2006 - PARIS

MOTHER’S DAY . . . ANOTHER WILD DAY OF TRAINS!

Okay, so I was able to change my ticket to a direct route to London, which meant I wouldn’t have to change trains anywhere along the way. Oh, there would be stops, yes, but I wouldn’t have to get off one train and get on another. Hallelujah! I was elated. No stairs to climb up and down, no carrying my bags again until I got to London. Hooray!

That was all well and good until we got nearly to Bristol and the damn train broke down. Hell, yes! Now, remember, I was on a tight schedule, had to make it to London to catch the Eurostar on time to get through the chunnel to Paris at least by 9 p.m. Didn’t want to keep Robert waiting for me to arrive at the boat, my next accommodation. Left Penzance at 10 a.m., by the way. Okay. So they fixed the train and she limped in to Bristol where we all had to get off and load onto another train especially brought into service for this trip. The original train from Penzance was full, not one seat available. So that meant everyone had to move from one train to the other. Craziness, as you can well imagine. Need I tell you I ate junk food all day?

So now we’re off to London. But we’re 30 minutes behind schedule and that is going to put me at Paddington station in London with just 30 minutes to spare to get to the Eurostar which is on the other side of London at the Waterloo station. No way. It was impossible. There was no way I could get to the Underground system (subway) which is levels down and buy a ticket and get to a train that would take me to Waterloo and then go through all the stops and possibly another train change before getting to the Eurostar station which was on the top level of the Waterloo station. My stomach was churning and spewing. But . . . there was nothing I could do, so I just sat back and tried to get the worrisome thoughts out of my head. But before I got to London I made the decision to exit the Paddington station, once there, and hail a taxi. Maybe that would work. It was Sunday, no business traffic in London. It might just work. Skip the Underground, take a cab.

Sooooooo, that’s what I did. In the taxi as the driver was hurrying to get me to Waterloo, aware of the dilemma, a news bulletin was broadcast on the radio saying that there had been a fire and a fear of possible explosion near the Eurostar run between London and the international station at . . . oh darn . . . I forgot the name of it. Begins with an H. So, all Eurostar trains out of London had been cancelled. Can you believe that? What is this with me and trains?

I told the driver to get me there anyway, that’d I see what I could do and find out more. So he did and I arrived at the Eurostar doors where hoards of people were filling the sidewalks. They weren’t being admitted into the building. A lot of angry people. Some had been there for hours. I pushed up to the front and asked what one could do to get to Paris. The nice guy told me to take my tickets and go upstairs and they were organizing trains to transport people to the International station in H and then we’d board the Eurostar from there to travel on to Paris. He said to just use my Eurostar tickets. I said, I don’t have them yet, but they’re paid for, I was supposed to get them from the machine inside - the machine that was just behind him in the Eurostar station. So, he let me in, turned me over to another guy, and I got my tickets. That guy took me over to the escalators . . . I was the only person in the station at that level and he directed me where to go, said to hurry, a train was going to be loading right away. I hurried like crazy and was one of the last ones to be let through to go on this first train to H. Others had to wait for the next one.

So . . . I arrived in H at the Eurostar station. Here people filled the entire complex. It was chaos. They had sent attendants around to give people water, the station was so suffocating and hot. Too many people. They would only let 100passengers through at a time so there wouldn’t be a bottleneck upstairs in the terminal. After standing nearly an hour, I was in the 100 to go upstairs next on the escalator. Then we were herded through security, in fact they were really lax with some of us, sent us on through without putting the luggage through the X-ray machine. Then we entered a huge terminal where everyone before us was waiting. But there were plenty of seats, tables and chairs, and the food and concession stand was inundated with disgruntled passengers. I found a seat at the bar counter next to a young traveler who was going to Holland via Brussels. We both watched the people, commenting and talking about the situation, and talking about life in general.

