Background Reading

Seven years ago when my husband and I were traveling in northern Spain, we visited the city of Santiago de Compestela. While in the city we saw people coming into the city with backpacks and walking sticks, looking dirty and tired. We were told that these were pilgrims who had been on the Camino, a 800 kilometer (500 mile) walk from France to Santiago de Compestela. We were told that some had walked less, some more. And that this pilgrimages was one of the world’s three major pilgrimages, along side Rome and Jerusalem. 

Santiago refers to St James whose bones are said to have been buried beneath the cathedral in Santiago de Compestela and later dug up and place in a small casket in the cathedral. Santiago refers to Saint James Iago means James.

Further explanation revealed that each person had their own reasons for walking the Camino, but that most were on some spiritual or internal journey. People have been walking the Camino for centuries, originally for traditional religious reasons, which were to do penance for a wrong, give thanks for blessings received or to ask St James to intercede on their behalf with God. This was a common practice, and still is, in the Catholic faith. I can’t speak for the other Christian faiths, but I know I was brought up in a tradition where yo could ask any number of Saints, and even the Virgin Mary to go to God on your behalf. Kind of a middle man or agent or attorney ot argue your case.

Well anyway, the whole idea of doing a 500 mile walk for spiritual reasons appealed to me. And I thought “I’d like to do that some day.” Well the topic came up in a number of ways over the intervening years and I talked about it with friends, but never really made any plans or took any action. But last winter a friend called and said there was a movie about “that thing” I’m always talking about called “The Way,” that she and another friend were going to see it that afternoon, and would I like to join them. Well of course I did.

I saw the movie and got inspired once again. I thought to myself, “I’m sixty five, not getting any younger, if I’m going to do this, I need to just do it.” So I made a plan. I did some research about equipment, got some boots and a back pack. But I had already planned a three month study abroad trip to Spain for the winter. So I left my back pack, took my boots and flew off to Salamanca. Salamanca has a beautiful river and I began walking along the river in my boots in my spare time. I spent a lot of time wandering and stayed in shape. Shortly before i was to come home, I decided to go off the trail along the river and ended up on some very rough terrain. I stepped wrong and the next day my back and hip hurt for the first time in several years. No problem, I have a plan. I will find some way to get around this problem.

I have arthritis and bursitis throughout my body, neck, lower back, hips and knees. So, I start panicking about the Camino and my sore body. But I get home, get a cortisone shot in my hip, go to the massage therapist for some acupressure and go see my chiropractor. My body started to heal. Then I was out hiking the local hills one day with a friend and we went down an extremely steep and slippery trail. I found out later that it is named “Elevator.” So about two thirds of the way down I decide to take a few fast steps over the the side where I thought I could get some traction in the softer dirt. I forgot about the weight of the pack carrying me forward and did a face plant. The next day and a half I was fine and then my ham strings froze and my back went into severe nerve pinching pain. 

Well I have a plan. When I have a plan, I get obsessed and then it is full speed ahead and clear the decks. So I sent back to the massage therapists, back to the chiropractor and back to my hip and knee doctor. The latter tells me I can’t have another cortisone shot for at least three months. But, but, but . . . the Camino is two months away. I’m not supposed to take anti inflammatories because I had a perforated ulcer which had to be fixed by a nasty surgery. 

So I ask about a shot and then spend a day trying to get one of those and getting mad a doctor who won’t give me one because it would be dangerous to my health. But at this point I don’t care about my health, I have a plan, I’m going to walk the Camino as a spiritual journey.  I am obsessed. The next morning I was writing about the stupid doctors, my stupid body, feeling sorry for myself when all I wanted to do was go on a spiritual journey and walk the Camino as a thank you to God for my life. During this process it began to occur to me that perhaps the spiritual journey had already begun, that maybe it was about surrender. Yikes!

A few days later I was in my car listening to a Leonard Cohen CD that I had heard at least a hundred times, and a song came on I had never really heard before. Cohen said it was more of a prayer than a song and the title of it was “If It Be Your Will.” Damn! So maybe it is not about my will, maybe I don’t get to decide when or how I go on journeys of a spiritual nature.

Then I started pondering the fact that the Camino for me was a present to God for all of my blessings. Slowly I started to realize that if I am going to give someone a present, it should be something they want, not just soething that I want.

