Fall Break: Paris Day 2

The next day, Julien and I set out to see some sights. He suggested the Louvre, and I agreed. Julien had not heard of the free entry policy for students. We tried to avoid the crowds waiting for tickets and went right to the entrance as I had done successfully in September. On our first attempt, after some close analysis of my student ID and passport, the ticket checker told us that, yes, we could enter for free, but would need a ticket. Remembering my easy entry the month before, I suggested we try one of the other two entry points. Again we were directed toward the ticket lines. Julien suggested we try the third entry. Part French, part Turkish, Julien happened upon a Turkish ticket checker, who, eager to help a fellow Turk, told Julien to get tickets from the group window, which we managed. We saved an hour in line, and made our way into the Richelieu wing. From German to Dutch to Flemish art, Julien moved quickly. I like to linger a bit on certain pieces and give each room at least 5 minutes, but my compatriot was very efficient, so I tried not to hold him up.

We descended into the bustling ticket area and asked a museum employee for some guidance. "Anything but the Mona Lisa" she said, pointing us toward the French paintings, but Julien was eager to see it. Da Vinci's masterpiece was as unimpressive as I remembered it. With binoculars and a ladder, I might have seen some of the painting's details. There was plenty of other incredible art in the Italian wing and I walked with jaw dropped indulging visual gluttony. As visitors clamped audioguides to their ears, I cursed myself for not putting a free audioguide on my ipod.

Mona Lisa room is good for people-watching, bad for epiplectics

Later, we ran into my friend Ilana, who I hadn't seen since ... Oktoberfest two weeks before. I had originally planned to spend a good deal of time with her friends and her in Paris, but as it turned out, we only said hello, briefly discussed our plans, and didn't see each other again. Julien and I continued our tour into the Egyptian wing, and finally decided to leave.

Outside, we found a Brasserie on the touristed Rue de Rivoli. The man next to us was soaked as a bus wheel dropped into a pothole. Locals on stilts resembling pogo-sticks bounce-walked by us.

This sport doesn't seem worth the carnage of a likely fall

Napoleon's Apartment

Napoleon's Dining Room

Next we crossed the Seine, and paused in front of Notre Dame, before moving into the Latin Quarter. We wandered to the Pantheon, were whistled out of Luxembourg gardens at closing time, and waited for a friend of Julien's at Place Odeon. Also Turkish, Diana had lived a few years in France, and was studying in Paris. She explained that students tended to have small parties in their apartments rather than go to expensive bars and clubs, as we sat down at a cafe serving 12 euro cocktails. She also blamed the minimal nighttime public transportation and tradition for students' reclusivity. Julien and Diana moved fluidly between French and Turkish, pausing to involve me in their conversation every so often. The difference was clear, French is a pretty language made even easier on the ears when juxtaposed with the rough, repetitive Turkish sounds. After drinks we criss-crossed the area in search of a meal and found the authentic, but pricey Relais Odeon. Julien and Diana joked with the waiter, shouted at patrons and passersby every once in a while, to keep things lively. One day I will learn to cook risotto St. Jacques, a risotto with scallops and other minced seafood, but was more than happy to shell out for it in Paris. After dinner we said bye to Diana and made our way back to the hostel for the evening.