Our last day in Paris started with a bit of rain outside, and a bit of last-minute flurry inside our lovely little apartment as we tried to pack up a week’s worth of clothing, toys and food into two suitcases and to have them weigh no more than 20kg each. Most of this was up to David, who is in possession of an impressive ability to pack into one suitcase what most people would barely be able to put into two and a half suitcases, while I was charged with cleaning the kitchen and returning the living room furniture back to its original arrangement. David’s talent is especially helpful as he is also in possession of a desire to always have with him all of the items that he might have even the smallest chance of needing at some point during the day. This worked out well for the four of us on this trip, since he was always toting around a backpack full of water bottles, rain jackets, extra shoes and the like, in case any of us needed anything while we were traipsing around Paris. You can imagine the surprise and disappointment, therefore, of the young woman who stood right behind him on Line 1 of the Métro a few days ago, pretending to read a tourist map while helping herself to the contents of the outer pocket of his backpack. For her efforts, she came away with only a handful of rumpled napkins and a pulverized fruit bar!
We managed to tumble out of the apartment only twenty minutes later than our firm check-out time (though no one ever showed up to usher us out, fortunately), only to discover that, though the rain had stopped and the sun was out, it was still a brisk morning. Our planned leisurely walk through the Marais therefore turned into a purposeful march, as we all wanted to get somewhere warm. We ended up in front of the Centre Pompidou, home to a collection of modern art and space for theater and film, and known for its wacky, colorful inside-out architecture and crazy fountains in the square outside. We had stopped on the way to buy a few croissants for the kids’ breakfast, but they were too cold to eat sitting along the fountain, so instead we went into a small café and ordered espressos for us and butter and sugar crepes for them. The café was empty and warm, so we stayed for a while, and the kids worked on some postcards to send to their classmates at home. Then we did a bit of shopping in the area around the Marais, and the kids found some souvenirs for themselves while we picked up a few gifts. We walked back towards our apartment, stopping at the Musée Carnavalet, which houses a collection of items (paintings, sculptures, models and furniture) related to the history of Paris. I wanted to see some of the paintings of streets in 16th century France and the portraits of Madame de Sévigné, once considered the most beautiful woman in Paris, along with the paper which Robespierre was in the process of signing when he was seized and taken to prison, but the kids were a bit restless and ready to move on to the next thing. We breezed through as a result, though we did see the paintings of death by guillotine of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, as well as a few of her personal items, so it was worth the short visit.
We then stopped at La Poste to mail our postcards, then walked through the Marais one last time on our way back to our apartment to pick up our luggage. Our driver was waiting for us when we returned to the flat (again, well worth the money!) so we grabbed our bags and hopped in. John fell asleep on the way up to Charles de Gaulle, while Emma looked out the windows wistfully at the Seine as we drove away. David managed to finish most of the bottle of wine that we had left on the ride to the airport, which was a good thing, because when we arrived, our terminal was in total lock-down mode and surrounded by French soldiers wearing camouflage and carrying American-sized machine guns, so he benefitted greatly from being so relaxed going in. I on the other hand was a bit alarmed, but our driver just shrugged, and said that this happens pretty much every day. Inside the terminal, a huge queue had formed while the terminal was reopened, and we inched our way through security. John was having a ball riding on the luggage cart, while Emma was making faces at all the Euro Disney-clad kids in line. David kept them in stitches with a fake French accent: “Come on, kids, ALLON-ZEE!” he would say, then lean over to me and say, “What does allon-zee mean again?”
While we waited, we all talked about the American man who came into a bakery after us one morning and said to the girl at the counter, “Hi there, uh, polly-VUU ann-GLACE? Oh, great, then, I’ll have one of those things there, a cra-SAHNT, right? And how about one of them pieces of bread there…the long ones?” Lovely! By the way, I did notice that most French people I spoke to (in French but obviously with a native-English-speaking accent) asked me by default if I was English. “Vous êtes de l'Angleterre?” I wondered at first if we were wearing or carrying some kind of clothing or bag that was from the UK that gave them that impression, but later in the trip realized that it’s probably more likely that the French might be afraid that asking a native English speaker if they are American could be a bit insulting, just in case the person is actually English or Canadian. I suppose that asking someone if they are English is the least likely way to offend someone of a different nationality, and they only risk offending the Scottish by doing so!
So, we returned to St. Andrews last night at about 7:00 pm, had a quick dinner of frozen lasagna and a big glass of Pimm’s and lemonade (thinking the whole time of our meal in Montmartre), then went to bed. The unpacking can wait…
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