Pleasures in Plaisirs

The next morning, we had agreed to meet Elise at her house in Plaisirs-Grignon, but we had to check out of the Montclair Montmartre and back into Square Caulaincourt first. Matt went searching for showers but I just bathed in the sink in our room. The hippies were unmoveable and did not mind the sounds we made, dressing and going down for breakfast. Matt found the showers and I took breakfast while he went clean. Downstairs, a Chinese lady guarded the milk and coffee viciously - "only one roll!" - and I sat beside a good-natured boy who introduced himself as a Canadian from Waterloo. We exchanged vitals and talked about the sights we had seen. I said we were going to Plaisirs to see a friend and he said that he had not been out of the city for two weeks.

"There's too much to see, you know? But I'm getting tired of Paris. I wish I had planned to go to more cities."

I nodded. I told him a few details of Spain, which he was excited to hear, before Matt joined us and the boy decided he had better start his day. We finished breakfast, packed our stuff, and checked out. It was nice to be outside the stuffy hostel and into the cool, Paris morning air. First, I misread the map and walked the opposite way of Square Caulaincourt. Matt corrected me and we turned around and walked up the hill. Of course. You can never go downhill in Europe. Everything is an uphill struggle, really.

Finally, we dropped our stuff in the hostel and set out for the train station. We would have to go all the way down on the four and then take a train on the Ile de France side to Plaisirs Grignon. This time, neither Matt's nor my credit card worked, so we had to walk up to a cashier with a sticker on the plexiglass that protected him with a Union Jack on it and a small "I Speak English" slogan at the bottom. Thank goodness.

"Two tickets to Plaisirs-Grignon, please." He passed them without enthusiasm under the glass and pointed in the direction of the gates. We walked through to hear our train about to take off, so we ran through the doors and up the stairs to the top of the train where it was sunny and the PA system with a woman's voice was speaking beautiful French phonetics. I listened to see if I could try and divine the soft r sounds from her, but my French-Canadienne accent was not going to go away. A man sat a few seats in front of Matt and I, facing us. He was in a casual grey suit and he was well groomed. He had white hair and a soft leathery face that seemed full of rue and anxiety at this very moment. At his side was a gigantic navy blue gift bag sprouting ballet pink tissue from its opening. There was a large box of chocolates that seemed very expensive peeking out of the top of the bag. Beside the bag lay a gigantic bouquet of flowers, throwing orange, red, purple, and yellow light around the cabin. I watched as he got more and more agitated as the trip wore on.

Outside, the train to Plaisirs was not like the train into Paris from Charles de Gaulle. Ivy crept up the brick tunnelways and houses sat on green hillsides in soft sunshine. It was hot, but you could not tell. A bunch of people unloaded from the train at Versailles. The man got off a stop after Versailles, picking up his bouquet and the bag and hurrying off of the train. His face was eager. I leaned into the aisle to watch him embrace his wife. The anxiety was gone. He just couldn't wait to see her.

At Plaisirs, the end of the line, we met Elise just outside the station where she attempted to give me a hug, but I assured her that I smelled. She laughed when we tried our hand at giving her kisses on the cheek. North Americans are so absurd - they actually try to plant one on your cheek! We walked through the gates and into the parking lot to get Benoit's car. We were already late for lunch, which couldn't be helped because we were such confused and helpless little tourists. It would help if our French was more understandable, I think.

Benoit said something in French that I didn't quite catch and I asked Elise for a translation. "He said we're going to ... an open chicken restaurant." She shrugged. You'll see what he means. I guess so. The restaurant was hedge-lined and really quite perfect. Inside was cool and elegant, outside was shaded and lovely. We chose to sit outside where we took the menus and I had the menu of the day, as I have all throughout the trip. It included a zucchini and goat cheese salad, with tender meat and potatoes, accompanied by some red wine.

The infamous Kir story happens here. Kir is an aperatif taken before a meal and can be flavored with different liqueurs. (As a side note, Arrested Development makes a reference to Kir Royale in the third season. This is Kir made with champagne.) The waiter took our orders. Benoit will take peach - peche. Elise will have raspberry - framboise. I will have blackberry - mure. And for you sir? Matt looked up and said, carefully, "Fromage?" The waiter paused only for a millisecond before saying,"Ahhhh, oui. Framboise." before scooping up our menus and walking away without a single hint at Matt's mistake. He was slightly pink in the cheeks when I turned my eyes on him. Benoit was looking for chickens in the bushes.