Hola Barcelona - Early Days

So much happened in Barcelona that I never got around to writing about our adventures before Hospital del Mar. During short comfortable three hour train ride from Valencia I got some great graffiti shots especially as we pulled into Barcelona. A taxi took us to the same hotel John and I stayed in three years ago. The Hotel Principal is in the El Ravel district of Barcelona. It is historically and still today the roughest section of Barcelona, on the wrong side of La Rambla, so to speak. The area is populated by lots of young people, drug users and drunks. The streets smell of urine and are dark and somewhat scary. But we felt right at home somehow.

After we got settled in our room, we went out to explore our the city. We strolled down the Rambla toward the harbor and Port Vell, stopping to have some café con leche. As we continued our stroll the Columbus monument came into view. We walked around the mall at Port Vell. We didn’t walk in the mall, but literally walked around it, enjoying the breeze off the water. We continued walking along the harbor to Baceloneta Beach enjoying the early evening and vendors of crafts along the paseo. We decided to take the metro back to the hotel so we walked inland a few blocks. Before we jumped on the metro we went into a very confusing cafeteria to get a bite to eat. We couldn’t quite figure out where the line started or how we were supposed to order food. But we did manage to get some food on our trays and in eventually in our mouths. It was not the best meal we ever had.

For some reason, the first thing Leea wanted to see was the Monastery at Montserrat. The Monastery is built near the site where the Black Virgin was discovered. According to Catholic tradition, the statue of the Black Virgin of Montserrat was carved by St. Luke around 50 AD and brought to Spain. It was later hidden from the Moors in a cave (Santa Cova, the Holy Grotto), where it was rediscovered in 880 AD. According to the legend of the discovery, which was first recorded in the 13th century, the statue was discovered by shepherds. They saw a bright light and heard heavenly music that eventually led them to the grotto and the statue.

The Bishop of Manresa, present at the discovery, suggested that it be moved to Manresa, but the small statue was discovered to be so heavy it could not be lifted. Thus the Virgin had indicated her will to stay on Montserrat to be venerated there.

According to historians, it was then, in the 12th century, that the larger statue of the Madonna and Child, which now resides in the Basilica, was made. The Madonna statue soon earned widespread fame as numerous miracles were associated with the intercession of the Black Virgin of Montserrat.

So on Thursday we strolled up the Rambla to Placa de Catalunya and purchased tickets for the train and the funicular to get to the monastery. Once we were on the train we met a new friend. Her name was Iris and she was from Argentina and teaches Spanish and English at the secondary level. One of her daughters lived in Barcelona and she was visiting her. Iris is a traveler and we told travel stories and compared notes and gave each other recommendations for places to see. She has another grown daughter at home in Argentina. She was really a hoot and I’m sure she would have been a kick to party with. On the trip back in the funicular she was videotaping herself for her daughter, singing and making faces and videoing the view from the funicular. We were cracking up. Of course she had to video the woman with the purple hair for her daughter.

After we got off the train we boarded a small funicular which waved in the breeze as it took us across a deep valley and up the side of a very steep mountain.

Iris went directly to the Monastery and Basilica while Leea and I hit the walking trails, or I should say hiking trails. We hiked to the Santa Cova to see the original Black Virgin. All along the trail were religious sculptures and altars. It was a physically challenging hike. In the chapel of the Santa Cova there was a room with all sorts of items attached to prayers to the Black Virgin. We sat and reflected on the items and prayers, on the Black Virgin and on the long hike back. By the time we finished our hike back there was not time to see the interior of the monastery before the last train left for Barcelona.

After we rested and cleaned up, we went to the sushi restaurant near our hotel and had a quiet dinner.

The next morning we ate breakfast at the hotel and then wandered along the Rambla to the Mercat de Sant Josep/ La Boqueria which is huge and sells everything from fresh fruits to raw meats and fish. Then we decided to go to the beach and soak up some sun.

Again we jumped on the metro and got off at what we thought would be the closest spot to a nice beach. Barcelona has miles of beach starting at the beach and going on forever. There are at least five metro stops parallel to the beaches. Well we walked through an industrial area, a cemetery and a McDonalds before reaching the beach. It was very windy, but we set down our towels and laid out. Then a group of young men, with a couple of kids, came and stood right in front of where we were lying on our towels. They had just come from McDonalds. They stood there eating their burgers and fries, shaking out towels and generally kicking up the sand. We finally gave up and decided this was not a beach day. We stopped for some yummy tapas as we walked along the paseo on our way back to the metro. A good day all in all.

