Speedy Rabbits

Sunday morning we slept in a bit, and by the time we were ready, we had missed breakfast at the hotel, so we hit the road and found a small cafe where we enjoyed petit pain, cafe and chocolat before beginning our tour of Paris.

From the cafe we walked through the jardins de Luxembourg and headed over to Notre Dame and Ile de la Cite.

As we approached, the chimes rang out. (I have a video of this, but have been having difficulty loading it to the blog. I will upload when I have reasoned it out.)

(This is not that video, but it's something.)

When we first arrived there wasn't much of a line, but after we had traipsed about a bit, the line grew. We had not intended to go in (we were there mostly for the gargoyles), but when we saw the lines we felt vindicated in our decision!

On the far side of the cathedral we crossed a small bridge which was decorated with locks, like the bridge in Seville.

We mostly wandered about, visiting vendors along the river, snapping pictures and people watching, but Sam had a destination in mind -- the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. What a treat!

There were books everywhere, and rooms and nooks and crannies to relax and enjoy them. One room has a piano where patrons can indulge their musical fancies. There is a really cool banquette with rich, red velvet curtains encasing it in the children's section where youngsters can enjoy their favorite stories in a cozy secret clubhouse, and a tiny cavern under one of the staircases with a typewriter and note cards so that visitors can record and share their musings.

(I have a video of this one, too, but am having the same problems uploading, so you will have to be patient, dear reader.) The store is both a bookstore and reading library offering primarily English-language literature and has been a gathering place for writers, having hosted Hemmingway, Burroughs, Nin, Joyce, Keroac, Ginsberg and McCarthy. The store was totally cool. Totally. We all enjoyed our visit and probably stayed close to two hours!

By then we were hungry again, and hopped on the metro to grab lunch at Rouge Pomme. The restaurant is in the University district, which only makes it more glaring that the name of the creperie does not follow French naming conventions -- La Pomme Rouge. Such rebellion!

On our way to the bistro, we passed le foundation, the international university where Sam studied when she was in Paris. We also saw the section of the university where Mauricio studied when he was here for his masters!

Once again we hopped on metro, this time heading for le premier arrondissement, and the Louvre! Unable to choose which two of the 30,000 objets d'art we wished to view, we chose instead to use the restrooms (which were lovely and clean, btw), take some pictures in and around I.M. Pei's huge glass triangles, and walk on.

We did, after all, still have to see the jardins de Tuilleries, Musee d'Orsay, place de la Concorde, the U.S. embassy, the most expensive hotel in France (where the winners of the Tour de France stay), l'Orangerie, le Petit et Grand Palais, les Invalides (from Pont Alexandre III, we didn't walk over) and a crazy looking bird (which Kevin Breen immediately identified for us when we posted its picture on fb) which turned out to be a magpie, on our way to the Champs Elysees!

(And, yes, this picture is taken looking up the Champs to l'Arc de Triomphe from the middle of the street. In traffic. Crazy Sami.)

And I know I said I wouldn't let my travels be influenced by rock stars again, but as I walked along the Champs Elysees, Joni Mitchell's Free Man in Paris kept playing in my head. Funny, I always thought le champs was a bit bohemian, but au contraire it is quite the chic shopping district. When I coupled this new discovery with Mitchell's line in Carey, "I miss my clean white linens and my fancy French cologne", I realized Mitchell was probably not one of those hippies who was into roughing it.

She would have loved these macaroons!

So, soon we were at the Arc de Triomphe where we rested for a bit and planned our next steps. (It is difficult to see, but under the arch there is a small military ceremony taking place.)

Our next steps (and there were many) took us to the jardins du Trocadero (as seen here from the Eiffel Tower). There was a protest going on (it is France, after all) against the use of nuclear power, which was pretty insensitive as the tsunami had recently hit Japan and her nuclear plant was currently failing.

Nevertheless, we relaxed and enjoyed the park and seated ourselves comfortably on a ledge to chill and watch the tower light up at dusk!

Apparently every hour in the evening the tower lights "sparkle" and the protesters were upset over the waste of energy.

