First walk
We had considered the strategy of staying awake, exploring our neighborhood, walking to the Seine, and waiting until the evening to retire, as a means to manage jet lag. But jet lag is like the flu. You don’t manage it; it manages you. So, with fatigue roaring in our heads, we napped until almost 3. Groggily, we hit a nearby market called the Monoprix for dinner fixings and wine, took those back to the flat, and then walked to the Seine.
The weather was about 40, cloudy, no wind. The only change in that weather, during our 12 days, was that some days were sunny. Our street, Rue des Fontaines du Temple, was the base of a triangle between two major streets, Rue Turbigo and Rue Temple, that converged at Place de la Republique, just to our north. Passports? Check. Maps? Check. Key? Check. We descended the spiral, walked toward Temple, and turned right toward the Seine.
Paris streets are typical of streets that follow the same routes and angles of their ancient cartpath predecessors. They bend, expand, contract. For two blocks, as we walked on broad sidewalks, Temple was as wide as a boulevard. Then, in the space of crossing a street, Temple contracted to alley size, and sidewalks not quite wide enough for two. It channeled our vision, narrowing it to a point beyond which lay our destination. We knew only from the map that we were walking toward the Hotel de Ville, and the Seine and Notre Dame beyond. The distance wasn’t far – a little over a kilometer – but the going was slow. Paris streets, broad or cramped, are always filled with people – their numbers seem to expand to fit the available space – and walking anywhere is a succession of jukes through a broken field.
Suddenly, in the last block, Temple expanded again slightly, and there we were, at a front corner of the palatial Hotel de Ville, that faced a wide plaza. The plaza was bright with lights, illuminating a low structure that turned out to be an ice rink teeming with skaters, mostly young, and a long line of others waiting their turn. The de Ville front was an amazing edifice, an appropriate introduction to Paris buildings, whose fronts are all edifices, and may house history, high culture, or a department of motor vehicles. The ornate Hotel de Ville is not a hotel at all, but the Paris city hall.
Beyond the plaza, at a busy avenue, we were introduced to pedestrian crosswalks, Parisian style, then walked onto one of the many stone bridges across the Seine. This one was the Pont d’Arcole. To our left front, we saw the towers of Notre Dame. In the middle of the bridge we stopped and looked downstream along the river, flanked by the great city. We could not see the distant Eiffel Tower, blocked by foreground buildings on the Left Bank, or distinguish the Louvre. It was starting to get dark, and we had the walk back. Crossing the plaza again, we saw a red “Metro” sign, above an entry to the famed Paris subway system. We would tackle that tomorrow.
At the flat Karen solved a problem with the CD player; put on some music, and made spaghetti and salad. The flat was warm now, and cozy with lamplight and candles placed on the table next to the passthrough. We had our first bites of baguette and our first sips of Bordeaux from a bottle that was under 4 Euros. We were in bed by 9, and asleep by 9 plus one second. Jet lag still had us, and wouldn’t let go for another day or so.
The weather was about 40, cloudy, no wind. The only change in that weather, during our 12 days, was that some days were sunny. Our street, Rue des Fontaines du Temple, was the base of a triangle between two major streets, Rue Turbigo and Rue Temple, that converged at Place de la Republique, just to our north. Passports? Check. Maps? Check. Key? Check. We descended the spiral, walked toward Temple, and turned right toward the Seine.
Paris streets are typical of streets that follow the same routes and angles of their ancient cartpath predecessors. They bend, expand, contract. For two blocks, as we walked on broad sidewalks, Temple was as wide as a boulevard. Then, in the space of crossing a street, Temple contracted to alley size, and sidewalks not quite wide enough for two. It channeled our vision, narrowing it to a point beyond which lay our destination. We knew only from the map that we were walking toward the Hotel de Ville, and the Seine and Notre Dame beyond. The distance wasn’t far – a little over a kilometer – but the going was slow. Paris streets, broad or cramped, are always filled with people – their numbers seem to expand to fit the available space – and walking anywhere is a succession of jukes through a broken field.
Suddenly, in the last block, Temple expanded again slightly, and there we were, at a front corner of the palatial Hotel de Ville, that faced a wide plaza. The plaza was bright with lights, illuminating a low structure that turned out to be an ice rink teeming with skaters, mostly young, and a long line of others waiting their turn. The de Ville front was an amazing edifice, an appropriate introduction to Paris buildings, whose fronts are all edifices, and may house history, high culture, or a department of motor vehicles. The ornate Hotel de Ville is not a hotel at all, but the Paris city hall.
Beyond the plaza, at a busy avenue, we were introduced to pedestrian crosswalks, Parisian style, then walked onto one of the many stone bridges across the Seine. This one was the Pont d’Arcole. To our left front, we saw the towers of Notre Dame. In the middle of the bridge we stopped and looked downstream along the river, flanked by the great city. We could not see the distant Eiffel Tower, blocked by foreground buildings on the Left Bank, or distinguish the Louvre. It was starting to get dark, and we had the walk back. Crossing the plaza again, we saw a red “Metro” sign, above an entry to the famed Paris subway system. We would tackle that tomorrow.
At the flat Karen solved a problem with the CD player; put on some music, and made spaghetti and salad. The flat was warm now, and cozy with lamplight and candles placed on the table next to the passthrough. We had our first bites of baguette and our first sips of Bordeaux from a bottle that was under 4 Euros. We were in bed by 9, and asleep by 9 plus one second. Jet lag still had us, and wouldn’t let go for another day or so.
Labels: Paris
![michaelgrant2 [at] cox.net](http://www.michaelgrant.com/blog/uploaded_images/email.gif)