Then they called the Eurostar personnel to board the train that was to be departing for Paris. A huge Chinese touring group that had been on the train from London with me and was bound for Paris, too, quickly formed before the gateway leading across the walkway to the trains. A voice came over a speaker telling them to please sit back down, not to block the area, but they didn’t understand and continued to stand there. Well, another announcement came over the speaker system about 20 minutes later saying that boarding was now available to the Eurostar bound for Paris. I began to gather my things and then had second thoughts about it, the line was so full, especially with the tour group crowding there. I decided to just sit right where I was and wait for the line to get through. It seemed to never get smaller, however. Then after about 20 more minutes an announcement came over the system and it seemed all hell broke loose, the entire room cleared out across the walkway to the trains. I grabbed my bags and got to the entry and was told that that was the announcement for the train to Brussels, that the train to Paris had boarded nearly 20 minutes ago and was getting ready to leave right at that moment. That I’d missed it. The gal said I could try to make it, but she doubted it. I ran, I ran, I ran!

The train was already boarded, but still sitting there. All the doors were closed and they will not open them once they’re closed. Off down the track were two attendants standing outside one open door. Door number 12. They yelled at me to run. Lordy, lordy! Have you ever done a 40 yard dash pulling two pieces of luggage behind you on rough terrain? I was a mess. I couldn’t miss this train! How could this have happened? Well, there were two Chinese tour groups – one going to Paris, one to Brussels. I had been watching the one going to Brussels to make their move.

The luck of the Irish, the Scots, and all the Brits was with me! I made it to door number 12. The nice Frenchman told me to sit in the car up ahead which happened to be First Class. Ha! I rode to Paris First Class!

Sitting at the table across the aisle from me was a young Frenchman who just bought a house in Croatia and who travels Europe selling costumes to strippers. And I’ll leave it at that.

What an incredible Mother’s Day I had! I arrived in Paris at 10:30 p.m., and at the houseboat on the Seine under the Eiffel Tower at 11.

I’M IN THE CITY OF LIGHTS! SAFE AND SOUND! MY COLD IS GONE!


PARIS PARIS PARIS

Paris is truly a city of lights, whether it is day or night. Lights not necessarily meaning the electricity type, lights meaning the glowing type. A city of glow. It’s a city of glowing magnetism. A person has to be here much longer that a week, longer than two weeks, a month would still not be enough. You would have to be here at least six months to truly feel this city and its people and learn your way around. There is no city like it on the planet. Everybody should experience Paris at least once in their lives.

Just in the last few days I’ve discovered the best ways for me to get around the city. Finally! But then I’m told by Robert that the best way is the bus and the RER – another trainline. Well, I’ve only just mastered the Metro. I’ll have to tackle those transportation systems next time around. I have only one more full day in Paris - tomorrow. I’m slow on the uptake today, so I don’t imagine I’ll be doing any more nosing around until tomorrow, unless it’s right here in this area. Maybe this afternoon. Omigosh! It’s afternoon now. But I’m tired because I tossed and turned most of the night last night. Couldn’t sleep.

In the morning I’ll be moving off the boat to a hotel for my last night’s stay in Paris. Robert had booked another lodger here on the boat tomorrow, which is okay, I don’t mind at all. Besides his next guest is a paying lodger. Robert was so kind to give me these days because of the last visit. (Thank you, Robert and Kim.)

The hotel where I’ll be staying tomorrow night is in the Marais section, so that’ll give me another area to explore after I check in tomorrow as well as a return trip to the Louvre, since when I went there on Tuesday, it was closed.

I arrived in Paris late Sunday night (Mother’s Day), but of course had to walk over to the Eiffel Tower as soon as I met Bob on the boat and deposited my bags. The tower is lit up at night and is a terrific sight! I can see it from the boat, but I wanted to go stand under it, my statement that I’d made it to Paris. Of course late at night is the time the hawkers are out in full force and are most insistent. I ended up buying a little Eiffel keychain just to get the guy to go away. I hadn’t switched to Euros in my purse yet, but there was one mixed in with the British coinage. So, that’s what he got. I held out my hand full of change to prove to him I didn’t have any Euros on me. He wasn’t interested in Brit money. Although a Brit pound is worth much more than a Euro. Foolish boy. Lol lol So, I have another Eiffel Tower piece to add to my collection at home or to give to someone.

Oh, that’s what I’ve got to do today, no later than tomorrow. Pick up some gifts. It’s been a very busy week for me, traipsing through several sections of Paris. And I haven’t been thinking of gifts.

Monday I stayed on the boat to do some writing and to recuperate from the 12 hours of travel from England to Paris the day before. Amazing it took that long. But then, that’s what happens when you’re traveling by train. You can’t be in a hurry, that’s for sure. Delays can and will happen. By auto it would have been much quicker, but I’m just not one to want to travel by auto in a foreign country. A plane would have been quicker. I could have flown from Cornwall, I suppose. Or from Southampton. But then, I had some amusing experiences on those trains I had never had, so it was worth it after all is said and done.

