Flying Aer Lingus is no longer a delight, it’s just OK. Seats are more uncomfortable, food is worse, fewer movies aqnd TV shows, but hey, it’s international cheapo airfare, and frankly, the pair of us got tickets to Paris and back from SFO for $2k flat. I should not complain.
We arrive in Paris, and we get into our AirBnB. I booked it because it was resonably priced, tagged as a rare find, and had amazing images and reviews. A very Rococo feeling, with antiques, high ceilings, kitchen, everything we wanted.
2 days before we arrive, I get a message from the AirBnB manager with instructions. In among those instructions was the indication that we should not leave things in the “Common areas,” which were listed as the living room and kitchen. OK, not something I’d heard before on an AirBnB, and frankly, I immediately was suspicious of something weird going on. And I was right!
Turns out, the host of this AirBnB is here, living in the space with us. OK, normally, that’d be such a deal killer, an absolute disaster! Who wants to have their host in the apartment with thenm? Won’t they be rules lawyering us, and calling us out, and being generally annoying? Can I not walk around naked?
Well, this little old French lady comes out into the entryway of the AirBnB when we get here, and she shows us around the apartment. She’s super sweet, very chill, very nice, apologized for her English (which is very good, frankly). Soon, she is explaining how she will just be in her bedroom while we are here, and we should come and go as we please, and here are the shelves in the kitchen for us to store things.
I know we were both apprehensive after finding this was what we’d booked into, but after a few trips in and out, we discovered that our host was very specifically hiding whenever we were around, so as to give us full access to the space. She kind of figured out our flow, and seems to make herself known whenever we come back. Inevitably, we end up chatting for 30 minutes with her upon return, having spectacular conversations about Paris and the world in general.
Yesterday, she went to the local flea market. We also went to a flea, on the other side of Paris. We discussed her finds, and complimented her taste. Today, she brought out her IBM latop from 1996 to show me, as I asserted it was an antique. Then we discussed the way the French absolutely befuddled the numbers between 60 and 100, and how ridiculous the way they count works. That was helpful, because she literally helped me understand that the guy I’d seen at the flea earlier in the day with the Game n Watches for sale had wanted 90 euros a piece.
Today we did the Picasso Museum. It’s quite good, highly recommended. They also has a Philip Guston exhibit, which we’d seen another of back in DC in the National Gallery.
The Paris Christmas Markets are much nicer than they used to be. In the past, evidently, they were run by the “Gypsy King” (their name, not mine), and there was a significant issue around graft, corruption, and incompetence. This was evidenced by the fact that we saw animatronic dinosaurs and Michael Jackson zombies at the Christmas Market in 2016, and today, we saw vin chaud booths, Pere Noel having his picture taken with the kids, and an infinite array of Christmas-themed rides and booths to go with them. Paris has taken control of these markets and made them much more authentic. The food is way better too.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t pickpockets a plenty in there, especially as the markets get more crowded. But it does mean the little Roma girls asking you to sign petitions are no longer allowed inside the Tuileries Gardens, nor in the Louvre courtyard.
Now it’s only guys selling Eiffel Tower Keychains. And their prices are worse than they are in the cheap crap stores. That was not the case before.
The trip thus far has been a delight. We wander, we explore, we visit churches, synagogs, castles, and Christmas markets. The Christmas markets here are the best in Europe. In Germany, the markets are lovely and filled with cozy nooks and pop-up beer sheds, making them lovely places to drink and eat a sausage, but for the most part, they are just OK. The food is great, with lots of selections, and if you want the carnival atmosphere, there’s one big market with a ferris wheel and such.
Paris Christmas markets have changed dramatically over the past 10 years. For a time in 2015, there was one market near Notre Dame that had crafts-persons goods, like jewelry and ornaments actually made in Paris. Other than that, however, the rest of the markets in Paris are basically tourist traps. I say that being a trapped tourist who loves that sort of thing. But 10 years ago, it was positively a joke: the “Gypsy King” who ran the thing (his name, not mine) had a bunch of carnival rides that he’d trot out along ther Champs Elyssee, but the idea that they were Christmas themed was laughable.