By ten that night I was in the emergency room of Hospital Del Mar not more than fifty feet from where we ate tapas. Oh well, another adventure.

Last Day in Paris

On Wednesday slept in, went to the little café up the street for a late breakfast, packed up our suitcases and prepared to leave the hotel. We left our bags in the hotel luggage room because our train did not leave for Madrid until seven that evening.

We stopped by the Pantheon which was just a couple of blocks from our hotel. It is an impressive buildings and I was able to see Emile Zola’s tomb. He is not exactly a popular hero in France because of his political activities, so entry to his tomb was blocked.

After the Pantheon we walked through the Luxemburg Garden to Saint-Sulpice, one of the locations featured in Dan Brown's novel The Da Vinci Code. However we were unable to crack the code in the short time we had at the church.

We spent our last afternoon in the Bastille. This is the neighborhood surrounding the ruins of the prison made famous by a revolt on July 14, 1789, to begin the French Revolution. Now it is the center of Parisian nightlife and is home to an array of popular restaurants, clubs and cafés. It also is an artsy center with studios and stores. Unfortunately we were there during the afternoon siesta time, so the stores were all closed.

We did find a little café run by two ditzy gay women with a poster in French for the Vagina Monologues. When we arrived they were running to the store because they had run out of bread. They explained that they were closing the next day and going on holiday. So I suppose they were trying to keep supplies low and not waste food. We were told we could order whatever they had left and they were willing to special build our lunch with a little of this and a little of that. I had escargot again and a salad with a mixture of whatever they had in the kitchen. It was quite good. Escargot is served with these pincers to hold the snail shell and a little fork with two long prongs to pull the meat out of the shell. I hope all my vegetarian friends are enjoying this description. Worse yet is that with the sauce they are sort of a bright forest green color. As we were about to leave the restaurant a friend of the owner’s came in. She explained that he was an opera singer and had just performed at the opera house. She asked him to sing for us and so we were treated to an impromptu opera performance. Though I know next to nothing about opera, I could appreciate his fine voice.

After our meal we went back Pick up luggage and go to train station. They did not have a special lounge at this train station either. However the wait was not bad and we were soon ensconced in our train cabin. We settled in and went to the dining car for dinner, then to bed. I love traveling on trains. In the morning we went to the dining car for breakfast and met a young couple from Oregon who were at the beginning of a two month journey around Europe. After breakfast we got our things together and watched out the window as the train pulled into the Madrid train station. We took a taxi to the airport and while waiting for our plane we did a little shopping in the duty free shops and exchanged our remaining euros for dollars.

On the plane from Madrid to Newark we had our own little TV screens in front of our seats and we could pick which movies or TV shows we wanted to watch and when. It was much nicer than having the one screen where everyone watches the same thing at the same time and the time flew by. We met a young man from San Francisco who was in the window seat in our row. Then we landed in Newark. I think Newark is not our lucky airport. Because it was our first stop in the US we had to collect our luggage and go through customs. Well there was something wrong with the baggage carousel because it took an hour for the luggage to come out and they kept changing the number of the carousel. We finally collected our luggage and went through customs. But, then we traveled all over the airport trying to recheck our baggage. What we eventually found out was that all of the baggage conveyor belts were not functioning, so no one knew what to do with the luggage. We finally found an employee willing to accept the luggage since it already had tags to take it through to Los Angeles. We dropped the luggage and prayed we would see our luggage again. Leea was convinced it would be lost in the ether. But when we landed in Los Angeles our luggage came off the conveyor belt. Yea!!! We were home!

The Eiffel Tower, Perspectives and Views

After our late night at The Crazy Horse Saloon burlesque show we slept in on Tuesday morning, went down the street to a little café for a late breakfast then back to the hotel to do a little computer work. Around noon we headed out for the Eiffel Tower. We did not intend to go up in the lift, just view it from the ground. It is enormous and we got some good shots under it. At one point I had the bear under my arm and was taking a picture straight up in the air. Leea told me that while I was doing this, some fellow stepped out of line and took a picture of me with my purple hair and bear taking a picture of the Eiffel Tower. Funny.