I’m looking out the portholes as I’m sitting here on the Bateau Simpatico - http://www.quai48parisvacation.com - watching a huge tour boat go by. My gosh, some of those boats are humongous. In fact when they pass they create waves that travel to the boats tied to the quayside and rocks them silly. The most violent rocking happens between 10 p.m. and midnight. I don’t know why that is. Maybe the tide is coming in or something, from where I don’t know, though. I need to look at a map and see how Paris is situated to the sea and where the Seine runs. I don’t think it’s caused by an increase of tour boats, but then again, maybe it is. Additional dinner boats and the citylights-view boats are always a big tourist thing here. But the rocking isn’t a negative. I’ve become quite accustomed to it. (Although last night while up on Montmartre in a ladies room, I thought I was rocking as I was sitting there.) I remember on the last trip how I was a bit afraid at first that the boat might tip over. Hubby Jim didn’t seem to be bothered at all by it at the time. But then that’s his M.O. It takes quite a bit of anything to disturb him. Oh, to be so calm in a storm. Lol lol Anyway, now I’m only aware of the degree of rocking throughout the day and night. Doesn’t bother me. It’s lulling, actually. However it didn’t lull me to sleep last night. Four aspirin finally did the trick.

By the way, Bob has asked me to do a page for his website . . . a regular byline . . . I’m not exactly sure what it’ll be just yet, but will definitely look into it and consider it when I return home. A travel page, maybe? I’d love to do a travel page. Maybe we can talk about it some more tonight at dinner as well as find out more about him since he’s in my next book. He and Kim are my guests for dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. They’re such good hosts, and last time when I was so sick he and Kim really went out of their way to accommodate me, called the doc, etc. Lovely people. And what a difference it is to be on this boat when you’re not ill. What a difference a day makes . . . and so it goes. I’ve truly enjoyed it and want to do it again. Definitely! (Jim, let’s buy a houseboat here . . . ????? I know you’re thinking . . . “You want to live every place you go.” Me thinks you’re right.)

I don’t feel as isolated this time, though, as I felt last time. Of course now I’m learning where everything is and am learning the transportation system. Again, it just takes time and tips from those who are knowledgeable. Cabbing it from here isn’t really an option. But one can walk up to the Eiffel and get a cab as long as it’s during the busy part of the day and night. In fact that’s what I’ll do tomorrow when I move from here to the hotel. It’s just a five minute walk, if that much. I won’t tackle the RER or bus or Metro with my bags. Too many damn stairs as usual from one train to another to be lugging bags. It’s simple as I do my bit going from place to place during the day with only my shoulder bag. Very simple. In fact I love getting around the city that way. Although I do do a lot of walking, too. You have to walk to actually see the city and all the cozy parks and “places” (squares) and lanes and shops, galleries, etc. I could eat and drink myself daffy, though, if I stopped in every interesting café, brasserie, and bistro along the way. I think that’s what I did yesterday that made me have such a restless night. I ate too much during the day. More than usual. Did I say to someone that I’d probably lose weight on this trip because of all the walking? Well, disregard that one, because I only work up a friggin’ appetite by walking.

Yesterday morning I had fun shopping in a little food market in the Trocadero area – fruit, juice, sardines, cheese, ahem . . . chocolate with raisins (my favorite). Off the main Tracadero square and the beaten path is the Place de Mexico - believe it or not. Mexico? I suppose that works, Tracadero is Spanish, is it not? I browsed the cafes of the Place de Mexico and decided on the Le Mexique Brasserie. I had a delicious lunch, although a bit different, hamburger with egg on top, French fries, and a very good sliced tomato salad. They didn’t have anything on the menu written in English as most of the touristy restaurants do, but then this appeared to be truly a brasserie for the locals. (Remember, I’m only visiting all these cafes and brasseries for “Shelley” in my novel. Have to know where she goes, you know. Lol lol)

