Attempting to see the Mona Lisa
My blog has become a boring rant. So I am going to publish some random thoughts and conversations that have popped up during the day. Today C & I were talking about the Mona Lisa. Somehow that Da Vinci Code book crept its way into our conversation - neither of us have read it. We have had our own Parisian experience....
THE MONA LISA
C & I visited Paris last October for two days only. Our visit to Europe was only for two weeks and it had been my lifetime dream to visit Paris. So we paid a fortune and squeezed in a two day side-trip. Now I am a very organized traveller. I make sure I buy the current guide book, usually the Lonely Planet, study up, research, memorize maps, work out itineraries etc. Very anal. I love maps to almost an obsession.
HOWEVER, because we only had two days in Paris I decided not to plan anything because I already knew what I wanted to do:- 1) Visit the Louvre
2) Climb the Eiffel Tower
3) see Notre Dame
then, whatever else we could fit in in such a short time.
We had a gorgeous hotel room, and paid for it (200 Euro per night) but we had such a lovely view over the romantic gabled roofs of Paris. You could have played a football match in the bathtub, and it had a gentle incline built in to the tub to lean against - it was everything I could have dreamed of (except for the house-maid walking in on me in the middle of the bath! - that was not so dreamy).
So up we rise, nice and early for our day at The Louvre. C went to the local bakery and bought back a delicious assortment of goodies, including one of each of the petit-fours they had in stock in a beautiful cardboard box tied with a ribbon. Just lovely...
We set off down to the Champs Elysees ( a five minute walk away) to catch our red double-decker bus that we had bought a ticket for the day before. We go round just about all of Paris before we get to the Louvre, hop off the bus, get lost on the wrong side nowhere near the entrance. Finally make it inside to where the pyramid is, wondering why there are no lines or many people. WARNING TO OTHER UNSUSPECTING TOURISTS: THE LOUVRE IS CLOSED ON TUESDAYS. I sat on the edge of the fountain and cried. So close and yet so bloody far..........
C did his best to console me. Told me he didn't really care about the Louvre anyway and wanted to climb the Eiffel Tower. It didn't help. We bargained and argued and decided we would have just enough time to quickly dash into the Louvre the next morning and see the highlights.
We decided we would go to Notre Dame and then see the Tower that evening. So we walked to Notre Dame, stopped at a very nice "looking" restaurant for a very average salad ( a strange concoction of cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise and not much else). We get to the plaza in front of Notre Dame and there is this full-on Christian festival happening in the square. There was a giant (hollow) wooden cross and all these people waving their arms and singing. There was also a giant queue to climb the bell-tower! I was on a quest to see where Quasimodo lived. I had a thing for Quasimodo because one of my favourite songs of all time is about him: Quasimodo's Dream by the Reels. (BIG P.S. IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS POST - IF ANYBODY CAN POINT ME IN THE DIRECTION OF WHERE I CAN GET A COPY OF THIS SONG I WOULD BE ETERNALLY GRATEFUL. I HAVE A DOWNLOADED COPY OF KATE CEBERANO'S VERSION, BUT ITS JUST NOT THE SAME) .
I get on the end of this very long line. C decides that he feels like smoking a cigar (?!). C is a very health-conscious anti-smoker so this surprised me somewhat. So I patiently wait in line while he shoots off on a cigar mission. He returns and proceeds to smoke the damn smelly thing in the midst of the Christian festival. Then he starts getting dizzy and looks very pale. He sits on the ground and leans on the barrier separating the church from the square looking like a heroin addict who has just had a much needed hit. MANY people were looking at him! Then for reasons known only to C, he decides to eat the butt. Ewwwww says the general populace.
You have to know a few things about my fellow C. He eats anything and has guts of steel. He quite often eats teabags (paper and all), cheese riddled with mould, food that has been unrefrigerated for days, drinks beer with mould growths floating around in it,and not too long ago ate a sausage roll that had been sitting in the car (in summer) for three weeks. Not a single symptom of gastro present. However, the cigar butt actually made him feel ill. Hooray!
Meanwhile in the line I am merrily eavesdropping on a group of gay American guys. How come there is always one whinger in a group that none of the others can seem to stand? Who invites the whinger on the holiday anyway? Do they invite themselves? Is it a pity vote?
Finally the laborious trek up however many steps to the bell-tower. I am not a stair-climber. I am not fit. C was taking delight in my pain by taking pictures of me while I was hauling my asthmatic arse up those stairs. (About a week later I miraculously managed to haul my arse up an even bigger set of steps at St Stephens church in Vienna) It was worth it! A beautiful panorama of Paris and the obligatory photos of me imitating gargoyles.
