Midday in Paris

There are times when you let opportunity pull you through the door.  This is how our family ended up spending a day in Paris during an accidental trip to London.

London was not our intended destination.  My son had been asking for years if we could take a family trip to Israel as his Bar Mitzvah gift.    We set our sights on a Spring-break trip—a beautiful time of year to visit Israel and a few weeks shy of Jonathan’s 13^th birthday.  Anyone who has even planned an international trip for a family of four knows how complicated the logistics can be.  You have to figure out which airline offers the best service with the fewest connections, you have to make “trial reservations” just to be able to check seat availability, and you add a level of complexity if you attempt to use any type of frequent flyer awards.  I am also hampered by a logistic conundrum:  do you make airline reservations after finding hotel availability, or do you purchase the air tickets in the hope that you can find hotels?

After procrastinating for far too long, I set out on a particular Monday morning determined to get to end of task on this trip.  Eventually I was able to find flights that had enough availability for all four of us to upgrade with award miles.  Fortunately, because it was an international flight, I had a 24-hour period in which to finalize the details—pay, transfer the miles, and issue the tickets.  It seems trivial in retrospect, but to reach this point consumed most of my day.  And that day was September 10, 2001.

As we all know, the next day changed everything we thought we knew about the world.  Our lives were in flux.  Airplanes were grounded; we did not know when or if it would be safe to fly again. We were caught between the need to plan in advance and the inability to trust the future.  As the dust settled, we decided to reset our destination for London.

Although Tom and I had already been to London, it turned out to be a great place to bring the kids.  Everything is new again when you experience it through the eyes of your children.  We had fun navigating the Underground, finding historical figures interred at Westminster Abbey, visiting the Elgin Marbles at the British Museum, catching some musicals, eating amazing Indian food, standing on the meridian at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, and shopping at Harrod’s. 

One thing that was new in London since our last visit was the completion of the long-awaited Chunnel and its train line between London and Paris.  While eating a hearty pub lunch and discussing how to spend the next few days, someone jokingly mentioned going to Paris for the day.  As it turns out, there is a discount excursion ticket for the Chunnel if you make the round trip on a single day.   With a quick stop at a ticket window and a handy credit card, we were booked to Paris for the following day.

It was a bit surreal.  We boarded an early morning train, eating croissants avec au chocolat chaud along the way.  Arriving at Gare du Nord by 11am, we had approximately 6 hours in which to give the kids a taste of Paris.  Thus began “Mom’s ½ day tour of Paris.”

First, we took a taxi to Notre Dame.  Although young, our kids had already had a great introduction to the famed cathedral with a little help from Disney.  They remembered how Notre Dame was the heart of Paris, situated on the Île de la Cité.  They climbed up the ancient stairs to stare face-to-face with the gargoyles.  Then we had lunch at a small café that served what my son still recalls as the best ham and cheese sandwich in the world.

Hailing another taxi, we moved next to the Louvre.  I am ashamed of our brief visit, attended with all the gravitas of a drive-thru encounter at MacDonalds.  We hit the Winged Nike of Samothrace and the Venus de Milo, spending more time journeying the long passageways between the famous relics than we did observing them.  Only for the Mona Lisa did we assume an appropriate reverence as we joined the crowd that all but obscured daVinci’s enigmatic beauty.  In fact, you have no choice but to slow down as you wait among the masses, inching forward only after each tourist has taken his fill.  For certain, many of the pilgrims do not admire daVinci’s painterly lady; they are there to bask in her presence, enjoying the “being” as much or more than the “seeing.”

Pushing forward amidst the strangers, I lost myself in the gaze of the painting’s subject, momentarily forgetting myself, my family, and my surroundings.  Finally, my daughter, who was only 9 at the time, nudged me really hard.  “Mom,” she said, trying to appear calm, “that man is trying to rob you.”  I looked down.  A non-descript man had unfolded a large tourist map so that it was partially in front of me, pushing against my torso.  Underneath, his obscured hands had succeeded in unzipping my waist pack until my bulging wallet was fully revealed.  From her vantage point, my petite daughter could see his progress clearly.  At her warning I looked down and then glared at the man, who quickly folded his map and turned away, taking the hand of the woman next to him and heading out of the gallery.  I grabbed my daughter’s hand and tried to follow the thieves, but they moved too quickly.  They were at the end of the perpendicular corridor heading down the stairs by the time we reached the gallery doorway.  They never ran and never looked back, but they moved swiftly until they were gone.

Shaken but not stirred, we resumed our whirlwind tour of Paris, hopping in a taxi and heading for the Eiffel Tower.  There, we took lots of interesting photographs, trying to make our children look like giants against a dwarfed monument.  From there, we went to the Arc de Triomphe.  My son enjoyed standing in the center, seeing Paris open up in every direction like spokes of a wheel.  Then we headed up the Champs-Elysees, choosing an outdoor café for an afternoon snack.  We ordered four “café liegeois” desserts and let the kids ramble excitedly about their day in Paris.  Once seated, we were hit upon by children begging at our table, holding their dirty hands in our faces as we tried to eat.  Off to the side, their mother solicited us in no less than five different languages, until the head waiter came and chased them away.  Exhausted and spent—both financially and emotionally—we returned to the Gare to catch our train back to London.

They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression.  The legendary Paris, destination for lovers, writers, and artists, left a bad taste in my daughter’s mouth.  The city that she held in highest esteem disappointed her as ungracious and inhospitable.  She, my sensitive and artistic child, was loath to return to the City of Lights—and it broke my heart.  It took many years of coaxing and manipulation until she would finally acquiesce to give Paris a second chance.

Tomorrow's blog:  "The One That Holds More"