The waitress in Le Mexique was very friendly and with her broken English we were able to decide on my lunch choices. Then I had a slice of cherry pie, which of course is not like our cherry pie. It’s custard on crust with small white cherries mixed in, still having their seeds intact. Very different and very good. From a distance you’d think it was Quiche. In fact that’s what I thought it was. I really liked it. I’m going to duplicate it when I get home. Only I’ll use the larger seedless cherries. The custard is different from ours, too. Thicker in density. And the egg on the hamburger steak was good, too, I was worried about whether or not I’d like it together. With a bit of mustard spread on it, I enjoyed it. (no catsup) Hey, I’m learning to try different foods, at last. Funny thing, when the waitress realized I was American, she said “You want beef?” Now why would she ask such a thing? Lol lol Actually, I wasn’t thinking beef. But there wasn’t anything else on the menu that appealed to me. I made out the words that meant duck and smoked salmon . . . not my cup of tea for sure.

I must say I’m finding the French very friendly. A few exceptions: one was the checkout gal at the market up the street from the boat. But then it was my fault for not knowing the procedure. In that particular market you have to have the fruit and vegetables weighed and priced in the department. I didn’t know that and took the stuff up to the checkout stand, not weighed or marked. She wasn’t very happy. She took it back herself when I didn’t understand what she was saying, and took care of it. Then came back and threw the items on the counter and commenced to ring them up. There you have to provide your own bag for your groceries items, too. I didn’t know that either. So I stood like an idiot asking for a bag, with four lines of French people staring at me. Well, as it turns out there are bags available at the checkstand, but they cost .80€, which worked for me when she finally offered and I finally understood. Now I carry the bag with me, folded up in my purse, for those unexpected purchases in that type of market. Again, I’m learning, I’m learning. But now I look for smaller markets that are more intimate. The one in Tracadero was one of those. Nice guy, couldn’t understand a word of English. But we got on very well. He bagged my groceries in his own nice orange-colored plastic bags, with a pleasant smile. I think he short-changed me though, but I couldn’t seem to communicate that. Oh well, it wasn’t much. I thanked him and went on. I hope he enjoyed the tip.

Yesterday the goings on at the Trocadero were something else. It’s the Festival of Champions. I’m not sure what it’s about yet, it’s been going on for 24 hours, all hours of the day and night . . . has something to do with football or soccer - I can’t tell the difference between the two sports over here. It’s between Barcelona and Paris, I think. At least that’s what the banners were saying. A lot of Barcelona fans. And of course the TV shows on this set on the boat are only in French, no CNN or FOX stations, only local. (Bob says it’s a good way to learn French. Just keep listening to the rhythm, etc.) I haven’t found anyone who can tell me what the celebration is all about, yet. Maybe today. I’ll ask Bob and Kim tonite.

Canons were going off, or some such fireworks at the Eiffel into the night. And across the bridge at the Trocadero there were activity booths, huge cages for kicking balls into baskets, and a portable football field had been erected at the top of the Trocadero Gardens below the “palace”, what used to be the palace, at the square. The trees in the parks surrounding the gardens are all in bloom with purple, pink, white blossoms. Just beautiful. And I remembered the carousel at the foot of the steps leading up to the palace, from when we were here last time. In fact I have some footage of Jim riding one of the ponies on the carousel that first day before I fell ill. The colorful, ornate carousels are all over the city in the squares, a Parisian tradition.

In the midst of the beauty, contrasting music was blaring, festival food and drink booths lined the perimeter of the gardens and fountains, and droves of people flooded the bridge from the Eiffel and the Trocadero area. A very huge screen had been erected for all to view what was happening on the portable field. Players were amateurs, of course, I don’t know the criteria for their getting to play, but the area was inundated with mostly young and old male species donned with scarves, hats, T shirts, banners, capes . . . depicting Barcelona or Paris. I’ll fill you in on this later when I find out exactly what it was.

On Tuesday afternoon I decided to walk to the Louvre from the houseboat Simpatico, not realizing what a walk that would be. I traced how I should go on the maps in my DK Eyewitness TravelGuide, which is the guide with all the colorful pics and sketched street maps of the 14 quarters in the City of Paris, as well as regular section maps. There are more than 14 quarters, called Arrondisments (SP?), but this guidebook covers only the most popular ones. For instance I was in the Invalides and Eiffel Tower Quarter when I was staying on the riverboat, and then last night I moved to a hotel in the Marais Quarter.

