Eiffel Tower

Today while deciding which postcard to post, I was surprised to realize I had never posted one of the Eiffel Tower, or le Tour Eiffel. It is one of my favorite places in the world, and given that there are probably 20 Eiffel Tower postcards in my collection, each with a different view or perspective, I could post an Eiffel Tower every day for a couple of weeks, and never get bored.

Not to say that you all wouldn't get bored.  But I wouldn't.

I was thinking about the Eiffel Tower because my oldest son is going to Oxford for a summer program, and he'll be visiting one of his dorm friends in Paris.  Ahhh, to be in 20 in Paris.  I'd be crazy jealous if I weren't so psyched for him.

A Bit More of France - Le Pont Alexander III

This postcard arrived in the mail yesterday. It is an unusual size, and particularly beautiful, so I'm going for a bit of France, two days in a row. There was no signature on the back, although I think it came from my friends Paul & Gayle, who have been in France for either a birthday or anniversary - can't remember which.

I was surprised that there were no comments on the French AIDS advertising postcards yesterday. It was such an opportunity for bad humor, if nothing else.

Hotel Relais Christine - The Best Hotel in Paris

Unlike the "Worst Hotel I Ever Stayed In", the entryway to the Hotel Relais Christine belies what waits beyond.

As you walk through the low-ceilinged, slightly damp, cobblestoned archway pictured above into the hotel courtyard, the sound of a wheeled suitcase is loud, self-conscious, and distracting. And after a three hour Eurostar ride from London, and a cab; or a five hour flight from Athens, and a cab; or a seven hour flight from New York, and a cab; or an eleven hour flight from San Francisco, and a cab, all you want is your room and a shower.

But the pathway is a tunnel of transformation, and as you enter the courtyard, the jet lag, the white noise, the "Lost in Translation" spaciness begins to melt away. You feel, at last, that this is the Paris of dreams: a small hotel, a solicitous concierge, a communal space that is more living room than lobby with a fireplace and an honor bar, long narrow corridors leading to a small but beautifully Parisian room, a bathroom that is about bathing, and a separate room for the toilet. Ahhhh.

I found this hotel by accident, recommended by a colleague in London and was lucky enough to stay here five or six times.

Once with my mom, who flew from Los Angeles to meet me here at the start of ten days in Europe together. She arrived before I did, and was laughing so hard when she opened the door to our room for me, I wondered if this was how jet lag affected her. But no. She had only just found the toilet, after an evening spent wondering how a bidet worked as a, ahem, receptacle for #2.

Another time, I desperately needed a haircut. The hotel sent me around the corner, and there the hairdresser, who spoke no English and I, who speaks only a little French, concocted one of the best haircuts I've ever had.

The last time I stayed there was in the early Fall with my husband. He arrived from Brussels, I from Athens. This perfect weekend included a trip to Versailles and an incredible dinner at a place around the corner from the hotel. Roger Le Grenouille (Roger the Frog) specializes in, surprise surprise, frog legs. There were only five or six tables of us and we were the only Americans there. At some point, the proprietor decided he had enough guests for the evening, closed and locked the doors, and proceeded to hand out hats all around. The food was good (frog legs taste like chicken) and the French-only music got louder and louder. There was a French family celebrating a birthday and the owner led us all in singing and dancing after dinner was done, and not just to wish the celebrant "happy birthday". We ended the night sitting in a booth in the back with the owner and the chef, snifter of cognac in hand. It was probably the most fun I've ever had in a restaurant.

The hotel seems to be a little fancier (there didn't used to be a spa) and a lot more expensive (although it was never cheap). No matter. Someday, I'll go back.

Paris At The Turn of The Most Recent Century

It's hard to remember the global anticipation, excitement and fear surrounding the turn of the century from 1999 to 2000, or Y2K as it was always called. Nowhere was this more apparent than Paris. There was a countdown calendar mounted on the side of the Eiffel Tower that started three years before the change. I traveled often to Paris during this time and always, even if I was in Paris for just a day or two, made a point of visiting the Eiffel Tower. It was exciting to see how the countdown clock had changed since my previous visit.

During 1999, there was another event marking the change in the form of a giant sculpture garden on the sidewalks along the Champs-Elysees. I was lucky enough to be there during this time.

Below is a description from the Paris Voice, with a postcard of one of the most famous sculptures to the left.

Even in the pouring rain people stop to look at the sculpture along the Champs-Elysées where more than 50 works by contemporary artists from around the world transform the famous avenue into a giant sculpture garden. This much talked about outdoor exhibition is being billed as a sequel to the modern sculpture show that drew record crowds in 1996. John Kelly’s “Cow in a Tree” has caused several traffic jams. The seemingly outlandish work is explained in simple terms by the artists who says “when it floods in Australia you often see a cow caught up a tree.” Another eye-catching work is “The Hotdog Vendor” by American artist Rod Grooms, who celebrates everyday heroes of modern life. The outdoor exhibit will be on view through Nov15. (http://www.parisvoice.com/voicearchives/99/oct/html/calendar.html)

Paris At The Turn Of The Century, The Last One That Is

When my grandmother died, we found a scrapbook filled with postcards sent from Europe in the early 1900s. This is one of them, sent from Paris on July 2, 1900.

The card is addressed to Master Emery Doan, who was my grandfather. Many of the cards in the book are to him, from an Aunt. I can't quite read what her name was, perhaps Aunt Walle? Interesting that the handwriting almost looks like it is addressed to "Master Mary Doan".