Oh bugger I'm getting tired now. I'll have to continue my Paris saga next time - maybe we'll get to the Mona Lisa story yet! Till then....
THE MONA LISA
C & I visited Paris last October for two days only. Our visit to Europe was only for two weeks and it had been my lifetime dream to visit Paris. So we paid a fortune and squeezed in a two day side-trip. Now I am a very organized traveller. I make sure I buy the current guide book, usually the Lonely Planet, study up, research, memorize maps, work out itineraries etc. Very anal. I love maps to almost an obsession.
HOWEVER, because we only had two days in Paris I decided not to plan anything because I already knew what I wanted to do:- 1) Visit the Louvre
2) Climb the Eiffel Tower
3) see Notre Dame
then, whatever else we could fit in in such a short time.
We had a gorgeous hotel room, and paid for it (200 Euro per night) but we had such a lovely view over the romantic gabled roofs of Paris. You could have played a football match in the bathtub, and it had a gentle incline built in to the tub to lean against - it was everything I could have dreamed of (except for the house-maid walking in on me in the middle of the bath! - that was not so dreamy).
So up we rise, nice and early for our day at The Louvre. C went to the local bakery and bought back a delicious assortment of goodies, including one of each of the petit-fours they had in stock in a beautiful cardboard box tied with a ribbon. Just lovely...
We set off down to the Champs Elysees ( a five minute walk away) to catch our red double-decker bus that we had bought a ticket for the day before. We go round just about all of Paris before we get to the Louvre, hop off the bus, get lost on the wrong side nowhere near the entrance. Finally make it inside to where the pyramid is, wondering why there are no lines or many people. WARNING TO OTHER UNSUSPECTING TOURISTS: THE LOUVRE IS CLOSED ON TUESDAYS. I sat on the edge of the fountain and cried. So close and yet so bloody far..........
C did his best to console me. Told me he didn't really care about the Louvre anyway and wanted to climb the Eiffel Tower. It didn't help. We bargained and argued and decided we would have just enough time to quickly dash into the Louvre the next morning and see the highlights.
We decided we would go to Notre Dame and then see the Tower that evening. So we walked to Notre Dame, stopped at a very nice "looking" restaurant for a very average salad ( a strange concoction of cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise and not much else). We get to the plaza in front of Notre Dame and there is this full-on Christian festival happening in the square. There was a giant (hollow) wooden cross and all these people waving their arms and singing. There was also a giant queue to climb the bell-tower! I was on a quest to see where Quasimodo lived. I had a thing for Quasimodo because one of my favourite songs of all time is about him: Quasimodo's Dream by the Reels. (BIG P.S. IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS POST - IF ANYBODY CAN POINT ME IN THE DIRECTION OF WHERE I CAN GET A COPY OF THIS SONG I WOULD BE ETERNALLY GRATEFUL. I HAVE A DOWNLOADED COPY OF KATE CEBERANO'S VERSION, BUT ITS JUST NOT THE SAME) .
I get on the end of this very long line. C decides that he feels like smoking a cigar (?!). C is a very health-conscious anti-smoker so this surprised me somewhat. So I patiently wait in line while he shoots off on a cigar mission. He returns and proceeds to smoke the damn smelly thing in the midst of the Christian festival. Then he starts getting dizzy and looks very pale. He sits on the ground and leans on the barrier separating the church from the square looking like a heroin addict who has just had a much needed hit. MANY people were looking at him! Then for reasons known only to C, he decides to eat the butt. Ewwwww says the general populace.
You have to know a few things about my fellow C. He eats anything and has guts of steel. He quite often eats teabags (paper and all), cheese riddled with mould, food that has been unrefrigerated for days, drinks beer with mould growths floating around in it,and not too long ago ate a sausage roll that had been sitting in the car (in summer) for three weeks. Not a single symptom of gastro present. However, the cigar butt actually made him feel ill. Hooray!
Meanwhile in the line I am merrily eavesdropping on a group of gay American guys. How come there is always one whinger in a group that none of the others can seem to stand? Who invites the whinger on the holiday anyway? Do they invite themselves? Is it a pity vote?
Finally the laborious trek up however many steps to the bell-tower. I am not a stair-climber. I am not fit. C was taking delight in my pain by taking pictures of me while I was hauling my asthmatic arse up those stairs. (About a week later I miraculously managed to haul my arse up an even bigger set of steps at St Stephens church in Vienna) It was worth it! A beautiful panorama of Paris and the obligatory photos of me imitating gargoyles.
Oh bugger I'm getting tired now. I'll have to continue my Paris saga next time - maybe we'll get to the Mona Lisa story yet! Till then....
posted by Cathy at 5:15 pm
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