We stopped for lunch on our way back to the metro. Leea had a delicious pizza which I helped her eat and I had a yummy omelet. While we were eating we watched the police chase and arrest one of what we called the “lookey, lookey” guys. These are refuges from the Canary Islands who have come to Europe to try to survive. They sell trinkets along the beaches and at tourist stops. John and I saw them three years ago when we were in Spain. It is hard for them to make a living, but they seem a lot more organized now than they did three years earlier, and they seem to have spread out over Europe. With the economy in Europe in bad shape, they are probably a little more of an irritant.

In Spain the “lookey, lookey guys” seem to coexist with the established businesses. In Barcelona we saw the police come upon a bevy of these fellows set up by the beach. The police just slowly moved toward them so they picked up their goods and scattered. The police were clearly not trying to arrest anyone. In Paris, though the police on bicycles chased two guys, caught one and called a car to take him away. In Spain these fellows come in restaurants and sell their goods. In Paris I never saw any of them approach a restaurant.

In Spain we also saw a lot of graffiti. I love graffiti. It’s not the scribbly tags that are like dogs marking their territory with urine, but the graffiti that is colorful and well executed. To me, like roadside memorials it is a free expression. These artists are not thinking of selling their work or showing in galleries, though some artists who began as graffiti artists are doing just that now. Anyway, in Spain graffiti is not wiped out or worried about as it is here and I think it actually makes the country more colorful. It is just a different kind of public art. I didn’t see any graffiti in Paris, so I don’t know what their attitude is about this art form.

After lunch we jumped on the metro and went to see the famous Moulin Rouge. We took pictures of the famous windmill and jumped back on the metro. Our destination was the Sacre-Coeur. There is some controversy as to why it was built. Some say it was to atone for the sins of the communards during the French Revolution, but the more accepted reason given now is that it is dedicated to the 58,000 who lost their lives in the Franco Prussian War. Masses are still said daily for those soldiers. It sits at the highest point in Paris on the hill of Montmartre and is visible from almost any place in Paris. Since it sits at the very top of the hill, you can get great views of Paris and even better when you climb the dome of the basilica. When we arrived there were crowds and a party atmosphere. It is one of the places in Paris where crowds gather to see street artists and listen to musicians. We took the tram up about 50 feet to the base of the basilica, only to find out there was no lift up to the dome. We stood at the entrance and Leea asked, “Do you really want to do this?” What response did she expect? Of course, I want to do this insane thing. I didn’t know at the time that what she was actually saying is that she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. Anyway up we went. It was very narrow, barely big enough for each of us to get through. It definitely would not have allowed even a slightly heavy person to get through. And it was like straight up. Like everyone else, we had to stop a couple of times and catch our breath. But once we reached the top, the views were extraordinary. We walked around the dome and all of Paris lay at our feet.

Well the trip down was a little less strenuous.

We were both surprised the next day that we were not sore. I guess all the walking we had done this summer had left us in better shape than we imagined. We didn’t see many obese or even fat people in Spain or Paris. I believe it is because they walk and use public transportation. Even taking the metro you have to walk to the metro station then up and down stairs to get to the correct platform or connecting train. There is a great deal of exercise involved in getting around. It would be very difficult to do if you were seriously overweight. It’s not like driving you want to go and walking twenty feet to your destination.

On the way back to the hotel we stopped by The Crazy Horse Saloon because Leea wanted to get a tee shirt like mine. Then we went home planning to have our last dinner in Paris at our favorite sushi restaurant only to discover that they were closed for vacation. I guess that happens a lot in Paris in August. We were so disappointed. But we found a little café on the corner and had a delicious dinner.

Cemeteries and Snails, Light My Fire

Well it’s been a while since I have written. I was so sick when I returned and then as soon as I started feeling human again, we had a big party in the park and my grandkids came to visit for a few days. When you are dealing with the cutest little three year old who is full of energy and wants to play all the time, you can’t really write. So now I have some time and I want to get my thoughts and reflections down before I forget the details. I know I will never forget the general sense and joy of the trip, but the details may slip away.

