Lies About Paris

1. People are rude: In fact, we've only had one waiter who was less-than-squeezable, and he was only serving us coffee. And he wasn't rude, just terse. Otherwise, people could not be more charming. For example:

a. The woman at the Louvre who personally walked us over to the correct entrance so Mother could use the elevator to get under the Pyramide.

b. The waitress last night, who wiggled over to us, dancing to the Brazilian pop music, to smile and charm and bring us Armagnac. She chatted, and winked, and was generally the cutest thing. And her colleague the bartender, with his tiny devilish mustache, took a break from shaking his booty to wish us well as we departed.

2. There is no handicap accessibility in Paris: In fact, practically everywhere has been just fine. At the Louvre, there's an elevator every 20 feet (partly because they change the elevation of the exhibit constantly), at the Pompidou elevators and escalators take you wherever you wish to go, and people have been charmant about singling Mother out for special accomodation. They see that she limps a bit, and they pull her out of line to take the lift.

3. There's no tipping: Ok, actually the guidebook says that a 5% tip is a good thing if you had a really good time, and since we seem to have a really good time everywhere...we are tipping a little. But it's hardly a problem, especially since the exchange rate on the Euro is better than that on the pound.

4. Salesclerks are rude: In fact, every shop into which we venture greets us with a cheery 'Bonjour!' and then either gives us space or smilingly checks us out depending on what we wish. And the shops are beautiful. Beautiful.

So. Today the theme is "Encore." We will return to the Louvre and the the Centre Pompidou, since with our passes we can go back anytime. Then we will have a huge lunch and buy snackage for dinner (eclair, tarte au limon, tarte au chocolat, baguette, fromage, pate, figs, melon, and wine). It's a terrible life.

Meanwhile, Charles, Devin, Gary and Gary's lovely daughter have finally embarked on their epid mountain climbing journey. Wish them well as they scamper up 3 mountains in 24 hours, then seek out a nice, cold beer.

[At the Louvre, entering the salon devoted to the history of the Louvre: I say to Mother, 'That's Francis I, Catherine d'Medici's father-in-law.' She says, 'How can you tell from over here?' 'The nose.' Big nose.]