From the tower, we walked back along the Seine through a cool little park (where Sam and Dave had yet another jumping competition) to a metro to take us back to the hotel.

We were both tired and hungry when we got back. Somewhere in our travels during the day we passed a Speed Rabbit Pizza location, which thrilled Sam. Apparently she and Jillian used to order from there when in Grenoble, and Sam didn't know there was one in Paris. (It's not shown in the picture, but the pizzas are delivered by bicycle courriers.)

We ordered, they delivered, and soon we were happily settled in our room munching on pizza and wings and watching Community, a lovely Anglo-American balance to our day touring the City of Lights!

Hippocampus!

So, bright and early Saturday we got up and climbed to the roof for breakfast, after which we

finished packing and visited a bit with the hostess before Abderrahim arrived to drive us to the airport.

After checking in, we found postcards and other necessities (?!) at the airport. We didn't need to exchange our dirham, however, as we ended up spending most of our remaining cash on a couple of sandwiches. We're not sure, but we think we spent 24 euro for sandwiches, 2 Oranginas and a package of Prince cookies. Let's hope not.

Our flight was uneventful -- with the exception that flying Royal Air Maroc was pretty exciting in and of itself -- and soon we landed at Orly. I prefer(ed) Orly to DeGaulle (based on my overnight visit there when first arriving in Europe), but Sam disagrees. She claims CDG is a clean, modern, efficient airport. Hmmm.

We took the Orlybus to metro to our hotel, Hotel Central Saint Germaine, located between the Sorbonne and the Latin Quarter. I always thought the Latin Quarter was an area with lots of dance clubs, but apparently it was so named because of all the students (who study Latin) who hang out there. A perfect location and a lovely hotel.

We walked into the hotel to find David sitting in the lobby! Yeah!! It was great to see him. There had been confusion regarding our reservations, so poor David sat there (on comfy couches at least) for a few hours awaiting our arrival. We figured out the room confusion (by "we" I mean "Sam" and her fabulous, fluent French) and headed upstairs to clean up and change to go out. By now it was pretty late for me, but there's a price to be paid when hanging with a younger crowd.

After freshening up, we walked into the heart of the Latin Quarter, which was bustling even at 10 p.m., and found a small bistro to have supper. We then walked past the French Senate building to the sixth arrondissment to enjoy jazz at HIPPOCAMPUS!!!, the jazz club Sam and her friends frequented when they were living in Paris! After hearing so much about it, I was afraid it wouldn't live up to my expectations, but I was happily mistaken; it was wonderful!

Samantha was a bit concerned that the staff might not remember her, but she, too, was mistaken as the maitre d' greeted her at the door and gave her (and me and Dave) a big welcome! The club had a new owner, Pascal, to whom we were introduced before settling in at a cozy table and ordering margharitas (no longer on the menu, but graciously provided in honor of Sam's return!)

As it was quite late, the crown was small -- perhaps only ten or 15 patrons -- and we only caught the last set, but it was great. Maxim (Saury, I learned later) played clarinet with Jean-Pierre (?) on piano. Between the last set and closing time, Maxim joined us at our table and we talked. He was as interested in our lives as we were in his! His father was the bandleader at the Casino de Paris in New Orleans, so he grew up surrounded by musicians. He sat on the laps of Maurice Chevalier and Josephine Baker as a child! One of his daughters is a musician in Paris; another is in Germany. His granddaughter speaks English, French, German and another language (I forget which), and Maxim talked with us about why so many French speak English. He said after World War II when he was in school and being presented with languages to learn, the choices were German, Italian and English. In the aftermath of the war, English was the most palatable!

As we prepared to leave, Sam, Pascal, and the maitre d' chatted. It turned out that the Pascal was friends with the owner of a club Sam knew in Caen. Pascal made Sam a "coupon" for a free drink at the Caen club if she ever got back there.

At 2 a.m., David and I walked home past the Senate on quiet Paris streets, but Sami was walking on air!

Couscous Friday!

OK, sorry for the extended absence. When last I updated, Sam and I had enjoyed a lovely first day in Marrakech. So Friday, we slept in a bit, breakfasted and then made our arrangements to get to the airport Saturday and to visit a traditional Arab bath, or hammam, in the afternoon.