So I walked down or up the river (don’t know which) past the Eiffel to a boulevard I figured would be a good one to cut across to other boulevards that would end up at the Louvre. Ha ha ha ha! I made it as far as the Hotel des Invalides, that used to be the Louis XIV Hotel. After the two World Wars it was converted back into what it was originally, a hospital for veterans. In fact I began to run out of steam as I walked past the American admittance entrance and thought maybe I should just check myself in. Very appropriate timing. Then I told myself ... all right, you win, I’m going to do the Metro. There’s no way I can do this walking today.

I had been putting off using the Metro, it was unfamiliar to me; sometimes I’m not as brave as I portray myself. Sometimes it takes a little self pushing to do something I’m not accustomed to doing. You can imagine all the self-pushing I've done traveling as much as I do. So, that’s exactly what I did. I went into the first Metro entrance I came to and took the steps I thought I should I take, and that broke the ice, it got me going. You have to take those first steps. Sure I went on the Metro when I was coming from Belgium a couple weeks ago, to get to St. Malo, but that was different. Now I was to learn how to get around the city on it, and believe me, as it turned out, it is quite simple. The worst part is understanding the French pronunciation of the stations. It had to be repeated to me several times in every instance. Again, though, Bob ... my host ... says it’s best to do the RER and bus lines. Next time, Bob.

I was at the Louvre in no time. In fact the Palais Royal Station is basically under the Louvre, you come out in the carousel: the shopping and restaurant mall at the Louvre. But much to my dismay, like I mentioned before, the Louvre was closed. And I just found out from my daughter-in-law, Elaine, that the ABC, NBC, CBS? . . . one of them . . . was there that day televising from inside. The network that Katie Couric is on, she’s being replaced by Vierra of Millionaire fame and The View. I can’t remember the names of the other newscasters. Four of them. I did see the red carpet and wondered about it. And all the media trucks and equipment. But I didn’t stick around to see what was happening. As soon as I found out at the Pyramid gate that the Louvre was closed, I walked over to a fountain and sat down and pulled out my trusty guidebook to trace where I’d go next.

So I headed for Pont Neuf to cross over to the other bank, but got sidetracked, took a river cruise from the Neuf - an hour ride up and down the river, listening about the historical places and info on the many bridges. Cost about 10€, as I recall. So it’s a must when you visit Paris. I do it every time I come here; it’s just an enjoyable ride. I bought an ice cream cone before I got on, so that made it even more pleasurable. The nite cruises are good, too. I didn’t do that this time. Just did the one.

After the cruise I continued on into the St. Germaine des Pres Quarter. Bypassed Notre Dame and that area - hve visited it several times before. Wanted to see something different this trip. St. Germaine is full of celebrated cafes, and I was looking for the two most famous – Café de Flores and Les Deux Maggots. Both were literary and artist haunts and although the patronage has changed somewhat today, people still go there just in case they might see someone famous or whatever. There were a few people sitting there writing in notebooks, me for one. It was a terrific experience. Very atmospheric cafes. But then most of the Paris cafes are. The old ones.

I was disappointed, however, when I went up to Montmartre on Wednesday afternoon. I’d been wanting to go to the Au Lapine Agile, a famous old café where the literary and music greats have congregated since 1910. So that on my list for Montmartre, along with getting a feel for the area since Shelley and Adrian (my characters in "Midnight at the Eiffel") work there. Adrian lives in Montmartre, he’s an artist who sets out his wares in the Place du Tertre . . . the famous tourist square on the mount. So I needed to see it all again, and also select a café where Shelley would be working. I found it. I had dinner there in a sidewalk cafe. A shrimp and avocado salad, very American, yes, I know. That was the only thing on the menu that appealed to me. Then afterward as I was looking for the rabbit place (lapine means rabbit, the agile rabbit) I had a double decker sorbet cone . . . ummmmm good! (I am being so bad!)

Well, two of the waiters I asked did not know where the rabbit place was. That’s not a good sign, especially when it’s in the guide for one of the places to go to in Montmartre. So no one could tell me how to get there. I'm sure it was the way I was pronouncing it. But, I figured out where it was with a bit of trial and error and came across an interesting situation on the way to it.

