Day 8 – Saturday
Today was a free day. Our merry band broke up into couples and throuples, each with their own agenda. Dan and Mary were the vanguard of our group, choosing to head to the CDG Sheraton so that Dan could continue his recovery. The Rosenbergers were afoot early, texting photos from Parisian landmarks like Notre-Dame. The Fongs were a bit more elusive. And what of Peg, Rob and I?
We decided to visit some of Paris’ landmarks starting with the observation platform atop the Arc de Triomphe to take in the vistas from the epicenter of classic Paris’ web of streets. To access the monument (and avoid the insane vortex of cars navigating the traffic circle that is La Place de l’Étoile), one uses an underground tunnel. We emerged into a crowd queued up like an amusement park ride line. While weighing in on whether or not to wait in the queue, I discovered that today was some sort of French holiday…although no one we asked seemed to know exactly what was being celebrated. But, to our surprise, the €16 fee was waived for the day. Vive La France!
The line moved pretty quickly, and before we knew it, we were climbing the 284 steps that spiraled to the top levels.
Well, 2/3rds of us actually completed the climb. After about two spirals, Peg recognized that she wasn’t up to it, turned around and left the building. Rob, fit as a fiddle, made the climb effortlessly. Me?
As the elder of the pack, I had to take a few breaks both on the stairs themselves and in two doorways along the way up that provided me with a place to pause off the staircase. I did find a comrade in my struggle to reach the top. A woman of middle to late middle-age behind me (at first, immediately so) was slowing down the higher we ascended. There developed an ever-widening gap between us as her pace lost steam. This took the pressure off me to speed up. And, those occasions when we both paused became bonding moments as we found ourselves laughing, amused at our mutual situations.
Enough on my struggle! I did make it to the top. And while searching for Rob amongst the crowd, I found Peg! She’d persuaded the elevator bouncer to allow her and her “bad knees” access to the lift. (BTW, it was much easier riding down…which both Peg and I did.)
L’Arc de Triomphe
Rob made it.
I barely made it.
Peg, after a false start, found the elevator.
Leaving the Arc, we joined the masses moving down the Champs-Élysées to its start at the Place de la Concorde. Here we found remnants of the recent Paris Olympics/Para-Olympics. The space had obviously been used for events as it was filled with half-dismantled viewing stands…which, sadly, made the entire area off-limits to pedestrians.
La Place de la Concorde
Circling around, we climbed the stairs to the northwest corner of the Tulerie Gardens, intending to continue on past the Louvre to the Île de la Cité and Notre-Dame.
But, no. That is NOT in the cards today as I trip on a stone, falling (and rolling) unceremoniously to the dusty, pebbly-strewn surface of the garden walkway. I mention the “rolling” — Rob’s word choice from his observation of the fall — because my injuries were fairly minor in the scheme of things: a not-too-deeply scraped left knee plus the bruised ego of embarrassment. Somehow, by “correctly” falling, the damage was minimized. Of course, all the medical “fixings” I’d packed for just such a mishap were in my suitcase back at the hotel. But, between Peg and Rob, they produced some damp wipes, some dry tissues and a handkerchief tourniquet to bandage me up enough as we shifted gears from sight-seeing to searching for a nearby pharmacy.
However, finding an open pharmacy became a challenge as well. (Remember, it was some sort of holiday.) The nearest two on Google Maps were closed…or non-existent. After a new search and walking a few blocks further, we found an open store where Peg, using her fractured Franglish, was able to convey our needs to a sales clerk. Equipped, we needed a triage spot. And it happened to be lunch time.
En route to the open pharmacy, we had passed a little sidewalk bistro, the Déjeuner au Bistrot Vignon, that looked promising. We returned and, after a brief perusal of the day’s chalkboard’d specials, were seated under an umbrella curbside. While I retreated to the restroom to clean and bandage my wound, Rob and Peg ordered a bottle of rosé and reviewed the menu.
Once the damaged knee was dressed, we had an incredible lunch before continuing our trek to the Seine, the Louvre and Notre-Dame.
Déjeuner au Bistrot Vignon
Not wanting to chance a replay of the earlier catastrophe, we took a different route back to the Tuileries, crossed over to the Seine-side of the park, and then walked towards the Louvre. Another Olympics remnant came into view: the spot where the Olympic flame/balloon had been suspended during the two competitions. Here, the base was being dismantled.
Unfortunately, exhaustion was setting in and we revised our plans again. We were walking parallel to the Seine hoping we might view Notre-Dame in the distance. And Peg had never seen the Louvre’s exterior. So, coming to a bridge, we crossed to the riverbank side of the road, hoping to get a spectacular view of the cathedral.
We were too far away, however, and there were a lot of Parisian structures preventing an unobstructed view of the cathedral. So, we left the bridge and entered the inner court of the Louvre so that Peg could see the arms of the palace embracing the glass pyramids of I.M. Pei…and the crowds!
Le Louvre
The day ended with a whimper.
Fighting the crowds to cross the Louvre’s courtyard, we exited the museum grounds, hailed a taxi and returned to the hotel to pickup our belongings and join the Greathouses at the CDG Sheraton. As luck would have it, the Fongs and the Rosenbergers were of the same mind and we all met up in the lobby before departing for the airport. Our Uber van (Aah…so much room!) was prompt and the driver Aziz was most efficient, getting us to the hotel before the others.
The room was serviceable, done up in a kind of late-model IKEA businessman’s chic, and surprisingly quiet. Both the Rosenbergers and us had been given passes to the Sheraton’s “guest lounge” at check-in and we decided to check it out. This was definitely NOT United Airport Lounge caliber: just a few former-or-potential guest rooms strung together and filled with tables and chairs. There was a sideboard that held a few trays of finger food and some liquid refreshments, so dinner was covered. Later, the WVIZ 5+2 met up in the lounge for cocktails and some bar food before we all retired to prepare for our big travel day tomorrow.
Bonne nuit, Paris!
Bordeaux 