Fun Memories of Paris

My husband’s memories of Paris were quite different from mine as if we were on different trips. We agreed that it was a cold and damp December that year. We visited during Christmas and New Year because we wanted to listen to the service at Notre Dame; we even climbed to the catwalk to see the gargoyles up close and the river Seine.

It was very damp, expensive, the French were very rude to Americans, and it smelled like urine everywhere.  And we had to watch for dog poo before we stepped in the streets in the endless drizzly rain.

Aside for the enthusiasm for our visit to Napoleon’s mausoleum and tombs of other generals, and the very interesting military museum, our memories partied ways.

I was enthralled by all the culture, the art, and the city’s history. It saddened me to see so much opulent beauty surrounding us, knowing how many people had suffered and paid for all this beauty with their forced labor and ultimately with their lives.

We stayed in a hotel in Montmartre, and I can honestly say that I’ve never been so cold in a hotel before. We trekked daily through the rainy streets to the metro where the loudspeakers, without fail, would make the same announcement on the train, in different languages, that, ladies and gentlemen, “robbers were on the train.”

We walked by the cemetery daily and sometimes past the metro station to Sacre Coeur where couples were loitering on the steps smoking and throwing their cigarette butts and trash on the ground. What a sacrilege! 

David liked the sunny side up egg on the pizza served in a restaurant at Versailles and the fresh and delicious pastries and croissants baked by men with hairy arms. He still remembers the fresh baguettes at the train station cafe in Paris buzzed by flies inside. You would think that they would go dormant in December! 

The well-manicured gardens and parks would have been lovely except for the fact that they were all dormant and the trees were brown. A few lovely potted flowers decorated Notre Dame.

Bathrooms were hard to come by which may explain the offensive smell of urine permeating everywhere but especially in the metro corridors and tunnels. It costs money everywhere to use the restrooms, even in cafes, one euro on the average, and in the round restrooms in the middle of the street that stunk to high Heaven.  They reminded me of Dr. Who’s time travel phone booth. 

A fun and delicious Greek restaurant in the vicinity of Notre Dame encouraged patrons to break plates on men’s heads. At his request, I hit my hubby with a plate but on the wrong side. It did not break and luckily, we are still married. He claims that I caused the dent visible on his bald head. Just kidding about the dent part. 

We went on the same trip to Paris but I vividly, not vaguely, remember many details and the beauty surrounding us inside museums and outside majestic buildings. Hubby remembered expensive restaurants and street food and the fact that we almost got mugged by the Eiffel Tower by a gypsy kid. 

I also enjoyed pretending that I did not speak any French because I wanted to hear how rudely the French spoke of the two of us before I responded to the pretentious and arrogant waiters.