We are in Paris, it is Monday. Yesterday we decided not to try to see Notre Dame because there were long lines and Leea thought that even if we got in it would be like a sardine can on the inside. She is a wise woman. We got up early Monday ate breakfast at the hotel and arrived just after Notre Dame opened. We sailed in and got to enjoy the cathedral in relative quiet. It is beautiful and historic, but after seeing the cathedral in Seville, it is hard to get too excited by any other cathedral. We sat and contemplated for a while, enjoyed the stained glass window and took in the sense of the place. Then we headed for the cemetery.

The Pere Lachaise Cemetery is in eastern Paris and is home to Jim Morrison, Chopin, Sara Bernhardt and many other notables. I just love cemeteries. They are just so strange and funny and sometimes sad. They help me remember or reflect on what is important. And they are a stunning reminder of how much we think we matter. The monumental structures that we erect to try to make note of our existence on this earth are remarkable. In this cemetery there are structures that could easily house a small living family. There is something, not sad, but wistful about this need to stake a claim to the earth. It seems diametrically opposed to the concept of letting go or detaching.

Jim Morrison’s grave is a simple one and has a colored history. Apparently he was in Paris when he died and so that is where they buried him. The grave had no official marker until French officials placed a shield over it, which was stolen in 1973. In 1981, Croatian sculptor Mladen Mikulin placed a bust of Morrison and the new gravestone with Morrison's name at the grave to commemorate the 10th anniversary of his death; the bust was defaced through the years by cemetery vandals and later stolen in 1988. In the 1990s Morrison's father placed a flat stone on the grave. The stone bears the Greek inscription: ΚΑΤΑ ΤΟΝ ΔΑΙΜΟΝΑ ΕΑΥΤΟΥ, literally meaning "according to his own daimōn" and usually interpreted as "true to his own spirit" but I suppose it could also mean according to his demon. Mikulin later made two more Morrison portraits in bronze but is awaiting the license to place a new sculpture on the tomb. So even his death, as was his life, is unmanageable.

I also love roadside memorials because they are such a direct spontaneous outpouring of feeling, loss and celebration. We saw several of these in Spain, but they went by so quickly I didn’t get any pictures of them. Sheila will remember our hunts for roadside memorials in the OC a few years ago. We would go out and find them and photograph them. In the process we realized how powerful they are.

We saw some funny sites in the cemetery, like recycle bins that caused me to reflect on the ultimate recycle and graves that looked as though someone had escaped. Other graves had warning tapes on them, like warning, “Do Not Enter.” Duh!! But after a few hours, our stomachs were demanding attention. We went in search of food.

We found a little café near the cemetery and had a lovely lunch. I had escargot and a fresh salad with everything imaginable thrown in and a delicious dressing. The French salad dressings are to die for. Perhaps I shouldn’t say that after just visiting the cemetery, but they are scrumptious, if that is a word. Leea thought the escargot was disgusting, though she stared in rapt amazement as I ate it. They were very good.

Well off we went to the metro. This was not so pleasant. I put my ticket in the slot and a very drunk young man came up behind me to sneak on the metro. I didn’t see him and in the process of squeezing in close behind me his shoe scraped down my bare heel and he stepped on the back of my flip flop causing me to stumble out of the swinging doors and saying ow!!! He had a large can of lager in his hand and he started making fun of me yelling, “ohhhh, owwww!” Well that was the final blow; I was annoyed and did not think before I spoke. I said, “F*** you!!” He was very drunk and started getting confrontational. I didn’t really think he would do anything, but Leea started pulling me out of the metro station. I thought she was afraid of him, but she told me once we got out, that she was afraid she was going to punch him out. He was so drunk I think we could have taken him. Grin. Anyway we left the metro station and went to the next station and hopped a train home.

It must have been my day to get annoyed, because as we were walking toward our hotel this woman drives toward me on a motorcycle. I was not in the street. I was on the sidewalk, but in Europe driving on the sidewalk appears to be accepted. Anyway, so I threw up my hands, because I didn’t think she saw me, and she started swearing at me in French. At least it sounded like swearing. So Leea accused me of being a trouble maker all day starting fights in the metro and on the streets of Paris.

