Our third day in Paris saw us headed to breakfast as a fivesome. We went back to the same patissirie that we ate at yesterday. I think for everyone but Andra, it was out of a desire to see if the dish breaker from yesterday was still there or not. Thankfully, he was still working, and was actually the only one in the front of the shop. We ordered our meals and sat down to wait for them to be ready. Our coffee was taken care of right away, but the rest of the meal was delivered in fits and starts. Suzanne's sandwich came first, then five minutes later, my father's meal arrived, then my sisters, then mine. My mom's croque monsieur was decidedly missing. Finally, when it appeared that it wasn't going to show up, I walked over to the counter and in my best French, shrugged my shoulders with my hands spread out and said "croque monsieur??" I must have been at least partially fluent, the reaction that was set off certainly suggested I got my point across.
The gentleman immediately looked at me with surprise and said "croque monsieur???" then looked (I am not making this up) as if checking for the croque monsieur directly at the floor. After a thorough scan of the floor, he said "croque monsieur?!?" with a bit more emphasis and started opening drawers. Then he started checking under the papers used to wrap up pastries, then he checked the microwave. All the while muttering "croque monsieur?, croque monsieur?" Finally, he checked the display case where they are normally kept. When he realized this was empty, he called to someone offstage and after a couple of quick sentences that my shrug fluency didn't understand, he said croque monsieur with a big smile on his face and held up one finger. Five minutes later, sure enough, my mom was presented with a freshly made croque monsieur. A couple of things occurred to me during this exchange. The gentleman serving us was definitely a disciple of Jerry Lewis. And either it truly was a stage for performances, or he had to own the restaurant. After a satisfying, if drawn out breakfast, we went back to the hotel to get ready for the Louvre.
We took the water taxi from the Eiffel Tower down to a stop just across from the museum. We could have stopped right outside the museum, but it would have required waiting for the water taxi to complete its entire loop and come back up the other side of the river, so we figured we would get off on our side of the river and walk across. It was really nice and sunny out and the temperature wasn't so high that a nice stroll would be uncomfortable. After about five minutes, all that changed. Much like on our first day, we went from sunny to a vertical tide. Luckily, Suzanne was wearing her trusty Burberry trench coat, so was able to keep our camera dry. I was wearing a jacket, but not a waterproof one and we didn't think to bring an umbrella, so we began a mad dash to get across the river, across the street, and under some trees. My sister gave chase and arrived under the trees shortly after we did. My parents, who had brought my mom's sacrificial umbrella with them, decided to pull the twisted and tortured thing out and try to use it as cover. My mom wasn't quite up to running, so it took her a bit longer to get to the copse of trees we were sheltering under, and when she finally did, voila, the rain stopped. Or at least slowed down to a San Diego rain, which doesn't really count as rain as much as mist. We walked the remainder of the way to the Louvre and entered through one of the back entrances. The building itself is very interesting, with a blend of some great old and new. But the real art is in the building itself. Of course there is the Mona Lisa, not nearly as awe inspiring to me as I might have thought, but what really got me going was the statues. Some amazing sculpture is in that building. Unfortunately, we didn't have three days to see the place inside and out, but I have to say, what I did see I loved every minute of. Here are some pictures:
I wish I could give you a sense of the size of this sculpture. Suffice it to say she is a pretty, big girl. She is also known as the Winged Victory of Samothrace. And for a girl who is more than 2200 years old, she looks fabulous. It is almost unfathomable for me to imagine creating something that would last more than two millennia and still be beautiful and relevant.
And you can't possibly do sculptures in the Louvre without covering Venus. While this is just another picture of her, it was actually something to get to see her in real life. I wanted to kick out all the people in the room so I could get a good shot without background tourists. Oh well, at least you know it isn't a product shot, right?
And speaking of people in photos, these idiots were determined to bogart my photo on this one. Every time I walked around this sculpture to get a different angle, they would wait until I raised the camera to my face and then walk into the frame. If the camera wasn't so expensive, I would have beaten them about the head and face with it. I tried to get a clean shot for about fifteen minutes before my patience ran out. May the sands of time fall in their lunch for all eternity and may all their progeny resemble goats. The sculpture is absolutely beautiful, though. And worth sharing even if it means sharing the idiots in the background. More to follow.