Outside the Musee de Montmartre which has some Modiglianis and other works by famous painters and sculpturers (it was closed that late in the evening), a paneled truck was being loaded by caterers ... evidently the food concessionaires of the museum. They were blocking the narrow cobbled lane, four men carrying things out, going back and forth, a woman standing up inside the truck giving instructions. Two taxi drivers, who had become impatient with the wait for the truck blocked the street, had wanted to travel on down the lane. So they got out of their taxis and began yelling at the caterers. Oh boy, was that a squabble. Finally one of the caterers threw down his pans and went after one of the cabbies, the smaller of the two cabbies, I noticed. The woman jumped off the truck and got between them. They were all screaming and yelling. I stood back, of course, didn’t want to risk trying to walk on by and being knocked over if the skirmish worsened. I do play it safe, you know. Well they calmed down somewhat, still flinging gestures and insults at each other, and then the caterer finished loading and drove on. The rest of us followed.

Down around the corner from the museum was the Au Lapine Agile place. What a disappointment, like I said. It wasn’t open, and only signs were posted in French (I’ve got to learn this language.) It's a caberet, sort of run down. Only open in the evenings with a cover charge. I’m going to have to create a make believe jazz venue for my Shelley after all. I can do that.

Well, more later. I’m going to watch some of the countryside pass by, I’m on the Eurostar to London as we speak. It’s Saturday. Oh, by the way, the train was delayed one hour. See? You just can’t be in a hurry when you’re traveling by train in Europe. My previous posts attest to that.

One thing that really got to me me in the station was, I needed to change $100 to British pounds. It came to £40. That just made me sick! I’m glad I’ll only be in London one afternoon. Am leaving for home tomorrow morning. I think I’m ready. I'll write more later ...

I’M HOME.

I’d planned to finish the Paris segment the last night I spent at the hotel in the Marais section of Paris, but I ended up going for a walk and didn’t return to the hotel till 3 a.m. And since I had to get up early for the taxi ride to the Eurostar taking me to London, I didn’t spend any time at all on writing. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

But before I tell you about my last night in Paris, I did go to the Louvre earlier that day as planned. So on Friday afternoon I finally made it into the Musee de Louvre and spent quite a bit of time there. If any of you have been to the number one museum in Paris, you must know how easy it is to get lost and end up wandering through the many halls and salons filled with art, not having a clue where you are. Oh sure, there’s a map to follow, but really. A lot of good it does when you don’t know which floor you’re on or which section you’re in, and it isn’t clearly explained. And not being one to ask (foolish me), I meandered from one exhibit to the next, hopefully heading for the Mona Lisa, knowing I’d get there eventually.

When I was tired, I would stop and sit on a bench or a sofa along the way to watch the people and of course to gaze upon the works of art. The Italian paintings (my favorite) - the giant paintings, capture my interest the most. Mona Lisa was nearby all the time, but I made a wrong turn and it took me in the opposite direction through an entire floor. I gave up and got smart - asked where the damn thing was. How easy was that? Then went directly to it. I was surprised there weren’t throngs standing before the Italian lady. A lucky moment for me, I was able to get right up to it, or rather, to the cordoned off section and view the very small painting once again. I've been there many times before, each time is like the first time. But I must say ... I am not quite sure why this particular painting is so important. Popularity? Painter?

The Mona Lisa is also known as “La Joconde”, in case you didn’t know. The wife of Francesco del Giocondo. Her name was Monna and married Francesco in 1495. Although there are other speculations about who the woman is. Some even say it’s a man, a lover of Leonardo’s. Painted as a woman. Whatever the gender and who it was, the primary reason it draws so much attention is the mysterious expression on the face – the slight smile, the eyes. Leonardo used the sfumato technique – “a gradual dissolving of the forms themselves, continuous interaction between light and shade and an uncertain sense of the time of day.” He loved this painting and carried it with him everywhere he went, until he sold it to the French king, Francois I. It became even more famous when it was stolen from the Louvre in 1911. One of his paintings that is even more famous is “The Last Supper.” You may have heard of that one?

In the salon that holds the giant paintings there is another version of “The Last Supper”, different title, which really drew me in. Oh, wait a minute . . . I think it was in the same room as the Mona Lisa. It portrayed more of a party than just a last supper, but the basic table with Jesus and the disciples was the focal point in a banquet room of many other people and merriment. I could kick myself for not taking the time to write down the painter’s name and a more detailed description of it. Even in this painting, the person sitting to the right of Jesus was very feminine – leading to the question once again . . . was the person next to Jesus, John or Mary Magdalene? What I want to know is, who drew the original of the Last Supper? Who was there and saw it happen? It certainly wasn’t DaVinci. So how do we know the descriptions of the disciples? Through Biblical history? But isn’t the painting from DaVinci’s imaginations? I’ve never really delved into it like many others, am a bit uneducated in that area, so I’m probably sounding very stupid. Well, that’s okay. I suppose I’ll survive it.