We went back to our hotel and Leea took a nap. I decided to go investigate the Luxemburg Garden which was right down the street from our hotel. It was very relaxing and I managed not to get into any fracases. The first thing that struck me when I walked into the Garden is that Parisians actually use their parks. There weren’t just a bunch of homeless people or drunks in the park. There were hundreds of ordinary citizens sunbathing, sitting in chairs reading books, picnicking, playing chess, cards, bocce ball, tennis, basketball and football (soccer.) Kids were playing on a playground. My first stop was the huge fountain near the entrance. Children were sailing boats in this large water element. The boats were made of wood with cloth sails and the children pushed them out into the water with wooden sticks. The wind carried them where it would and the children ran to meet the boat when it touched the edge again. No motors, no remote controls, just wood and wind. It was so relaxing to watch. I sat on the edge with my feet soaking in the water and daydreamed. Or is it daydreamt?

That night we had reservations at The Crazy Horse Saloon for a burlesque show. We had decided not to eat dinner at the theatre because the dinners at the dinner shows are not known for their quality. So we left early hopped the metro. We had read the directions and maps wrong and took the long way to the area of the theatre. But we eventually got there and found a restaurant near the theatre and had a delicious dinner. I had the little lobsters grilled. I was concerned when they delivered surgical instruments again, but these were easy to extract. Leea had a pasta dish that contained a lot of mussels, so I ate a bunch of those too and they were very good. I don’t know why we don’t eat them here. They tasted a lot like clams. Maybe ours don’t taste that good.

After dinner we went to the show. Our ticket included a bottle of champagne, which we declined in favor of water and coke. The show was amazing. It was not the big chorus line burlesque show, but an intimate show that used lighting and stage setting to produce a show that was so much more overtly sensual and sexual than the large shows. And, we had front row seats! Leea wondered whether this was a normal mother daughter outing. Who cares? It was great, but by the time it was over we were exhausted and decided to take a taxi back to the hotel. We both slept like babies.

Van Gogh, Louvre and Sant Chapelle

We got up early on Sunday morning to have Van Gogh to ourselves. We had breakfast at the hotel and then jumped on the metro to go back to the Museo de Orsay. We got there at 9 am and the museum opens at 9:30. We were like fourth in the museum pass line. When the doors opened we were like the fifth and sixth people to enter the museum. We went straight to the fifth floor to the Van Gogh room. We were the only ones there! We were so thrilled it was like a dream come true. We looked at all the works, took pictures and discussed the work. It was fifteen or more minutes before anyone else arrived.

After the Orsay, we walked down the Seine to the Louvre. I wasn’t that excited about going to the Louvre, but Leea wanted to see it and it seemed like something one should do when one is in Paris. It was still fairly early when we got there and we decided to take our outdoor pictures after we had been in the museum. When we entered the Louvre it wasn’t that crowded and we already knew what we wanted to see. Wait, you mean you thought we were going to spend 12 hours trying to see everything? You get a big W for Wrooooong. We saw the things we wanted to see. We got in the Mona Lisa room and the crowd was fairly loose and only about three deep so we were able to squeezy our way up front, take a quick picture and slide out. In the process of leaving Leea got shoved by some woman, who looked harmless. While we were there we saw the DaVinci’s, Caravaggio, Venus and Winged Victory.

By the time we left the Louvre the tour groups had packed the place and there was a long line outside. For some reason, even though all the tourist books say to go to popular sights early to avoid lines, people still sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast and don’t get out until 11 am or so. And by 11 or 12 the lines are like blocks long and worse than that, once you get in the place is packed like a sardine can.

After the Louvre we walked down the Seine and had the worst and most expensive lunch we had had on the entire trip. I’m not a quiche lorraine connoisseur, however I am relatively certain that the crust is not supposed to be as hard as and taste like shoe leather, nor is the filling supposed to require a steak knife to cut it. One bad meal out of two and a half months, not bad.

After lunch we walked across the bridge to see Sant Chapelle. It is a beautiful little chapel with stunning stained glass windows, but the crowds were not conducive to quiet reflection. After a little contemplation, we left to see Notre Dame. On the way we visited the Flower Market and wandered around looking at all the plants and flowers, wonderfully smelling soaps and sachets. I bought four lavender sachets for Mr. Burple, whose lavender has lost its pleasant smell.

When we got to Notre Dame there were massive lines. Even if we could have gotten in, Leea suggested that it would be way too crowded to see anything. So we headed back to the hotel and got ready for dinner at our favorite sushi restaurant.

