Clay Kids Conquer Paris!

After the usual airport routine, Euchre and rummy and Golf and kimps on the O'Hare waiting room floor with only a 40 minute delay due to weather, the Clay Middle School group flew off to Paris. The flight was smooth, the food nourishing, the movie uninviting, and the sleep poor and short. Our pilot got my message and announced to the eternal embarrassment of said Patricia that the Clay School group was welcome to Paris, especially Patricia who was celebrating her 15th birthday. Perfect. We retrieved baggage and found our guide, Amanda, with effortless facility, unlike our Alaska group pals whose luggage decided to remain at Heathrow.

Unfortunately, the hotel rooms were not yet ready at 11am, so we left our bags and headed for a neighborhood ATM and boulanger for lunch. Those encumbered with cash and cheques later found a Bureau de Change (.60 for cheques, .63 for cash) while the group checked out the Paris Hard Rock Café.

I resisted the Hard Rock magic, but Miss Annagail will be stylin' in her Hard Rock onesy. I had to show her off to the delightful young man clerking, who was appropriately impressed both with the baby and with the little keychain photo viewer. TechnoMammy scores big.

After our lunch of baguette sandwich (Scott tried a croque-monsieur, Travis from Texas a panini) and a beverage, we walked down to the Opéra Garnier, a masterpiece of architecture and art. The theater itself, especially the Chagall ceiling, and the galerie de crystal duly impressed us with its lasting beauty. The sounds of the Phantom's song echoed in my head as I reflected on the quiet darkness of the lake beneath us.


We walked south by way of the Place Vendôme, whose central obelesque was built from the cannon of the enemy captured in the victory at Austerlitz, with Napolean's statue on top.

We crossed the Tuilleries Gardens, stopping for water on this very hot high 80s day, then found to my disappointment that the Orangerie was closed Tuesdays. No visit to the healing cool of the basement exhibition hall housing the Nympeas of Monet.








We descended into the Metro, bought a carnet of tickets, and headed for Chatelet, where we crossed onto the île de la cité, past the Conciergerie where Marie Antoinette and her family were imprisoned (and later their nemesis, Robespierre, before he, too, lost his head.) We stopped at the Sainte Chapelle but it was closed for some special occasion.

At the Fontaine St. Michel we collapsed at a café that I particularly like, Le Lutèce, except the four musketeers who wanted postcards, who required me to traipse another couple of blocks before partaking of that quintessential Parisian pastime of people watching from café tables.

After a shower and some oddities of new hotel tricks (put the key in the wall switch to get power), we had a lovely dinner of salad, pork roast, green beans, rice, and crême brulée at the Granvillais restaurant. The gracious servers prepared a firesparkler surprise, presented with Parisian panache in dimmed lights, for Patricia's birthday.


What better way to celebrate such an occasion than a day in Paris?