V still says her biggest regret about our 2016 Paris Christmas is that she did not get to ride on the Michael Jackson themed funhouse. They’d put santa hats on all the Michael zombies. Elsewhere, in between shitty Raclette and even shittier sausage, the king had some… broken animatronic dinosaurs! It was an absolutely tragi affair.
Today, the markets in Paris are much nicer, but still carnival-ish. The rides at least have Santa built in and painted on, and are named for Christmas things. But end of the day, 90% of Paris markets are serving tartiflette and hot wine that comes out of a bag. The sausages definitely have great baguettes underneath of them, but they’re also super French baguettes, so RIP the roof of your mouth and jaw: tough bread.
Frankly, Paris has the widest variety of food available at its markets. The Eiffel Tower market had a great selection of terrible food, and the Pyramides market had a better selection of moderately OK food, from snails to fondu, to hot dogs.
But for the real, authentic experience, you need to get you to Prague. The markets tend to have a more constrained selection of food to choose from, but the wine is really made here, and not from a bag, and on Christmas eve afternoon, they setup 6 stalls at the old town square that serve a traditional fish soup. That stuff is gone almost instantaneously, consumed quickly by the local Czech populace, as the tourists wait in line for the rottiserie Prague ham. Do the ham.
There are also chimney cakes, fresh potato chips, and a host of grilled vegetables and root vegetables that replace the tartiflettes of Paris, The Old Square Market is also the only place you’ll see consistently authentic performances, instead of a random assortment of selected performances. For example, in Berlin, you can definitely see some performances at Christmas markets, but the one we happened onto that had the most active entertainment was the gay district market. It was awesome, but it was drag shows and filthy t-shirts and “turn your dick pic into an ornament" stalls. Maybe not your cup of tea.
Prague, however, has a big stage where local carolers sing, and the local kids entertainers had all the kids doing kid-song things. Singing is a thing here, but I worry the tourists are driving it away. As we crossed a bridge to the old town yesterday, we heard a whole host of people caroling underneath in a park. THen they stopped and dispersed. We also noticed a few three or four people impromptu singing moments on the street. All very brief, all feeling as though they were barely able to muster the music amid the bustle of tourists.
Add to this, the unbelievable beauty of Prague overall, and of old town in particular. Every building is a master work, festooned with either painted frescos, human statues holding up eaves, and moulding that would halt an architecture tour for an hour in any American city.
It’s a small town, and fun to get lost in, if you can manage it. Despite the twisting passages of small alleys, short tunnels, and gothic towers, you can never quite get so far away from a marker or important building that you won’t eventually just turn a corner and see something you just passed a little while ago, reseating your sense of place.
For the real effort, you’ll want to walk up to a castle or two. Both are atop hills. Prague Castle is the big tourist attraction, but Vysehrad is really neat. It’s basically empty inside the walls, with open gardens and grass. The walk around the top of the castle walls affords an incredible view of every angle of the city. The church is ancient gothic outside, Art Nouveau inside. But then, that’s Prague all over: gothic, then Rococo, then Art Nouveau everywhere. Always Art Nouveau. Red Heads all over everything.
The graveyard there is amazing and filled with beautiful grave sculptures and sepulchers. You won;t know anyone here, unless you are Czech, with the notable exception of Atonin Dvorak, the 19th century composer, once called “the most versatile composer of his day.”
Heading back across the Vltava river, you can climb even higher than Vysehrad to get to Prague Castle and the enclosures beyond and above. The Strahov Monestary is a must see. It’s got 2 amazing libraries on the same level as those down in the old town, and they are similarly look, don’t touch. It’s also got curio cabinets, like preserved octopii and sawfish, and a host of books made from the wood which they contain samples of. That’s confusing, I know. There’s a late 18th century electricity generation machine, and a host of books selected from the library. Like Tycho Brahe’s signature, and a first edition of Galileo’s Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems. Also, a first edition of Girolamo Mercuriale’s De Arte Gymnastica, from 1573.
