Today I completely humiliated myself.
It’s a busy Monday morning at Gare Saint-Lazare. The pollution is now at levels where trains and bus are not free, so its the first time I’m using the 5-day Paris Visite ticket I purchased at the airport. It’s actually the last day I can use it. But, when I try to put it through the turnstile, it won’t work. So I go searching for the information kiosk.
I’m already annoyed that I paid 40 euro for it, and really want to get my day underway. I find the kiosk, but the first person doesn’t speak English, nor the next one. So I have to awkwardly stand back and let other customers through and wait for the third one to be free. And even then he’s having difficulty understanding me. I pull out my phone and point to the date I purchased it and count five days forward. “You want to go to the airport?” “No,” I say, “I want to travel around Paris, but this ticket doesn’t work.”
I’m now, without realising it, doing that embarrassing thing that all tourists do when they’re having trouble being understood. Yup…
I’m speaking louder and louder. <face palm>
It’s only when he finally comprehends what I’m asking for, do I realise what I’ve just done. And, to add insult to injury, while waiting for his machine to spit out a new ticket, he switches off the internal speaker, turns around to his colleagues, and says something in French, to which they all laugh. Ugh. So humiliating!
To cover my embarrassment, I take my ticket and thank him profusely in both English and French. I also ask if I can purchase a ticket to cover the next two days, trying not to raise my voice again. “It’s better to buy two individual tickets to just cover zones 1 and 2,” he tells me. But I must handwrite my name and the date on each one as I use them. Once again I thank him profusely and with three new tickets in hand, I skulk away.
It’s the first time I’ve felt uncomfortable with my lack of even basic French.
An American breakfast
It’s not until I’m sitting at a row of tables, outside a cafe in Montmarte, sharing my humiliation with my daughter via text that I can laugh about it. I’m sure everyone who travels the world does it at one point, I tell her. Today was my turn.
It didn’t help, I’m sure, that I was functioning on an empty stomach. I’ve order an American breakfast. It’s muesli and yogurt, fresh chopped fruit, croissants and bread, butter and jam, orange juice, and bacon and eggs with toast. I add a hot chocolate and, later, a pot of tea. I don’t care that I’m eating my feelings right now, I’m hungry and this is delicious.
Now sustained, I head for the funiculaire, a electronic cable car that transports visitors up to the steps of Sacre Coeur, La Basilique du Sacré Cœur de Montmartre. I snapchat the short ride to the top.
Above me, Sacre Coeur stands like a watchtower over Paris, below me smog shrouds the view of the Paris skyline.
Past security and into the basilica, I try to capture her painted ceilings. Personally, I don’t think the architecture is as stunning as Notre Dame, but the iconography is gorgeous.
When I exit the sun is now shining. I decide to wind my way back down to the township, following the narrow cobbled roads.
Christmas shopping in Montmarte
There are lots of boutique clothing, jewellery, and food shops in Montmarte, and I spend a few hours exploring them, buying my family some little things for Christmas. The shopkeepers are very helpful, don’t mind my lack of French, and I’m feeling confident again.
The strong smell of cigarette smoke and coffee. That’s the impression Montmarte will leave me with. Along with the old world charm of its windy streets and eclectic window dressings.
That onion soup though…
At Rue des Martyrs I stopped for lunch at a corner bistro called Bistrot Des Artistes. I chose a delicious onion soup and a small glass of Gewurztraminer, and linger to use the complimentary wifi.
I then walk the rest of the way back to my hotel and have a nap.
Fine dining French-style
I’d made sure to make a dinner reservation first thing in the morning and chose a slightly more expensive option. I want to treat myself to at least one decent a la carte French dinner this trip.
At La Taste Monde I was greeted by a charming, English speaking hostess, who took my coat and showed me to my table for one, located under bottles of wine hanging out from bolt holes in the wall. She gave me a four page menu and a huge tome of a wine list.
I chose the salmon tartare as an entree and the roasted duck breast as my main. At her recommendation, I add a glass of Hungarian white wine. It was dry but sweet, the perfect accompaniment to the tartare.
Both dishes were outstanding. The duck which was served with carrots, savoy cabbage, and gravy was particularly filling. But that didn’t deter me from asking for the dessert menu.
I choose the chocolate fondant and ask about the accompanying dessert wine suggested on the menu. She explains it’s made from white grapes, picked and left on straw for the sun to reduce. The result is a rich, dark wine with smoked chocolate flavours.
Oh yes. I’ll have one of those too, please.
Thus I ended my day. A day full of food and shopping.
Postscript: I apologise for the short descriptions today. Its a rushed post because I want to get to the Eiffel Tower before the sun comes up, and the hope of getting some exceptional shots.
sidalscapes 