A three day weekend offers many vacation possibilities. Add another day
and you've got the makings of a short, off-season trip to Paris, by way
of London's British Museum.
This was the trip I took recently with my ten year old daughter Morgan,
a fifth grade student in Montgomery County's French Immersion program.
Along with her bags, she packed a rather long list of homework
assignments suited to her Gallic journey.
What better way to improve her language skills than to shepherd her
French-deprived father around Paris. And at a round trip price of $358
for her, it proved too attractive an option to pass up.
After considering various airplane options we settled on a British
Airways flight with a 10 hour layover in London. Arriving at Heathrow
after a good night's sleep we made straight, via the Paddington express
train which kids ride free, for the Harry Potter corner at the
Children's Book Centre just west of the Kensington High Street tube
Station, one of my favorite stops on frequent visits to London.
"No," a slightly crestfallen Morgan was told, "the fourth volume is not
yet out, and won't be until summer." Early orders were not encouraged.
I was hoping that we would have time to catch a Saturday matinee, but
our flight's departure was about an hour too early for the shows of
greatest interest. Be advised, it's no easier to get tickets for the
Lion King in London than it is in New York.
We headed instead for the stately British Museum. In keeping with my
self-proclaimed travelers bible, devised as a consequence of trailing
children around the world, we settled on a couple of specific exhibits
in the cavernous building, along with whatever we happened to pass along
the way.
I have always been enthralled by the Elgin Marbles, the pieces of the
Greek Parthenon on grand display. The museum was crowded on this
slightly dreary February morning, but not enough to intrude on the
exhibit, or the rooms full of Greek and Egyptian artifacts nearby. The
Rosetta Stone too was very accessible. Morgan was more impressed with
what the gift shop had on offer.
We arrived in France about 8 pm. I pushed the hotel address into
Morgan's hand and she made the necessary arrangements with the taxi
driver. The ride into town brought us down an empty Champs Elysees and
past the illuminated Arc de Triumph.
Le Hotel de Londres Eiffel sits in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, in a
little neighborhood with more inviting restaurants than could be sampled
in our short stay. It was almost 10 pm, but we were hungry, and settled
on the restaurant next door Chez Agnes --the name of the proprietor,
cook, waitress, and dishwasher. There was only one other table occupied
in the small establishment, imbued with the requisite amount of
cigarette smoke, plus a small dog, evidently the restaurant mascot.
Morgan took to the dog right away. Agnes and her patrons were suitably
impressed by Morgan's French skills, and rather appreciative of the fact
that an American girl could speak French. I sat mute, smiling
occasionally while the conversation swirled around me and the dog napped
at my heels.
Like most visitors to the French capital we knew more about its
touristic attractions than the city in which most Parisians live. While
the former are important, I tend towards exploring the latter, walking
for miles along city streets, exploring the local architecture, the
price of strawberries, and what department stores look like and sell.
On this trip we were able to combine both elements, exploring the Paris
of today on foot and by the efficient, cheap, and extensive Metro
underground and bus routes, as well as hitting some of the monuments for
which Paris is famous.
The Notre Dame cathedral, where Morgan paid particular attention to the
extraordinary gargoyles that adorn it, was our first stop. On the Petit
Pont nearby we spent an enchanting hour watching a trilingual juggler
exhibit his artistry. Here, as elsewhere, most of the smallish crowds
were French, contributing to the feeling that we were having an
authentic Parisian experience.
The Eiffel Tower
Our nighttime boat ride down the Seine was one of Morgan's favorite
experiences. These tourist boats can be hell during the crowded summer
months, or on a particularly hot day. But the 9 pm sailing on a midweek
day in February was all but empty. As the boat made its way past Musee
D'Orsay, the Louvre, and a replica of the Statue of Liberty, there was a
gratifyingly minimal effort by our host to tell us what was on view.
Morgan knew what she wanted to see the Eiffel Tower illuminated at
night --and no one had to tell her where it was.
We visited the tower in day time as well. Taking the elevator to the
second stage. I would suggest avoiding the lines and walking up. One
gets a much more intimate view of the structure from the stairwell,
which we decided to walk down.
Even the French wait in line to enter the Louvre. I had heard of an
alternative entrance to the main one through the Pyramid, but couldn't
find it. After a few minutes standing however, I roused myself to ask
yet again. "Oh yes," said the policeman, "if you have a ticket you can
enter via the Passage Richelieu." The moral of this story is to buy a
multi-day museum pass ahead of time, and don't take no for an answer.
The Louvre is an extraordinary place, a palace with which no imitator
can complete. A few weeks before my Paris trip I was in Istanbul, where
I visited the Dolmbahce Palace, built in the mid-nineteenth century by
French and Ottoman architects in what was a pale and futile effort to
lend the grander of France to the crumbling Ottoman court.
One could spend days exploring the museum's treasures, counted among
which is the building itself. But we were on a mission — to see the Mona
Lisa, and nothing, not Hammurabi's Code or Aphrodite was going to divert
Morgan from this objective.
We reached our goal, and with little effort Morgan was able to wriggle
into the first row of the disciplined crowd of onlookers, and gaze at
the famous lady .... for all of two minutes. Time to go eat. We found a
wonderful café just around the corner, surrounded by Italian sculptures.
Never have I sipped tea in such exalted surroundings.
At the Pompidou Center, Morgan was content to look at the museum
exposed superstructure from afar, preferring instead to enter a nearby
tourist shop with its keychains and sweatshirts. The museum is close to
the Le Marais district, just off the cosmopolitan Rue De Rivoli, where
we spent two nights in the Hotel de la Brettonnerie, a charming,
inexpensive hotel frequented by French and Americans. This fashionable
district offers plenty of window shopping for adults and children alike from glassworks to jewelry and carpets to the most expensive tea shop
I have ever visited. The Picasso museum was only a stone's throw away,
but like museums featuring Rodin and the Impressionists it will have to
wait. I was not interested in pressing visits to places that she herself
was not interested in or that her stamina wouldn't easily permit. I do
not expect that this will be her, or my last trip to Paris. Even if it
were, the best part for me about the trip was having some time alone
with her, while she is still young enough to want to hold my hand as we
stroll along the Seine. Return toGeoffrey Aronson's Family Travel Page
