The Best Gets Better

For several years, Paris has reigned as champion of Steph's and my favorite cities. Although at Christmas we ended our four-year drought of having not visited, we're always game for another trip. Our U.S. friends' two week apartment swap deal situating them smack center in Paris's Marais neighborhood presented just such an opportunity. Friday afternoon, only two days after Michel & Celeste departed from Zürich with stomachs distended from bratwurst, Steph and I followed their path aboard a high-speed train bound for La Ville-lumière, the City of Lights!

With any travel, the worst part is getting there and we unfortunately took our dose double. For the Christmas trip, we had flown but were dissatisfied with the usual airport herding and luggage carousel crowding, but mostly the long commute from Charles de Gaulle Int'l airport into the city. On this trip via train, things progressed swimmingly until our first stop in Basel after an hour, the first of only two stops en route. Our car virtually emptied of passengers but then refilled entirely with French kids from 6 to 16 (the weekend marked the end of a two week school holiday), all apparently deaf judging from the hollering both across the car and to their seatmates, and all with enough luggage to cover three changes of clothes every day from winter to spring. The kids directly across the aisle played Slapjack nearly the entire trip, obnoxious and annoying even for the players (flip...flip...SLAP!! flip...SLAP!! bicker bicker...flip...SLAP!!) I likened the whole thing to being trapped at recess for three hours. Insult to injury was having earplugs in my suitcase, now at the bottom of a luggage pile higher than my head.

To maintain sanity, we retreated temporarily to the bar car for beer, which we discovered is the prime area for tattooed skinheads to ride on Friday afternoons, also enjoying beer. Quite the sanctuary. Luckily a good friend from Chicago happened to call right as the train pulled into Paris's Gare de l'Est station and--as I was complaining about digging through the kids' luggage pile--politely requested that I reconsider the big picture by saying, "You're in Paris for @#$! sake!". We sometimes need reminders like that, Steph and I, during this ongoing and often frustrating transition of ours.

The train vs. plane paid off with our instant city arrival; after a short Métro ride and brief walk we found the apartment on a great neighborhood Parisian street with boulangerie after charcuterie after wine store. The third floor apartment seemed "classic" European--gated street entrance leading to an intricately decorated aged building, a miniscule elevator and ultimately a somehow charming, old, single-bedroom apartment with sufficient space in the right places and all the necessities worked into the corners and closets. Not luxurious but eminently liveable considering its proximity to the heart of the city. Also gratifying was the comparison to our Zürich digs--our two-bedroom apartment is perhaps two to three times larger, much newer and more "solid." Yet the Marais apartment was perfect for the two-week trade Michel had orchestrated. They greeted us there at 7pm with--but of course--baguette, red wine and cheese.

Not long after settling in, Celeste posed a slightly leading question: "Do you have a credit card with a little gold chip on it?" An excellent query! Because we knew exactly where she was going. During our December Paris visit we did not yet have our permanent visas or European credit cards, only American cards and thus, no gold chip. But now our wallets indeed contained Swiss debit and credit cards with gold "smart" chips everywhere, the key to unlocking Paris's new phenomenal citywide feature--the Vélib system!

In summer 2007, Paris launched a nearly-free citywide bike rental program. Large streetside racking stations containing numerous bikes are now spread seemingly every two or three blocks across the entire city, 10,000 bikes total. For a 24-hour deposit of €150 (held on a European chip credit card), one can grab a bike at any station and return it to any station, absolutely free for 30 minutes, €1 for an hour and €3 for 1 hr 30 min. The heavy-duty bikes come with three speed transmission, front wire basket and lock, front headlight, rear red "brake" light and yes, a loud bell to warn hapless pedestrians that a VIP is coming through. The Vélibs are quite popular, with riders constantly seen all over the city. And wouldn't you know...a Vélib station sits in front of a busy little bar, a block away from Michel & Celeste's apartment...

Moments later, all suitably adorned with snappy scarves (luckily Michel & Celeste brought extra, because you can't go anywhere in Paris without a scarf), we were matching wits with the nearby Vélib kiosk. The completely full station held perhaps 20 bikes but we couldn't quite understand how to free them. Suddenly four young men (our age...young!) cruised in on Vélibs, amicably announcing they had dinner reservations at the bar, thus highly motivated to quickly educate us on the Vélib system in order to deposit their bikes and eat. They were from (ha!) Zürich of all places, so we briefly joked around in French (Michel & Steph) and Deutsch (Celeste) and Schweizerdeutsch (Steph & me) and mostly English (all) until our bikes were ready to roll.

Mostly avoiding busy streets, we rode through the Marais, to the Île de la Cité and past Notre Dame, over the Seine to the Left Bank and into St.-Germain. We deposited our bikes just that easy at another Vélib station a block south of our chosen restaurant, Le Relais de l'Entrecôte, where we waited outside in a short line before being ushered in. The restaurant serves only one thing: all-you-care-to-eat steak frites, that is, an entrecôte or thin, grilled rib-eye steak covered in melted tarragon butter served with a heap of French fries. The restaurant operated in assembly line fashion, every table with several rotating servers each playing a small quick role, shuffling between tables and whisking in and out with silverware, salad, bread, bottles of red wine, steak and fries, more streak, more fries, and finally my favorite profiteroles for dessert. After sauntering a bit post-dinner, we grabbed another glass of wine at a nearby bar before hailing a cab for home.

As was now our custom, Michel & I tucked the ladies into bed and headed back to the streets for a final drink. Now past midnight, we were drawn to the original nearby happenin' bar with bikes out front, called Ave Maria, among the few neighborhood places still happenin'. The bar had a Caribbean/Mediterranean/Central & South American/New Orleans theme, basically attuned with any hot, wet destination where visitors might wear beads and/or flowers. The loud sound system blared an eclectic mix of mostly catchy, sometimes silly sing-and-dance-along songs from a variety of beach cultures. We each knocked back two strong caipirinhas while taking in the young local singles pickup scene until they closed the bar and booted everyone out at 2am.

Don't miss the exciting conclusion with...pictures! Coming soon.