Day five: July 6, 2004
Destination: jardin de Tocqueville
Weather: absolutely gorgeous
Time of departure: 11.40am
Canine breakdown: 1 golden retriever, 1 poodle, 1 husky, 1 westie, 1 shih tzu
Public transport options: 6 metro to charles de gaulle étoile then 2 metro to villiers
Preamble: There was something about this one that was bound to go wrong from the start. The time of day, maybe, or the fact that I was distracted by the deuxième démarque in the monoprix sales. Capitalism... i don't know. Whatever the cause, my decision to find the jardin de Toqueville and attempt some physiognomy in order to better know the city in the space of an hour and a half, and to walk there from Passy, should not have taken after a double-dose of vending machine coffee. .
Anyway.
Passy being within a stone's throw of the tour Eiffel and that part of Paris in which the sixty year old women are dressed like 20 year old girls and the 20 year old girls are dressed like middle-aged women, but in the most expensive clothes, I am tempted to do a fashion breakdown instead of a canine one. Normally, an average walk from the metro to my school will reveal several thousand poodles and no other dog larger than a teacup. Today doesn't provide much better rewards, but the fashion becomes much less interesting after five minutes, when Passy cedes to Trocadero and Trocadero to one of the most touristed (and polluted) intersections of the city: l'arc de triomphe..
One could also do a car breakdown of Paris. Cars are just a means to an end here... half the population of the city drives a tiny smart car, the other half some clapped-out old volkswagen of golf. And SUVs (les quatre-quatres) are banned from the city streets. It's very refreshing, especially after two years of living in the midwest of the United States, where every corn-fed student seems to be given a gas-guzzler (or worse still, a hummer) on their 16th birthday. I digress. It's the influence of Monoprix.
Paris also smells and sounds different around here. Perfume, exhaust fumes, sweet popcorn, dog shit... and then the sound of English in its many accents, and of German, and Italian, and not being a true polyglot I don't really know what else. But very little French. None of the sing-song cadence of the boulangère as she sings good morning to each customer.
Round and round the arc de Triomphe I go, remembering last summer and a certain afternoon spent circling the thing in an aforementioned smart car. Now they are bringing out a four-door. Apparently one's feet will still feel like they are touching the earth. At avenue de Wagram I take a right, and slowly the sounds of cameras and coaches fade as the 17th becomes truly inhabited. Haussmann's influence is strong around here, almost oppressive, but the rigid effect of the avenue is soothed somewhat by the occasional well-placed square.
I reach the place des Ternes, and am beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. It's already 12.10 and I have to be back and in the classroom by one. Tant pis... right again on the avenue de Wagram and on up to the place of the same name. I see signs all round for the périphérique ... it's fluide and realize how close I am to the ceinture of the city, to her belt. place de Wagram, right onto boulevard Pereire. It's late... almost 1230. I feel like I can't do justice here. Nor can I read anyone's face, I'm moving so bloody fast. Finally! The rue de Tocqueville..
And it is here that I make the error. In my haste, I take a right instead of turning left. There's a beautiful woodsmith's shop on the corner.
Marching marching marching and I stop to take a picture of a 19th-Century carving on the wall of an old insurance building..
oops i lost the picture
But where's the damn garden? The numbers are descending, and I realise that I can't remember where I was meant to enter the garden. I look at the time on a parking meter. 12.40. Mission aborted. I have to go.
Weather: absolutely gorgeous
Time of departure: 11.40am
Canine breakdown: 1 golden retriever, 1 poodle, 1 husky, 1 westie, 1 shih tzu
Public transport options: 6 metro to charles de gaulle étoile then 2 metro to villiers
Preamble: There was something about this one that was bound to go wrong from the start. The time of day, maybe, or the fact that I was distracted by the deuxième démarque in the monoprix sales. Capitalism... i don't know. Whatever the cause, my decision to find the jardin de Toqueville and attempt some physiognomy in order to better know the city in the space of an hour and a half, and to walk there from Passy, should not have taken after a double-dose of vending machine coffee. .
Anyway.
Passy being within a stone's throw of the tour Eiffel and that part of Paris in which the sixty year old women are dressed like 20 year old girls and the 20 year old girls are dressed like middle-aged women, but in the most expensive clothes, I am tempted to do a fashion breakdown instead of a canine one. Normally, an average walk from the metro to my school will reveal several thousand poodles and no other dog larger than a teacup. Today doesn't provide much better rewards, but the fashion becomes much less interesting after five minutes, when Passy cedes to Trocadero and Trocadero to one of the most touristed (and polluted) intersections of the city: l'arc de triomphe..
One could also do a car breakdown of Paris. Cars are just a means to an end here... half the population of the city drives a tiny smart car, the other half some clapped-out old volkswagen of golf. And SUVs (les quatre-quatres) are banned from the city streets. It's very refreshing, especially after two years of living in the midwest of the United States, where every corn-fed student seems to be given a gas-guzzler (or worse still, a hummer) on their 16th birthday. I digress. It's the influence of Monoprix.
Paris also smells and sounds different around here. Perfume, exhaust fumes, sweet popcorn, dog shit... and then the sound of English in its many accents, and of German, and Italian, and not being a true polyglot I don't really know what else. But very little French. None of the sing-song cadence of the boulangère as she sings good morning to each customer.
Round and round the arc de Triomphe I go, remembering last summer and a certain afternoon spent circling the thing in an aforementioned smart car. Now they are bringing out a four-door. Apparently one's feet will still feel like they are touching the earth. At avenue de Wagram I take a right, and slowly the sounds of cameras and coaches fade as the 17th becomes truly inhabited. Haussmann's influence is strong around here, almost oppressive, but the rigid effect of the avenue is soothed somewhat by the occasional well-placed square.
I reach the place des Ternes, and am beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. It's already 12.10 and I have to be back and in the classroom by one. Tant pis... right again on the avenue de Wagram and on up to the place of the same name. I see signs all round for the périphérique ... it's fluide and realize how close I am to the ceinture of the city, to her belt. place de Wagram, right onto boulevard Pereire. It's late... almost 1230. I feel like I can't do justice here. Nor can I read anyone's face, I'm moving so bloody fast. Finally! The rue de Tocqueville..
And it is here that I make the error. In my haste, I take a right instead of turning left. There's a beautiful woodsmith's shop on the corner.
Marching marching marching and I stop to take a picture of a 19th-Century carving on the wall of an old insurance building..
oops i lost the picture
But where's the damn garden? The numbers are descending, and I realise that I can't remember where I was meant to enter the garden. I look at the time on a parking meter. 12.40. Mission aborted. I have to go.
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