Paris, Day Two

We did not get murdered in our sleep and after getting ready as quickly as possible, we walked to the nearest metro stop while we ate baguettes from the hostel (yes, I was that hungry). We had located the American Embassy: oddly enough it was right where we had initially walked up from the metro the night before. We rode over and walked up to the personnel outside the Embassy’s wall. I had to present my driver’s license and collect the necessary forms while everyone else presented their passports and we all had our coats and purses searched. We were then allowed inside a sort of fenced hallway that led us into an outbuilding where our things were searched again and items such as cameras, phones, and mp3 players were taken and kept in plastic bags while we were given vouchers to retrieve them on our way back through. Finally we entered the Embassy, walked up the stairs, and took a number. I sat down to start my paperwork when my number was called. I walked to the corresponding window and explained that my paperwork had only just been started but that I needed to know where I could get my new photographs taken. The man was very kind (not at all like my encounter with a certain Italian consulate) and directed me to the downstairs area. I finished my forms and went downstairs.
The “photographer” was like one of those machines in malls where you and your boyfriend climb in and make funny faces, ending up with a strip of candid photos that always ends up either tacked to a mirror or stored in a shoebox. For four euros I got three tries and two emergency-passport photographs. I thought the picture was better than my last passport but that I still looked a bit miserable.
I took another number and was again helped very quickly, answering a few questions and presenting my driver’s license and travel itinerary. I was then asked to go to a different window to pay the full passport fee, $97.50 or about €78. The next time my number was called, a different lady asked me more questions and had me sign the form. As she was very interested in what I was doing in Iowa I wondered if it was some sort of citizenship test as no one had yet asked me to produce my birth certificate or witness. It turned out, however, that she was from Davenport and, when I asked about establishing my citizenship, she laughed and said she would vouch for me. In about another half hour I was issued my temporary passport along with some paperwork for eventually getting another full-fledged version upon my return to the States. When we left the Embassy after collecting our things it was still before noon.
We were all very hungry so we began to walk in the direction of the Tuileries in search of a café. We ended up at a nice but rather commercialized place (it was along Rue de Rivoli, after all) called Le Sanseveria where I had some very enjoyable French onion soup.
It was about one o’clock when we left the café and as we had plans to meet Lesley’s friend, Kris, at the East Pier of the Eiffel Tower, we started making our way there on the metro. Our stop was “out of order,” so we were obliged to get off at the next one and walk a bit further. It was so surreal to see the “Tour” looming up. It had been visible from the area around the Embassy but was so much bigger than I had thought. I had also been unaware that it was so close to the Seine or that the gypsies were so rude and militant. But like Florence, if you speak a little German to them you are generally left alone.
The East Pier was conveniently labeled so we had no trouble finding Kris. While we were waiting for two friends of hers to show up, Allison and I crossed the street and ordered crepes with chocolate and stiff, perfectly sweetened whipped cream from a vendor near a merry-go-round. The sun had finally come out and we went down to the river to enjoy our treats. They were so good! By that time I was in very high spirits and didn’t mind the powdered sugar that dotted my coat from the wind.
Rejoining the group, Allison and I again set off alone for a visit to the Musée d’Orsay (the others were going to the Musée de l’Armee to see some Napoleonic items). We did not wait very long in line (which was wonderful as it was bitterly cold and windy) and even got reduced tickets (five and half euros) for being under 25. We walked in and ohhhed and awwwed at how well the train station had been preserved and decided that it was an extraordinary place to house art from a period when train traffic had really flowered.
We wandered around, constantly bombarded with great masterpieces every time we looked over our shoulders. In one room we turned just as a crowd was parting, like a curtain, from around Manet’s Le Dejeuner sur l’Herbe. In the spring I had taken a rigorous class covering the period from Realism to Symbolism and felt like my entire syllabus was housed in that building (though some of it was also in the Chicago Art Institute). As it closed and we were ushered out, we did not get to see the entire displayed collection. For example, I missed Manet’s Olympia. However, I feel that this just guarantees that I will always have a very valid reason for having to return some day.
Allison and I then walked across the river to the Louvre which, for under 26s, is free after six on Friday nights. It was enormous. How inadequate that word seems! I had never imagined it that size. It was like 50 Uffizis or was at least so monumental that it seemed it. Pictures always illustrate the pyramid in front but what one does not realize is that there are two huge wings on either side and another giant square behind. We were to meet the other group of girls in front of this famous pyramid but as the line was getting longer and they were getting later, we went inside without them. Grabbing a map and some coffee, we staked out a plan for seeing what we absolutely could not leave Paris without experiencing.
We only skimmed the surface. We saw the Venus de Milo, a famous Etruscan sarcophagus, the Nike of Samothrace, Michelangelo’s Dying and Rebellious Slaves, The Death of Sardanopolis, The Raft of the Medusa, the Mona Lisa, The Wedding at Cana, the Madonna and Child with St. Anne, the Virgin of the Rocks, two Vermeers, and a huge room of Rubens. We missed Ingres, Velasquez, the Northern Renaissance, the Code of Hammarabi and so many more. Again, it is only return security.
We then returned to the area around the hostel and as we met the other girls while exploring our dining options, we were joined by Katie in entering a café called Le Commerce (near the Commerce metro station). Our waiter seemed to vacillate between amused interest and mockery but I confess that I had not expected much better. Allison and I shared escargot which was not half bad (palatable, I’m sure, due to the garlic sauce on top). We had special little utensils for holding the shells while we plucked out the contents. The French patrons around us seemed to find it gratifying that we enjoyed it. We all also ordered “preserved duck with fried potatoes” which was excellent and shared a bitter chocolate cake with vanilla custard. The entire meal was really wonderful. The waiter even seemed to open up at the end but Allison insisted that he had just had a few drinks behind the counter.
Unfortunately it was now time to return to the hostel. After venturing a shower, I again fell asleep with my wallet joined, now that I had one, by my passport.