I used the machine at the train station to buy one ticket to Paris and hopped on the train. When I got to my stop, I got off at the Paris train station there were soldiers walking around carrying assault rifles. They were always in groups of three I suppose because those terrorist are so tough that one or two dudes with big guns might not be enough to stop them. I went down a couple of hallways and came to the turnstiles to exit the station. When put my ticket into one of them, it rejected it. I tried a different turnstile, rejected again. I looked around and there weren't any workers in sight to ask for help from, just an older couple who had gotten off the same train. But, that also meant there wasn't anyone there to catch me. I certainly wasn't going to spend my time in Paris in a dark and dusty train station. In strict Bronx style, I jumped the turnstile and was on my way. I figured if they threw me in a French prison, I would just have to break out like my boy, Edmond Dantes. I used to be so rule abiding in my youth. I really don't know what's happended to me since then, maybe toxoplasmosis. I started wandering the city looking for a place to buy a map. I had left home with only a guidebook to Spain, hoping to pick up a new book for each country in that country, but all the guidebooks I had seen at the airport bookstores were in French. Luckily my cousin Barbara had emailed me of her favorite things to do in Paris, but I still needed a map. After several blocks of wandering I found a newstand with one map left on the sheljf. I grabbed it. Paris was now mine.
I had a great day seeing the sights and enjoying the parks. Visiting Notre Dame made me appreciate La Sagrada Familia even more. Around 7:30 I tried to go to a cafe for dinner, but was told that there was no hot food because the chef had already been sent home. I got the same story at another cafe and another. Everyone at the cafes was just sitting and drinking. Apparently dinner time comes early in Paris. I went to watch the sunset at the Eiffel Tower. The Tower is somewhat pedestrian looking and a tad smaller that I expected, but at night it becomes quite regal.
The next day a nimbostratus sheet stretched across the sky, unbroken in every direction. It was going to rain all day, but that was okay because I was headed to the Louvre. The museum was a madhouse. This was a Friday. I can't even imagine it on a Saturday. Kids were everywhere. Kids just can't grasp the historical significance provided by a museum. I mean if one can't comprehend how long fiften minutes is, how can one be expected to appreciate the length of a millenium? Back when I was a kid, going to an art museum was five minutes of looking around followed by two hours of sheer boredom. But, the digital camera has changed all that. Every kid seems to have one these days, even if it's just part of their phone. Just like kids like to collect baseball cards, they like to collect pictures. Going to a museum turns into a contest of who can get photos of the most objects. And just like rare rookie cards, there are certain pictures that are move coveted that others. "You didn't get a picture of the Venus de Milo? Haha! Hey, everybody, Sally didn't get a picture of the Venus de Milo!" It turns the museum into a big scavenger hunt, which at least keeps the kids occupied. The disurbing thing is that I've observed similar behavior among some adults too. Digital cameras have had a huge impact on society.
Speaking of coveted photos, the biggest crowd in the museum was, predictably, around the Mona Lisa and everyone there had to get their own picture of it from every angle. Even after seeing it in person, I still can't figure out what's so great about it, or about DaVinci's paintings in general. His portraits make their subjects look like they have gray porcelain skin. My personal favorite piece of artwork in the whole place was the Winged Victory of Samothrace. It had a strange feeling of being rugged, but refined at the same time.
The Louvre is an easy place to get lost in and at one point I was having trouble finding my way out of an exhibit so I started following a couple of guys who looked like they knew where they were going. Before I knew it, we were walking down narrow hallways through doors that didn't look the rest of the museum. I decided this must be the back way. Then, the guys went through a door and through the opening I could see that it was a locker room. Apparently the reason they looked so confident in their directions is because they worked there and I had followed them into a area for the museum workers only. I definitely wasn't supposed to be in here. The maze of hallways led to locker rooms, bathrooms, and even a lounge with a bar and a large painting on the wall. The whole place was deserted. I eventually found my way back out.
As I walked through the museum, just like the Prado, nearly every painting was either a biblical scene or a portrait. Why did these world famous museums decide that art stopped five hundred years ago? Then it struck me. I had in fact seen one mondern painting that day after all. It was the one in the stewards' lounge! I couldn't believe it. They had refused to put any modern art in the museum and then put some up in the lounge for their own enjoyment. I decided I had to get a picture of it.
I snuck back into the prohibited area, but this time it was crawling with workers. Everyone had on a suit and a badge and I had sneakers and a backpack over my shoulder. Needless to say, I got strange looks from nearly everyone I passed, but I just kept looking straight ahead and walking confidently as if I knew where I was going, which, in fact, I did. When I got to the lounge, there were to guys sitting at a table talking. I went around the corner and got my camera ready. I waited until they were deep in conversation, turned into the room, took the picture of the painting in mid stride, and kept right on going. When I emerged from the famous glass pyramid, I had a smug smirk on my face knowing I had come out with proof that the puritanical curators of the Louvre were closet abstract art lovers.
Back at the hotel I got into the shower and still annoyed at having to hold the shower head, I balanced the tip of it on the mount so that it was pointed down instead of horizontal to the ground. However, I made the mistake of balancing it before turning on the water. As I opened the valve, the force of the spray out threw the head off the mount, out of the shower, and directly into the toilet.