.  The sales are going on in Italy right now, so a lot of stores have merchandise slashed to half price.  That was our starting point.  And then we got down another 30 euros or so.  Offering cash always works wonders.  And, amazingly, you haggle in brick-and-mortar classy stores.  Who would have thought?  Anyway, since I had already withdrawn so much for the other coat, I agreed to return to pay for and pick up the other one the next day.

Exhausted but elated, Josh and I returned to the apartment.  It had been an expensive day, but so much fun.  I was glad that I had done my research (I was reading Josh advice on how to pick good leather from interviews, articles, and even a piece on choosing good horse tack) the night before.  I knew that the whole lighter trick told you nothing about the material or the quality.  I knew about the different animals - and parts of animals - used to make products.  I knew approximate price ranges, recommended stores, and how to get there.  It was quite fun.

Josh and I celebrated with a walk around the city and relaxed a bit before heading to dinner at another restaurant recommended by our host, and a mere block from our apartment: Gusta Pizza.  

In our minds, this was just a great local pizza place.  But word has gotten out and people come from all over the city for the brick-oven product.  The crust is crunchy and doughy.  The tomato sauce is out of this world.  Thick chunks of cheese are melted on the outside but chewy on the inside.  Ham, pesto, mushrooms, broccoli - the daily specials make use of a variety of delicious meats and vegetables.  I got a pizza with broccoli and ricotta while Josh got a calzone with prosciutto-like ham inside.  Yum.  We decided to get ours to go and took advantage of the plentiful free seating in the two squares nearby.  It was wonderful to sit outside in the warmth of the setting sun, devouring delicious pizza with gusto and people watching.

We had planned to be more social this evening but were too tired.  And so, it was off to bed for the two tired travelers.

Spotted: Knobs in the middle of doors.  They don't give you the torque you need, especially given the huge old doors here, so they seem sort of pointless.

Walk if by Land, and Row if by Sea

Having seen Venice from the safety of the land, we decided to explore it by water and hopped on a water taxi bright and early on Friday.  While we had asked for the water tour tickets, there was no audio component.  Good thing we had brought our own (Rick Steves saving the day again).  We learned that the originally ghetto was in Venice, now visible from the Grand Canal as two tall pink buildings.  The Jewish community, a segregated neighborhood within Venice, was called the "geto" because it was located near a copper foundry.  We also saw several churches (not too many, as the Grand Canal was a commercial rather than religious center), a series of palaces (really just grand houses; they are palatial but not royal) with extraordinary facades and often vacant first floors due to flooding, a historic open-air market, the famous Rialto bridge, Peggy Guggenheim's (in)famous waterfront abode, and the enormous La Salute church.  

I found it interesting how Italians turned to Mary and rejoiced at being spared the Black Death, which wiped out half the population in some Italian cities, even as they were mourning the loss of loved ones.  Despite having a decimated population, they managed to erect a huge structure as they simultaneously rebuilt their society.  It was also interesting to see the modern role of the palaces.  These grand structures has either been saved as museums or were waterlogged, peeling shells.  The first floors were often empty, if not the entire building.  In order to preserve the city's ambience and history, it has become nearly impossible to change buildings.  This has made them unappealing for many modern tenants, and so these monuments decay, instead.  It's the sad reality of Venice.

Josh and I set off in search of the other best-reviewed gelato place that he had found, a small place tucked away on an island far from Tourist Central.  On the way, we wandered new islands and stopped at a lovely place for sandwiches.  I continued to eat my way through Italian specialties, enjoying a sandwich of a spicy salami with Brie on ciabatta.  Josh simply ordered the largest sandwich he could find.  Our sandwich place was only about two blocks from our gelato destination, around which we had planned our day.  Gelateria Alaska opened late, around 2 pm, and was filled with the experimental creations of the owner.  While not necessarily adventurous flavors, they were all very fresh.  We arrived just as it opened and watched as the gelato finished freezing.  I preferred the other gelateria, but there was no denying that this was good gelato, too.

Since we had only a little time left, we made our way back to the train station and wandered the streets surrounding it, soaking up the charms of Venice, the beauty of the canals, and the taste of cannolis.

It really is a shame that last time I was in Italy, I didn't get to eat good food.  Because it is everywhere, and it will knock your socks off.  Your taste buds will love you.  We got in to Florence in the evening on Friday, moved into our new digs on Via Mazzetta (very close to the river and a lovely square that filled with live music at night) and immediately commenced eating.  At the recommendation of our host, David, we went to a place called Tamero which makes delicious fresh pasta.  Delicious!  Josh got the gnocchi and I got pappardelle with pork ragu and, as usual, we went halvesies.  I think we each preferred our own dish, but it was nice to try different things given how little time we have in Italy.

In the evening, we walked around, scoping out the window displays of nearby shops and enjoying the views of the Arno River from the beautiful Ponte Vecchio.  This ancient bridge, which in its several incarnations has served the city for almost a thousand years, linked a major Roman highway that passed over the river that this, its narrowest point.  