But, I do know, with the books by several authors, in addition to Dan Brown’s “The DaVinci Code” the painting has become an even more famous icon. Take a look at this website . . . http://quest.eurostar.com/en-us/quest.php . . . I mean, the hype and promos on it all is amazing. You want to get noticed? Write a book about the Mona Lisa or controversial fiction about religion.

Well, most of you know my next book is called "MIDNIGHT AT THE EIFFEL." In it are scenes at the Louvre, since one of the leading characters is an artist. He spends all his free time at the Louvre studying the masters when he’s not drawing portraits in Montmartre for the tourists. And his romance liaisons are also spent mostly at the Louvre. Meeting there for lunch, a glass of wine, an embrace. Which is why I was there this time, of course. Not for the lunch or wine or embrace, but to get the feel of the place. I’ve been there several times, but this time I was on a mission. Mission accomplished. I hope to have the book written, edited, and ready for submission by the middle of July this year (2006).

It was raining when I left the Louvre, so I didn’t do much of anything, other than go through the trinket shops on the way back to a Metro station past Pont Neuf. Decided to walk down the boulevard rather than take the Metro from the Louvre. Didn’t want to make any train changes, so I walked to where I could catch a direct one to the part of the quarter where I was staying. By then I was tired, anyway. I wanted to go back to the hotel and take a nap and then decide if I was going to go to the “New Morning” jazz venue which was a taxi ride away.

But, first . . . the day before. Thursday, the last night on the houseboat Simpatico. I stayed on the boat all day, relaxing and writing. Then at 8 p.m. Bob knocked on my door, we were going to dinner at one of his favorite places a walking distance away. We met his lady, Kim, there. It was a wonderful evening - excellent food, wine, conversation. He provided lots more info and color for his character in my book. Yep, I enjoyed every minute of that evening. The dinner was my gift to Bob and Kim for being such lovely hosts and for offering their boat to me for the week, gratis.

You know, I’ve met some astonishing people in my travels. And I can’t go any further in this epistle without also thanking Ali and Martin Waller for hosting my stay in Weymouth UK. A more thoughtful pair is hard to find. Martin picked me up at the Condor Ferry at the beginning of my stay in England this time and delivered me to the coach at the end of my stay in Weymouth. They took me on a day trip to Portland Bill and to Abbottsbury, taking time from their busy schedule as B & B proprietors. I felt honoured (British spelling) and pampered.

So I want to extend a grateful and sincere thank you to Ali and Martin, as well as to Bob and Kim. My home is your home, remember that. Anytime you want to come over, you’re most welcome. (Visalia, you say? Where is that, and why?)

And if any of my readers want to spend some time in Paris, do book the Bateau Simpatico. I’m looking forward to doing it again. I’m becoming quite accustomed to river living. AND . . . if you make a trip to Dorset on the south coast of England . . . do book a room at the Channel View in Weymouth. It is heavenly there on the sea shore, looking out across the bay from your room. And it’s heavenly to be fussed over by Ali and Martin. Martin does the cooking, by the way. He prepares the English breakfast which is included in the reasonable rate.

MY LAST NIGHT IN PARIS . . .

I freshened up after a rest, and decided not to go to the “New Morning.” I didn’t want to spend the money for a cab. I had it figured down to the Euros I had left on me, and didn’t want to have to go to a money changer and get more Euros just for a cab to a jazz club. So, I decided to take a walk to the Arts de Metiers café near the Metro station I’d been using all day on the same street of the hotel. I hadn’t been to the café yet, but it looked interesting and was always packed, so that’s a good sign. I wanted to people-watch more than anything else, anyway, and have some dinner. I’d asked the desk clerk at the hotel if he knew of any jazz places nearby, and he said there were only clubs for dancing. I didn’t want that. So off I went to the café that was two blocks away.

