Paris Nonsense, Part II

Mes petits choux:

Just as Rhonda and I wrapped up the remains of cheeses 15 and 17 (we had already finished off number 16, a lovely, creamy goat with a spicy finish and a name utterly unpronounceable by Americans), the sky burst, driving all the loll-abouts in the Luxembourg Gardens to shelter under the trees and pavilions. The gendarmes who had begun their closing-time sweep of the park by blowing shrill whistles and doing that French wavy thing with their hands were good-natured enough to wait for the rain to let up a bit before driving the 50 or 60 refugees who had gathered under a large awning out the iron gates onto the rue Gay-Lussac.

This was our first day not to be slaves to our museum and monument passes. After sampling our first few cheeses, Rhonda and I had bought the passes, good for three days at a bazillion museums and monuments throughout Paris. Being on a bit of a budget, Rhonda figured that to use them to best economic advantage, one had to visit 3.24 sites per day, and we studied the approved list and picked our favorites.

My friend Amy in San Francisco has an arrangement with her girlfriend Laura who hates to shop, that after every three stops Amy insists they make to ogle shoes or scarves, Laura gets to pick a bar in which to have a cocktail. Rhonda and I planned to adapt this idea to sightseeing and determined that we would just substitute museum-going for shopping and cafes (or bars) for bars.

Fresh in the morning with a pastry and coffee in our bellies this plan seemed quite clever (I believe that Rhonda and I gave each other congratulatory if uncharacteristic slaps on each other's backs for our smarts), but even wearing the most comfortable shoes and visiting the most delightful museums, we exhausted ourselves in no time, and realized that the scheme would work better in reverse. By noon of our first day we determined that for every three coffees (or cocktails) we imbibed, we would treat ourselves to a stop at one museum or monument.

Still attempting to squeeze our money's worth from our museum passes we wore ourselves out, reluctantly forgoing one earned citron pressé (or pastis) in order to stop in a pharmacy to purchase matching pairs of Air-Pillo insoles. Part of me believes the three-day pass is designed to make the Paris visitor feel he is not accomplishing enough, to fill the tourist with doubts about his adequacies. Now that our passes have expired, we can enjoy the delights Paris offers at a more leisurely pace and without pressure or self-loathing.

This is not to say we did not linger over our favorite Renoirs and Degases or newly discovered Picassos, and enjoy them immensely. It is just that when we dragged ourselves through the Pantheon to pay our respects to Zola and Malraux and all the others who gave their lives for France and were entombed in the basement, we did so with a newfound respect for their wisdom in finding such a grand place to rest and take a load off their tired and aching feet.

Today's cheese-fest in the Luxembourg Gardens was a wonderful unwind, with a baguette and some fruit that we had managed to purchase with some difficulty in the markets on Rue Mouffetard. Each time I presented my selections to the fruit seller, he would yell at me harshly and wave away my money, handing my choice to another shopper and taking his or her money. On the third attempt, he inexplicably took my euros, wrapped up my purchase and barked his au revoir. I will never know what really transpired, and after slathering cheese number 15 on my baguette, I really didn't care. Later this evening in the Marais, back at Les Philosophes so that Rhonda could feed her tart-a-la-tomate monkey, the last pain of the memory completely faded when a man picked up the sweater that had dropped on the sidewalk from the back of my chair and instead of just handing it to me, draped it stylishly across my shoulders.

Day five statistics:
Cheeses tasted: 17
Cheeses to go: 239
Paris Nonsense continues...