On the way home we had an interesting experience when we went to the metro. We had a pass which you just slip in the slot, it pops out another slot and then you go through a turnstile and then push through swinging doors. Well as I put my pass into the slot a guy came up close behind me and when I pulled the ticket out he got real close and went through the turnstile and doors with me in a tiny little space. It was very startling and I felt slightly violated after it happened. His friend did the same thing to Leea, but she was expecting it. This is how young guys get on the metro free. Oh well.

Historic Show and Long View

On Saturday we slept in, had breakfast at the hotel. Our plans were to go to the Pompidou Center to see an historic show, elles@centrepompidou. For the first time in the world, a museum is displaying the feminine side of its own collections. This exhibit is entirely works of women artists from the 20th century to the present day. These artists were instrumental in the effort to have women’s art work taken seriously and to establish a female voice different from the traditional male voice, but not less than the traditional male voice. I studied this body of work while in graduate school and needless to say these women are my heroes. I was so excited to see this historic exhibit.

It seemed an easy task to get to the Pompidou center when we looked at the metro map, but what seemed so simple in two dimensions turned into a traumatic adventure in reality. In two dimensions all we had to do was go up the B line to the Chatelet des Halles metro stop. The diagram did show several train connections at this point. What it didn’t show was that the stop was below a three or four story mall which from the out side looked very much like the Pompidou Center. We emerged from the train and wandered for what seemed like forever to find our way out of the labyrinth. The words of an old Kingston Trio song started running through my mind with new words

“Well, did they ever return? No, they never

returned and their fate is still unknown.

They may ride forever 'neath the streets of

Paris. They’re the folks who never returned.”

We finally emerged like ground hogs from beneath the earth, only to find ourselves in a huge park which apparently ran connected the mall and the Pompidou Center. Our problems were not over. There were no street signs that showed up on our street maps, only names of paths, but we didn’t know where they went. We finally found a street, oriented ourselves and found the Pompidou Center. It was worth the effort. We were surprised at the size of the show. It took up most of one whole floor. I was in heaven. It was like visiting old friends, including the Gorilla Girls, who are known for dressing in Gorilla costumes and performing comical yet serious protests at museums over the lack of inclusion of works by women. There were some works and artists I was not familiar with so I got to make new friends. We both thoroughly enjoyed the show.

In front of the Pompidou center is a large sloping cement plaza where people gather to rest and take refreshment while watching all manner of street artists. We wandered through the plaza, and as though we were both reluctant to tackle the underground maze we did some window shopping. I found a wonderful multi striped colorful sweatshirt. I never shop when traveling, but this had to be an exception. When we ran out of excuses we returned to the dark underground. And of course we got lost again and it took us some time to find our train, but we were eventually successful. After this trauma we had to go back to the hotel and rest.

That evening we had decided to go to the Tour (Tower) in Montparnasse, which was recommended by the couple we met on the river cruise. It’s on the top, like the seventieth floor of an office building. We were advised to be there at dusk because it has a tremendous view of Paris, including the Eiffel Tower, without the long lines. So we left our hotel about 19:30 (7:30 pm) figuring dusk is at 22:00 (10 pm) and went in search of a restaurant, La Coupole Restaurant Brasserie that was recommended by our travel book. It was wonderful, a large room decorated colorfully with columns throughout the room all decorated differently. Seating is close and we were seated at a table for two between two tables with families of four. One family had two boys and one with a boy and a girl. They were very concerned about their children bothering us, but all the children were well behaved and were delighted with the Burly Bear who had accompanied us to dinner.

The dinner was wonderful with real French waiters all dressed up in black jackets, white shirts and black ties hustling around to make our meal as peasant as possible. I had chateaubriand and it was delicious. I was so sad I could only eat half of it due to doctor’s orders to eat small amounts. The dinner took longer than we expected and by the time we got out of the restaurant it was dark. We went to the Tower anyway, took the elevator to the top, climbed a few stairs and came out on the roof top to a chilly wind, but an absolutely breath taking view of Paris lights, including a lighted Eiffel Tower and Champs de Elysees. We only stayed out for a little bit, and then went down the stairs to an enclosed viewing area with maps and descriptions of what we were viewing.

Then we headed down and out to search for a metro station to return to the hotel where we called it a night.