We walked to the Palais Bahia (taking the direct route was much less complicated and much more successful than our short cuts of Thursday) and toured for a bit. There are two palaces on the tourist route; we were told at the riad that they were comparable, so we saved El Badi for our next visit. (C0me to find out, El Badi is a ruin, and so quite different from Bahia.)

There is a large center garden for ablutions, with, essentially, five houses surrounding it for the wives and concubines of the owner.

There were several gardens with unusual flora as well as more typical palm and tropical fruit trees. The breezes throughout, along with the tile and stucco construction, kept the rooms cool as we wandered about.

The craftwork becomes overwhelming at a point. When passing from room to room of intricately patterned wall tiling and carved wooden ceilings, it is easy to dismiss the beauty of the workmanship. Bahia means "brilliance", and the palace certainly reflects that.

After visiting the palace, Sam and I walked up the adjoining arset and visited several souks, searching for bath scrubbies (for Monica's granpa) and tea glasses. The souks we found

on this side road near the palace were nicer than those closer to Jemma el fnaa, friendly, relaxed shopkeepers and

reasonable prices; probably as fewer tourists made the trek off the beaten path. We found some colorful tea glasses (blue for Fez, green for Islam, red for Marrakech the rose city, orange, purple and pink for who-knows-what) and a scrubbie for Monica's granpa, then headed over to boulevard Avenue Al Fatouaki or El Mouahidine and the hammam. After wandering around a bit, we stopped for directions and found we were almost there, so we soldiered on.

The spa was superb! With the exception of the extreme awkwardness of dressing only in a flimsy paper bathing bottom, snuggly robe and slippers in front of two complete strangers (and parent/child) the hammam was a treat. First, we entered a large, two-room sauna-like suite with alcove showers and a large massage table in the first area and seating alcoves and a massage table in the second area. After disrobing (!) we were plastered with an oil country soap and seated in the second sauna room for fifteen minutes or so. Just as the heat became uncomfortable, the ladies returned, scrubbed us with the soap and allowed us to shower off. Then, we hopped up on the massage tables where we were coated with an aromatic (from what I am told) herbal paste, and returned to our little seating alcoves for another 15 minutes of sweating. Toward the end of this sitting, I was getting pretty uncomfortable, but just as I was contemplating screaming, the ladies returned and we were allowed to shower off. I took a cooler shower this time. Finally (I thought) the ladies massaged us with argan oil. (Apparently, the argan tree is only found in Morocco; fas-ki-natin.) I thought I was done, but noooooooo.

Back to the sauna for another 15 minutes. OK. By five minutes in to the session, I was ready to run out screaming. Ten minutes in, I began to fear heart attack or stroke. Just as I was getting my Mersault on, the ladies returned and I sprinted to the showers. This time I took an ice cold

shower and stayed there until they made me leave. I thought the treatment was over, but little did I know they were taking us to individual massage rooms! The massage was fabulous. They massaged places I didn't even know I had places. We were left to rest (I hope I didn't snore), and when we returned to the changing room I felt dazed, but thoroughly relaxed.

Walking home, we glided past snake charmers, henna ladies and sidewalk leches without a thought, and traversed the cacaphony of the marketplace with the promise of couscous Friday at the riad!

We enjoyed boeuf tagine, probably accompanied with appetizers, tea and mousse, but honestly, I don't remember! We were one with the couches in the salon, Morroco and the universe.

We met Youssef, the weekend host of the riad, and had a nice chat over dessert. He suggested my husband and I purchase a riad in Marrakech that Sami could manage for us and we could all enjoy the good life. He told us about his family. They are nomadic Berbers and live in the desert. He shared data about their livestock posessions, goats and camels, as well as what it's like to live in the desert. It was really interesting, but when he began to question Sam about her knowledge of Islam and dating status, it began to appear that we had inadvertently entered into a courting ritual. We exchanged email information (but of course I can't find it now), then headed to bed.
Morocco was lovely, but we were excited for the next leg of our journey -- meeting David in Paris!