A Paris Obstacle Course for Americans.

This is meant to be a modern, Mark Twain Innocents Abroad type look at Paris. I am in no way comparing myself with Mr. Twain, nowhere near the same league. Just the same sort of tongue in cheek humor. None of this is true, more silly stories created out of what my imagination sees lol!

The American Ambassador to Paris.
So you think his job is all cocktail parties and important people. Much of his time is spent rescuing Americans who get into all sorts of difficulties. I will cover some of these dreadful possibilities. Paris is like a booby trap, waiting for people it considers boobies.
He contacts Washington and the Secretary of State. “Oh Madame Secretary, is there no way we can control, some of the people who come here? Limit it to people of class and breeding? It would make our relations with our French friends that much easier.”
“No, Mister Ambassador. They can afford the passport, they go to France.”
The Ambassador cries to himself in the wee hours. “Oh, if that were not the case. My time is spent saving the Ugly Americans from themselves in this great city. Oh, being an ambassador is not all it is made out to be.

The Ugly Americans.
Sam and Maybelle Houston are as Texas awl as Texas gits. He did not want to go, but she did. “Darlin’Dallas has Neiman Marcus. Why do we have to go all the way to Paris?”
“Because I want to.”
Sam knows he is licked. His first mistake upon arrival is insisting on an SUV. Now this works in Texas, but not on the narrow roads coming into Paris. Sam finds he is enjoying this though, as drivers in their brand new Jaguars are giving him a wide berth. Busses are giving them a VERY wide berth.
Sam is leaning out the window yelling and whooping. Alas, his luck runs out in the Latin Quarter when he goes into an old Medieval street and gets stuck. It is not the money, he can easily pay damages out of pocket. It is the annoyance of the Parisians.
First of all, the SUV is blocking the street. Traffic, already bad, is backing up. All the surrounding Parisians have to throw in their two Euros about the Ugly American.
Maybelle starts to cry, Sam throws up his hands, “What’s wrong with these people? Can’t y’all tear down some buildings?” He points to the Pantheon as one building that has to go.
The tow truck finally shows and some semblance of order is restored. Sam and Maybelle hop in a taxi. Maybelle decides she want to go to the Louvre. The taxi is small and is riding low in the street. Sam is cramped. “Why can’t y’all have larger cars? How is a former University of Texas football star supposed to git comfortable in these thangs?” Maybelle is too busy watching the sites. The driver is a man from Mali and speaks no English. “Mah luck, ah am in a taxi, of all thangs and he doesn’t even speak English. Maybelle, don’t tell anyone in our club we were in a darn taxi.”
They finally get to the Louvre. Sam hands the driver 100 Euros and they get out without waiting for change. Maybelle loves the Louvre, the Mona Lisa, the sculpture. Sam is just indulging her. A young man bumps into Maybelle and starts to wander off. Sam grabs him. “Boy, ah think you owe mah Maybelle an apology.”
“Monsieur, I owe nothing to you, you fat American! You were in my way, Monsieur.”
Sam’s fist is larger than the kids face. Sam’s fist now fills the kids face and the Battle of the Louvre is on. This was the beginning of the Ambassador’s day, as he went to visit Sam at the Palais du Justice. The cops get the Ambassador coffee and Pain du Chocolat, he is that much of a regular. A Texas Congressman has already contacted the Ambassador.
“Mr. Houston, why did you hit that young man?”
“Mr. Ambassador, he was rude to mah Maybelle and didn’t apologize. In Texas, I would have shot that boy.”
“Well this is not Texas and the authorities here do not take kindly to their young men being hit.”
“What kind of damn country is this? Cars don’t fit in the streets, people don’t speak English, the money ain’t green, and young people don’t say yes ma’am and no ma’am. No wonder Europe is in trouble.”
The Ambassador sighed to himself. “This man has political connections I have to pay attention to. It is what it is. Mr. Houston, I will do what I can.”
Two hours later. “Mr. Houston, if you pay damages, you can leave, your passport will be stamped Banned from France.”
Maybelle cried, Sam grunted. “All I care about is they will not be back. There may be more to take their place. A song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s A Policeman’s lot is not a happy one, keeps playing through his head. An Ambassador’s lot is not a happy one..