The monastery, as you would expect, also hosts beer! There’s a great brewery on the grounds, and it’s a true beer hall, with long tables, schnitzel, and beers that have badass names and themes, like burning Christmas Trees, and dead people.
One of the things you will always hear about Prague is that there are pickpockets. I guess this is true. But if there are, believe me, they have SIGNIFICANTLY more juicy targets than you. I witnessed people from all manner of places being complete fucking idiots. Walking around with wide open Prada bags, fumbling with their purses in crowded market areas, looking generally clueless and dazed by the absolutely overwhelming sights and sounds.
Frankly, Prague was the least scummy place we visited, this trip, in terms of street grifters and the like. There were a few people begging on their knees like some sort of Dickensian vagabond, but for the most part, they seemed to be vagrants, not crazy people with nowhere else to go.
Those folks were in Paris and Berlin. In Paris, the street people are much more dedicated to the craft, as it were. There is an influx of people now living in tents, and the like, but compared to the Bay Area, it’s kind of silly. Every dedicated homeless person we saw on the streets was approached by someone trying to help them as I was watching, some on multiple occasions.
There was a classically homeless person across the street from our AirBnB. I say classic because they looked like something out of an 80’s NYC movie: bags on feet, tattered layers of clothing, 1000-yard stare, talking to themselves. You know, the standard issue “Nope, you cannot help me” homeless person. They turned away the ambulance that was called for them, obviously saying they did not want the help.
An almost identical homeless person we saw elsewhere in the city, near Rue du Louvre, was approached by a random Parisian citizen while we walked by. I don’t know what the citizen asked them, but the homeless lady immediately began cackling like an insane witch in a Disney movie. It echoed off the street walls. It was another clear sign of “Nope, you cannot help me.” Very common problem with the unhoused, as anyone who has tried to help, knows.
Now, the tents are another matter. These folks are trying to work, trying to live, trying to earn money. They get up in the morning and do what they can, even if it’s “illegal” street vending. That amounts to selling small Eiffel Tower keychains and roasted chestnuts. DO NOT EAT THOSE CHESTNUTS! (I’ll explain later) But do buy the towers. These guys are cheap and don’t rip you off. They are legit, and really trying to make it in the world, so buying from them is not a bad thing. Hell, I saw one of them bribe a cop with a flashing large-scale (for them) Eiffel tower. It was funny, and the cop rolled away without bothering him. The cops chase these guys, so they keep their wares on a blanket.
The shell game assholes are still there too, but they run at the first sight of cops now, which is great. All 15 of them scatter. When we walked by, one grizzled old guy raised a 50 Euro note over his head and shouts for me to hear “Wait! I put 50 on this one.” Then they all tried not to look at me. It was positively adorable. The little girls with signature boards are greatly diminished and relegated to areas outside the Louvre’s grounds. They’ve gotten meaner, too. Watch your purses and don’t give them a single Euro.
Now, about those chestnuts. We’re walking along the right bank of the Seine one morning, right about where the gardens begin before the Champes Elyssee, and we saw a guy with an empty shopping cart walk up to a sewer grate ahead of us. He pulls the grate out, reaches down under the sidewalk, and comes back up with a metal cylinder. This is the base for his chestnut grill. He then reaches back under the sidewalk and pulls out the actual grill for his chestnuts. These guys share equipment, and coal, and chestnuts, which are all purchased in bulk. They grill those nuts on a metal disk with holes in it, and rotate them by hand. They store that disk un the sewer. Don’t touch those nuts.
Speaking of sewers, the Paris Sewer Museum is a treasure. It’s closed for renovations right now, and closed 1 day after we visited. It’s basically an underground museum of history and equipment, but there’s one very large section which delves out into the sluices. And, OMG, that part is astonishing. You can watch the raw sewage scream by at deafening volume. The smell is, well, it’s exactly what you expect it would be. To paraphrase South Park, 8-million gallons of raw sewage ain’t gonna smell like lavender.
The museum is actually fairly cheap, and the English text for the walls is in a binder they give you when you buy your ticket. They’re not terribly used to non-French visitors. I wonder why?