Washed away by occasional floods, it remains an incredible structure.  It has shops built right on it and a secret passageway for the Medici family above it, making it unlike any bridge that I had ever seen.  It was also the only bridge to survive World War II, since the Nazis planned to bomb every bridge and cover their retreat.  Thankfully, they were convinced to preserve this little bit of history.

As we walked around in the dying light, we realized that nearly all the shops were selling high-quality leather goods.  

I had known that Italy was famous for its leather but hasn't remembered that Florence is a hotspot for such goods.  Josh dragged me home as I practically drooled over the bags, shoes, and most of all jackets in the different windows.  I jotted down a few names and returned home to do my research.

Spotted: incredible glasswork.  Venice was more of a shopping destination than we realized, and one of the main products was Murano glass.  They made glass versions of everything, from tiny creatures to full orchestras to enormous (and somewhat terrifying) clowns.

Canal this be Real?

Venice is like a dream where something in the world has radically changed but... It works.  In this case, all cars have been replaced by boats with rumbling motors.  Parking spots become posts driven 15 feet into the underwater earth and boats are tethered to them.  Crosswalks become bridges, so low that the boat drivers have to duck under them.  Instead of taking pictures of buildings, people take pictures of the very streets or, rather, canals.  And everything is beautiful.  Venice is a decaying paradise, but even the chipping paint, fading reliefs, scum-bottomed boats, and abandoned palaces are beautiful.  And yet, it really is a dying city.  Large commercial interests are moving in, swallowing up real estate once owned by mom and pop stores.  Residents are fleeing the stampede of tourists and high price of importing staples from the mainland.  The population is only about 60,000 and is shrinking by 1,000 people per year.  So I'm glad that I got to see Venice while it still exists, or at least before it is forced to change in order to save itself.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  Venice is not a melancholy beauty.  It boast vibrant gelaterias and osterias (cafes/restaurants).  Gondoliers with incredible tans lounge in their uniform of horizontal-stripe shirts, black pants, and a straw hat with a black ribbon.  The sun sparkles on the water as tourists bask in the shade of narrow streets.  Josh and I couldn't wait to walk around.  Since we are sweet-toothed tourists in Italy, our first meal was, of course, gelato.  I couldn't wait for josh to try stracciatella and some of my other favorite flavors.  A bit more wandering and we found Osteria da Toni, which boasting 37 pizza flavors, all of which looked delicious.  We sat down and shared a delicious pie, reveling in the chewy glory of fresh-baked crust.

Next, we wandered through the streets, ending up at St. Mark's square to observe the massive church and look out over the water.  The Basilica Patriarcale Di San Marco is a Roman Catholic cathedral and is one of the best known examples of Byzantine architecture.  It is connected to the Doge's palace, making the combined structure huge.  With an interior in the shape of a Greek cross, the cathedral is based on Justinian's basilica in Constantinople.  In front of the cathedral is a large square lined by high end craft stores and restaurants.  Tourists swarm, sitting on any flat surface or milling about seemingly aimlessly.

Since both Josh and I find very touristy places a bit overwhelming, we decided instead to get lost in the small streets of Venice.  We enjoyed overflowing flower boxes, pastel neutral buildings with white accents and terra cotta roofs, wrought iron lamp posts with small curlicue embellishments.  We observed water taxis, mail delivery boats, ambulance boats, and families out for afternoon joyrides.  Despite looking large on our map, the city is actually quite small and we were constantly overestimating how long it would take us to walk between two places.  In fact, I think that we hit most of the islands that first day alone.  That said, we only walked over a fraction of the 400 bridges, but we certainly made a dent.

In true tourist style, we based our afternoon walk on finding a gelateria that Josh had looked up.  We wound our way from island to island, navigating off our badly-printed map with smudged street names.  But we found it! And it was heaven.  Like most top gelaterias, Boutique de Gelato doesn't let you taste the flavors before you purchase.  It's a leap of faith, but they're a pretty safe bet.  The gelato is delicious, so creamy that it makes you stop in your tracks and savor the moment, as all good food should.  It's not out of the way, so definitely make a point of stopping there.  

For dinner, we found a restaurant that Josh had looked up, Osteria al Bacco.  Despite not being a huge fan of fish, Josh was recommending a place famous for its seafood.  We had clams and mussels as a starter (incredible!) and then had fresh pasta with pesto for our meal.  I'm not sure what they do to the food here, but the fresh pasta had an amazing texture as you bit into it and the pesto sauce was incredible.  Josh and I devoured every bite, and he was mopping up the extra sauce with our bread.  It was an indulgent meal by our backpacker standards, but worth every euro cent.  

As we stretched out our meal, hoping to catch a brilliantly-colored sunset, we saw the hint of pink turn to gray-blue and the sky darken ominously.  

We got the check and sprinted, navigating the small twisting streets on the fly, back to our hotel and burst inside as the thunder began to rumble and lightning lit up the sky.  We heard the satisfying sound of fat raindrops plinking on glass as we walked up to our room, and fell asleep to its lullaby.

Spotted: tattoos.  Down calf muscles, arms, back of legs, and everywhere else.  And on magazine stands.  We knew that Italians took their art seriously, but we hasn't realized the modern importance of body art.

Spotted 2: Horrifying as this is, it was everywhere: French fry pizza.

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.