An Evil Parisian Plot to Break Americans.
Americans are taking places injured Parisians need in hospitals. There seem to be three main ways for Americans to be broken in Paris.
The first is Americans who stay on the fourth floor of a hotel without an elevator. They get out of the shower, the shower is four inches above the bathroom floor. They don’t pay attention and fall, breaking themselves. Alternatively, staying in apartments on narrow spiral staircases and being stuck or falling.
Then there is the Metro. It is hot and sultry. Americans can’t take it, pass out and knock the Parisians over like tenpins. When the doors are opened by the Parisian EMT’s at the next stop, they know immediately what happened. American fainted again, sending twenty Parisians to the hospital as well.
Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Tripping on the cobblestones at the top of the hill and being splattered on the bottom. Ambulances hang out at the bottom. The ambulances come from different hospitals and fight over the victims, breaking them even more.

Pere Lachaise. You have heard all the jokes. You’re dead to me! Only the dead know Pere Lachaise. I see dead people. Oscar Wilde’s grave was the most interesting. Allegedly, his last words were in the dreary hotel he died in. “Either the wallpaper goes, or I do.” His tomb is covered with lipstick, even though the instructions specifically say not to deface it. People leave Metro tickets with messages. Why Metro tickets, he isn’t going anywhere. Or is he?
All sorts of famous people get no eternal rest here, because so many walk around. It is beautiful for the living. Trees, rows a hill.

The Metro.
I have already covered the heat. The older trains have hooks on the doors. If no one is getting on or off at that door, you have to open it yourself. Oh, but the conductor is happy to sound that loud horn before closing the door and he has no patience for slow Americans blocking HIS train doors. You don’t want to be the reason the Metro goes on un greve, a strike.
Then there are the transfers between lines, or Correspondence. I don’t see any correspondence in those long tunnels, up and down stairs. Where is the next platform, Normandy?
The tunnels like the commuter trains are full of graffiti. OK, so you can write, bring it to the surface.

French Women.
Oh la la, I don’t know how they do it. I was melting in the July heat, but they always looked so well turned out. I looked like the Wicked Witch of the West, after Dorothy threw the bucket of hot water on her.

Institut de France.

It is officially where the Alliance Francaise is located. This is the organization that monitors the French Language. I hold though, it is really a secret organization, where one learns to be French.
This is another place where Monty Python has corrupted me. All that comes to mind is the Holy Grail, the French castle in England. Of course, I am French. Why do you think I have this outrrrraggeeous accent?!
How do you become French. In a secret ceremony like the Mafia. You swear on the ghosts of Joan of Arc and DeGaulle you will adopt French Language and culture and forsake all others.

So this is Paris. Be careful and have a nice day.