The museum is in a small building near the Tower and the Jaque Chirac. I suspect they may be removing the areas where you can get close to the sludge in their renovations, or perhaps, they are putting up plexi glass to keep people from falling in. Either way, it’s a great thing to visit as a counter-point to all the beauty up on the surface of the city.
Since we’re talking about sewers, I wanted to relate an experience we had at Cafe Le Deux Magots. This is, supposedly, one of the two most fashionable cafes in all of Paris; the other being Cafe De Flore. We did not visit Cafe De Flore this trip. I wish we had not visited Cafe Le Deux Magots.
Normally, Cafe Le Deux Magots is the sort of place where you can get caviar and cream for $100 Euros, while sitting outside and being seen by people going to Cartier, Prada, and all the other fanciful places nearby on the way to the Bon Marche (which is still awesome, go there!). The third place nearby is Brasserie Le Lip, which was described by a Parisian friend as “If you have not been to Le Lip, you have not been to Paris.” Le Lip is where politicians go to chat and make deals, and the food is passable, but the clientele is why you go. It’s actual Parisian movers and shakers, or rather, it was.
Le Deux Magots, however, has changed to reflect the surrounding area. Instead of Prada, the nearby shops are now LuluLemon, and the like. It’s downscale upscale: expensive stuff for people who think they are fashionable, but absolutely are not. Very American focused.
Le Deux Magots is supposed to be fancy and expensive. It’s supposed to cater to people with diamonds in their shopping bags, and Armani on their backs. Instead, it’s now catering to people who don’t know the difference between good food and MacDonalds.
That does not mean it’s serving shitty American photocopies (that happens elsewhere, at fast food joints), instead, they just no longer give a flying fuck. We splurged here, and I got the full Hemingway breakfast, which has eggs, 2 hot beverages, a juice, a baked good… Everything you’d want. Granted, the Hemingway breakfast should have been a glass with four fingers of scotch, a pack of cigarettes, and a shotgun, but it’s their most expensive breakfast option, so I said “What the hell.”
The eggs were the best part, and they were basically flavorless. The knife they sat me with was filthy and they did not care or notice. We went to multiple random downscale French brasseries on this trip, ate out every meal. Even the shittiest place took away dirty silverware without even so much as a prompting.
But here I am with a dirty knife, half-expecting a Monty Python punchline to come from the snooty waiter. And yes, he was snooty. The ONLY snooty waiter we encountered on the whole trip, in fact. Most of our French waiters were complete fucking knuckleheads, joking, laughing, playing around with us “you didn’t order 5 shots of vodka for the 2 of you? Oh, right, that’s these guys over here… you want some vodka?!” That sort of thing.
But this guy was full-on snooty, and then did not notice the dirty knife. He then brings us the bread basket for our table, which contains 2 small slices of baguette… and one of the slices was moldy! We ripped it open and placed it conspicuously on the edge of the bread basket. The waiter made no comment, no apology.
This was by far and away, the worst meal by cost-to-enjoyment ratio we had on the entire trip. The only thing I can compare it to is the French tacos we had.
One of our travel partners hates anything resembling culture, and thus, he wanted to eat French fast food. Do not do this. You are missing nothing. The French hate fast food, and they use their fast food joints as a way to punish anyone who would not sit down for a meal. It’s a low-key Dentrazi effect.
O’Taco is the place we went, and the thing they sold us was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike a taco in every way imaginable. It was disgusting. Even our other traveling partner who was OK with fast food, but ate at all the nice places we took her, took 2 bites of the thing and never touched it again. French Tacos are fucking disgusting. Do not go near.
The Mexican places in France can make a good taco if you seek them out, like Candelaria, which would be a solid 3 stars out of 5 in the bay area for tacos. They even have Lengua. But do not, under any circumstance, no matter how hungry you are, ever put a French Taco in your mouth. They are not food. They are for hand-to-hand combat.
I’ll just leave it with two points about French Tacos: First, a panini press is involved. Second, they offer sauces, none of which are spicy in any way.