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AMY SMITH LINTON

For Paris is a Movable Feast

4/11/2014

8 Comments

 
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It was not the best of visits to the City of Lights, in August when the city was empty of natives except those who must stay to deal with the tourists. 

There was, for instance, an unpleasant restaurant episode involving a snotty waiter who suggested, sneeringly, that we might like catsup with our lamb.  

I took my traveling companion on a day-long Bataan Death-March tour of the city starting in Saint-Germain, to Notre Dame, past the Louvre, by the Jardin des Tuileries, up Champs-Elysee, to Le Tour and beyond, until she demanded a taxi back to the hotel, or at least a cafe, some wine, and probably a cigarette. Possibly a foot-masage.

Still. 

Paris.

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My companion claimed that Le Tour Eiffel looked just like an asparagus spear. Or a radio tower. And not one of the charming ones, either. She might have just been cranky, having clocked her 217th kilometer on the hard cobbled streets without adequate pause for refreshments.
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She did not seem to notice the Rodin statues mocking her, pretending to be mimes. Under the plane trees. With the scent of madeleines in the air.
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Even so, note the child wearing chic little black dress and hat with father in black espadrilles. In the Jardin du Luxembourg. Naturellement.
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This snack, served without rudeness, was enough to make me wax Hemingway-esque: "As we ate the crusty bread smeared with pate with its dark, rich flavor, and then crunched the little sour pickles so that the darkness was washed away, leaving only the taste of richness, and as I drank the cold beer, I lost the empty feeling, and I became happy again."
8 Comments
george a.
4/11/2014 01:51:39 am

Next time go in July and get a prime spot along Avenue des Champs-Élysées in the hope that a French rider will actually win the TdF for a change.

Reply
Amy
4/11/2014 04:21:59 pm

George, I find the TdF strangely addicting -- from my perch near a big television.

Reply
george a.
4/11/2014 01:55:27 am

As for the snarky waiter, I would've replied "No, no, no, no. Catsup will never do. For a dish this crude Tabasco is the only answer."

Oh piffle, I'm getting an error message on my comment. Is there a Frenchman at the controls???

Reply
Amy
4/11/2014 04:13:13 pm

Controls?!

The snarky waiter -- oh how I WISH my college French had stretched to saying something really snotty about his side-conversation with the other waiter, by the way -- earned himself a single penny in tip -- courtesy of my traveling companion, who was more than willing to wait the half an hour for him to return with change.
Reinforcing his world-view. And mine.

Reply
Lois
4/11/2014 11:26:14 am

Yum!

Reply
Amy
4/11/2014 04:08:02 pm

Yup!

Reply
george a.
4/12/2014 12:33:44 am

(a). He wasn't expecting any tip, as tipping isn't generally practiced in Europe, and (b). we also watch the TdF every July. It's like taking a vacation in France, plus one gets to hear Phil and Paul commentate.

Reply
Amy
4/12/2014 01:05:45 am

Ha!
Oh he was expecting a tip...it was one of those VERY touristy restaurants, and he and his co-workers were bitching about the customers the whole time in French. As if no one could follow. Poor bitter bastids.

Reply



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