Monday July 12th, 2010. The Air France Airbus is approaching Charles de Gaulle Airport under cloudy skies. We landed just in time, the thunder rolled.
Getting through customs was easy. We were taking the RER, the commuter train to Gare du Nord and then the Metro line number 2 to Place de Clichy. It was early in the morning and the hotel would not be ready yet, so we would go to my parents with the luggage to the apartment they stayed in with my sister, brother-in-law and three kids.
The RER train from Charles de Gaulle becomes crowded quickly. We are going in town quickly and it is rush hour. Greeted immediately by a beggar on the train. My French works in this case.
I am watching out the train window, the grim day and all the graffiti. It is something New York trains got rid of twenty years ago. The suburbs or banlieues tend to be rougher. Have to negotiate getting out at Gare du Nord, along with the bags. Long walk up to the el tracks for the Metro Line 2.
We saw all sorts of French speakers with suitcases, so being in the Metro with bags was not strange. Arrived at my family’s rental apartment.
It was in a nice courtyard at the back. The courtyard was like a small town off a busy main Parisian Street, Avenue de Clichy. There are some businesses at the front of the courtyard. The apartment was nice and the great thing about renting an apartment is being able to only have to eat lunch out.
We got checked into our hotel, Hotel El Dorado on Rue des Dames. It was up four flights, great for exercise, the room was above a Bistro courtyard and you could dream about being a writer in Paris.
That afternoon, we went to the Left Bank and went to the Musee Cluny, the Medieval museum. I did not go in. I was tired and wanted to keep my Dad company. He was having trouble walking. The ladies could see the Medieval stuff.
When we had lunch out, I tried an andouille. I love the mustard, Grey Poupon does not hold a candle to it.
Food is great, fresh, you can buy bread and meat for the house from specialty stores. There was a local supermarket, part of the Monoprix chain. We took a picture of a display for Old El Paso products, otherwise, who would believe us?
Tuesday, was our first full day there. Got in the Metro and went to Ile de la Cite, where Paris got its start as a fishing village all those centuries ago.
The Cite Metro station on line number 4 and is four flights down, luckily it has an elevator. You come out of the station in the middle of a flower market with some greenhouses. The first place we went first was Notre Dame.
It is impressive, that’s for sure. The size and the glasswork Then it was time to hit the souvenir shops.
One thing you see at the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame is Gypsy beggars. They ask if you speak English, then there is some sort of scam. I have no idea what the scam is, because I could get read of them easily with a wave of my hand and yelling Allez! (Go). My sister Debby speaks better French and one upped me. She would yell at them Recevez un emploi! (Get a job)! They are not really fazed by this, they just move on to someone who will fall for whatever the scam is.
We had lunch at a place I found in the Paris Access guidebook. They enjoyed the fact we spoke French. Even if you do not speak French, by trying you really do win hearts and minds.
After lunch was St. Chapelle, which is a 14th Century church commissioned by King Louis IX (later canonized and became St. Louis. Y’all in Missouri, that’s where the name comes from). Not elaborate like Notre Dame, but fascinating. It is part of the complex which now houses the Palais du Justice (the law courts and the French fictional detective I have been reading since childhood, Maigret. One Maigret takes place in Tucson, how I first learned about the city).
A fun interesting day.

Wednesday, Elaine’s legs were hurting. She stayed behind with my Dad. It rained on and off and was cloudy and damp. We went to the Natural History Museum. My nieces were a little bothered by the animals preserved by taxidermy. Then wandered around the interesting small streets of the neighborhood. More of the Medieval streets survived Baron Haussmann in the Latin Quarter.
Baron Haussmann was the Prefect of Paris in the middle of the 19th Century. The old streets were Centuries old and bred disease. Many entire neighborhoods were knocked down. The other reason later became preventing the barricades, as in Les Miserables. It makes it easier to for the authorities to get down broad boulevards and shoot them.
Just walking the streets of Paris is a joy.

Thursday, Today is the Louvre, possibly the largest museum in the Western World. We are only seeing a small corner of it.
Have to see the Mona Lisa, of course. She looks like she is bored. “Get on with it, Leonardo!” Enjoyed the Assyrian exhibit. My mother calls them “Men with Purses.” It is not a handbag, but a European shoulder bag, like in the Progressive Insurance commercial.
My sister and I made faces in front of a statue. Yes, there is a picture.
Dad was having a tough time, so he and Mom went off in a cab and the rest of us walked off got lunch and hung out on Ile de la Cite. That became a base.
Friday, Musee D’Orsay. I was looking forward to this. These are statues and Impressionist paintings in an old train station that was saved from the wreckers ball. First, the Eiffel Tower. We did not go up, the line was for two hours and it was not a great day.
Then we got on the RER for the Musee D’Orsay, where we met my parents. Afterwards, Elaine and I met someone I met on Michael Palin’s website for a drink. Her name is Stephanie. Then walked back toward Ile de la Cite passing the Institut de France. (Where the Academie Francaise is). Took some pictures for possible story settings.

Saturday. I stayed behind. My turn to be tired.

Sunday. Just Elaine and I. Went to Pere Lachaise Cemetery, have pictures of Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde’s grave, among others. Then back to the Left Bank, Shakespeare and Company and Ile de la Cite.
There were lots of pictures, lots of walking and great food. Feel free to ask questions.

My show, Meeting the Writers is on hiatus, because Access Tucson is closed until further notice. I am looking to start a blog talk radio show when I return.

Latest Short Story published.

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