As I was walking, all of a sudden a hoard of skaters flew by. It grew into hundreds. I’m not exaggerating. Hundreds. They kept coming. I couldn’t believe it. Then I noticed the police cars and the skater security patrol blocking the side streets. I stood and watched till they all passed. It was incredible. Online skaters, or whatever that skate is called . . . line skates, oneline, inline? What is it? Line something. Anyway, that was an unexpected exciting start of my last evening in Paris.

Did I ever make a right choice of restaurant in Arts de Metiers!? People, they had jazz! Omigosh! It was wonderful. But they call it “Acid Jazz.” To my Cambria friends, it sounded like Jason Farrar and his band at their most vigorous. And I could just see Jason bouncing at the keyboard, his speedy fingers racing all over the keys making his own brand of music. The bass player of this particular band was evidently the lead person. He was fun to watch. His every move and expression was in tune with the music. He smiled and grinned all the time. You could tell he loved his music. It radiated from his face and eyes. They were all young guys. Most of the audience was also. I sat there through all their sets, till they quit, and truly enjoyed listening to the music and watching all the different people and their antics. The band didn’t have any CDs with them, but the bass player is going to send me one. I’ll be looking forward to that.

Soooooooo . . . the trip was winding down. I headed back to the hotel, stopped in a local pub on the corner to have some dessert advertised in the window (what is it with me and food on this trip?) and met a business woman from Germany, my age, who’d stopped in for a drink before retiring. We talked for at least an hour, exchanged cards. Another character for one of my books? You’ll have to wait and see. I’m not telling everything, you know. Have to save some for my books.

MY LAST STOP - LONDON

The next morning I took the cab to the Eurostar that was an hour late . . . ha ha . . . back to trains again. And when in London, I checked into the Hyde Hotel a couple blocks from the beautiful Hyde Park. I changed my clothes and headed for Harrods Department Store. On the map it said it was just across the park, on the opposite side from where I was staying. I figured, hell, I can walk that (even though the cab driver had said I should take a cab.) Ha! It’s much farther than it looks on the map. Luckily I took my umbrella with me. It ended up raining very hard as I walked through the park. But I’m telling you, that is one fantastic park! Lake, gardens, just beautiful! I’d love to be there when the weather is good. I enjoyed it anyway. Got a bit wet and chilly, my umbrella turned inside out a few times, but I didn’t care.

WHICH REMINDS ME ... I forgot to mention I’d left my favorite black wool coat on the train from Penzance to London before going to Paris . . . remember when the passengers had to be transferred to the second train after the break down? I left it on the first train. So I did the Paris segment of the trip without a coat. Luckily I had taken a dressy loose knit, three-quarter length, black coat-of-sorts with me, with sequins sparsely spaced throughout, one that was purchased for New Year’s Eve in Cambria from Dinah and Chris’s shop in Cambria. Not really a street coat, more of an evening wrap. But it had to do.

Only thing is . . . one day I was looking into a window as I was walking and noticed something sticking out in back. I took it off to see what it was, and it was the ragged edges of the seam. They’d sewn the back on inside out. Lol lol So, Chris and Dinah, I traveled all over Paris with the middle back seam reversed. Oh well. Didn’t bother me, did it? Maybe we can trade it for the proper one next time I’m over, though. Okay? Funny I never noticed that before. Maybe it's supposed to be that way.

Okay . . . I made it to Harrods and once again enjoyed my regular visit. I immediately went to the laminated shopping bags and made my selection. Got one with cats on it, this time. I’ve almost purchased all the patterns, now - I collect them. They’ve got to come up with some new ones so I’ll have more choices. I buy one every time I’m in London. Then I did as I always do, I headed straight for the food court and had a fabulous meal at one of the counters. This time a Rueben sandwich. Ummmmmm, good. Which reminds me, it’s time for lunch.

I’ll end this quickly . . . after Harrods I went back to the hotel and attempted to get on the Internet, no luck. Went right to bed, watched TV, fell asleep before it was dark.

Opted to take a cab to the airport the next morning rather than deal with the trains again. The flight home took 14 hours from start to finish. A very smooth trip, by the way. Virgin Airlines is the best! All’s well that ends well. Who said that? Well, I’m saying it this time.

This was one of the best trips I’ve taken - the one in 2006. I hope you enjoyed my accounting of it. You’ll have to read my books to find out more . . . the rest of the story.