"Did you just say fromage?" He reddened. "You know that means cheese, right?"

Everybody laughed. There was even a bleeding nose.

"He knew what I meant. They're practically the same."

Right. We ate our meal, which was admittedly the best meal I have ever had while in France, and went to Elise's apartment. She was concerned that it was messy but her living space met the conditions of "clean" in my books. Clean on a good day, really. It was nicely lit and they had a balcony that looked out over the village. The bedroom was about the size of my apartment and their shower was the size of my bathroom. They even had in-suite washer/dryer that sat under their counter and leaked wonderful blue stuff out of the bottom. Elise fretted at the stains. To me, it seemed wonderful. Even more whimsical was the bathroom, complete with decorative red toilet seat (the subject of heated debate as to how it broke) and a quirky gnome, made by Benoit's uncle. He apparently looks cross-eyed at you when you use the toilet.

Elise was generous enough to let us have expresso and sit in her clean apartment. Benoit made fun of how she broke the toilet seat, which she adamantly denied. After a good time sitting and chatting, we left for Paris, where we found a Michael Jackson tribute occurring underneath the Eiffel Tower. Matt's parents had informed us in Lisbon that both Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett had died on the same day. Apparently, Paris loved Michael very much (sorry Farrah) and they had imitations galore occurring on stages and in tight circles of people. Everybody for miles was dressed in black and white, with velvet blazers, white, glittering gloves, and the iconic hat. Billy Jean was droning constantly from somewhere in the crowd. We crawled through the people and onto the other side of the Seine for pictures. We watched the hubbub before deciding to get some ice cream at Berthaillard. A walk around to see the bumper boats, a stop at a mistaken Metro station, and a brief remembrance of Princess Diana, and we were headed to Berthaillard on Ile St.Louis. Ross had made me promise two things to him before we left Lisbon:
1. Take these postcards home with you.
2. Have a triple ice cream at Berthaillard and ask for the following flavors: Cannelle, cannelle, et cannelle.
After such a lovely meal in Plaisirs, I could not stomach a triple but cinnamon ice cream was a welcome idea on the hot and humid day. Unfortunately, they were not serving cinnamon, so I got green apple instead and found out that Berthaillard makes green apples better than God does.

We walked back to a Metro station and took it to Montmartre so that we could see the Sacre-Coeur basilica, one of the famous sights of Montmartre. Up and up we went, watching crazy people jog the height and back down, then up again. We walked into the tourist part of Montmartre, where restaurants and bars were overflowing with people and the infamous Chat Noir decorated store windows. We walked past and through them to get to the Basilica, which was crowded with people looking out over the entirety of Paris. Elise told us that you can go up to the top of the Basilica and see a 360 view of the entire city. Inside the Basilica, there were candles and people praying. I looked into the basin carrying holy water and felt the same pang of reverence I used to feel when I went to church regularly. But I was no Catholic and holy water could be Gatorade for all I knew of it. I exhaled a small prayer for the souls of those beside me and walked back out into the twilight. We walked slowly back to the hostel, stopping at a candy shop so I could pick up sugared violets and chocolates for my sister. Postcards were also in order, including my personal favorite and one I contemplated sending to Twila: a map of the Paris Metro and RER.

We watched girls get frightened by mimes and then we found our way back down the hill. On the way, we saw a bronze statue coming out of a wall, so I coordinated a photo shoot that Matt reluctantly became the star of, even though it was one of the photos his friends liked best. Use that one as your profile picture, douchebag.

ANYWAY, we walked down the hill and said goodbye to Benoit and Elise. This would be the last time we would see Benoit because he would work for our last day in Paris. Elise made a quip about how he is French and likes things that smell like feet. I dare not repeat it (and I don't remember the exact joke) but he said we may have to spend the day alone the next day. She may not survive the night. We left them to duke it out on the long ride home and we retired to our ... what's this? Private suite? I forgot what I had booked. It was a private suite that contained its own shower and sink. The bathroom to use was the one in reception or just down the hall. We showered and climbed into our double bed, which was really two twins shoved together. We read Catch-22 and ate candy until we got sleepy (which wasn't too late) and we fell asleep to the sound of our hostel receptionist telling girls sitting on the hostel steps how pretty they were.