Le weekend

In 1894, a ship was built in Holland. It wasn't a big ship, but large enough to carry a small cargo of furs or guns or whatever compact items could be stowed on board. The boat made its way back and forth, all over Europe, delivering its cargo and picking up new. Who knows what hands received what items from the holds of this boat; guns to armies of grand republics? High fashion to the backs of aristocratic ladies? Secret lovers stowed away for a chance at a life together?
Eventually, the boat made its way to Paris, probably not for the first time, and was bought by a private owner. A woman named Louise who wanted a place to live. She renamed the boat La Louise, obviously after herself, and parked it on the Seine. When she died, she passed it down to her children, as did they to their children, and so on for the past 113 years...

This weekend, I was invited to spend the weekend with my friends Sylvain and Catherine. They are wonderful people who live in the heart of the city, so theirs is a great place to make one's way around Paris from.
I left the Hyatt late morning and made my way to the city center. The train station near my house was quiet enough, but it would prove to be the last quiet place I would see for the whole trip into Paris.
My first train was stopped, and ordered to turn around and to to the airport, so we all filed off the train to wait for the next one. One man on the train exploded angrily at the information lady, but about two minutes later, another train showed up and whisked us on our way.
I arrived at Chatelet Les Halles, a central Metro station, to change for another train, and before I could put my ticket in the machine, I was stopped by a large crowd gathered around a large group of classical musicians. There were about 12 musicians in all, playing everything from the upright bass to four violinists to woodwinds... It was just the coolest and least expected thing in the Metro. I watched for a while and headed on. On the platform of my next train, a group of four Russian musicians started hastily setting up. Before I could reach for my iPod, they started up a long and loud Russian dirge. Who plays a dirge for tips? It was cool to see though, and they really worked the crowd. The crowd, by the way, grew and grew until I was standing on the edge of the platform. When the train arrived, I was pushed into the car by a mass of people making their way from Russian dirge to Parisian city center.
Finally on board, I found a seat and made to relax and enjoy the ride, when, at the next stop, two Italian men got on the train, dropped a large speaker, got out their respective saxophone and tuba, and launched into something in three four time. They had a blast, but the crowd (including me) had had enough at this point. When their hats came off at the end of their first song to receive tips for their performance, the train car was quiet and unmoved. I think of all the people on that crowded car, these guys probably made about three euros. At the next stop, they abruptly packed up and scampered off, mumbling away to each other, probably about how Parisians don't appreciate live music. If they only knew...
I arrived at Sylvain and Catherine's place, a boat called Neilali. Catherine was there, but she told me that Sylvain was out working, "On a Saturday! Like an American!" I let that one slide.
She introduced me to her friend Eva, who I was told would also be staying the weekend. Confused, I asked where I might be sleeping. Catherine explained that Eva would take the extra bedroom on Neilali, since her apartment was being redone, and I would be spending the weekend on Eva's boat: La Louise. I flipped out.
La Louise is a much larger boat than Sylvain and Catherine's, and to have it all to myself was such a treat. It has a large living room and a large bedroom, a bar, a fireplace, and two bathrooms. My bed was below the water line, so I would literally be sleeping with the fishes. Eva brought me there, and let me alone to relax for a bit before dinner. I had brought a bottle of Bordeaux as a "thank you" for letting me stay with them, and so Catherine insisted that we drink it at a special vegetarian dinner she was preparing. I had absolutely no problem with this.
I unpacked my backpack and went up on the deck to watch the sun set on the river.
Autumn is in full swing here in Paris, so leaves are changing colors and falling, and the sun sets earlier every day. La Louise is parked right off of La Place de la Concorde, the governmental center of France, and is in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I sat on the deck and watched the sun go down on the river and waved to tourists as they passed by on boat tours. By the time the lights on the Eiffel Tower came on, it was time to go.
Sylvain and Catherine, Eva and I dined on a delicious pumpkin soup and a gratin of cauliflower and potatoes (chopped cauliflower and potatoes in heavy cream with cheese, then baked). While the ladies prepared dinner (a nice change of pace for me these days), Sylvain opened a bottle of 13 year old, single malt Scotch. I am not a Scotch drinker, but this stuff was really, really smooth and fruity. It was delicious. I had one glass, because at 45% alcohol, I think one was enough, especially after Catherine lined up four bottles of red wine on the table for dinner. That is a bottle of wine, per person. Ok, so we're not screwing around here.
The soup was delicious, and the gratin was too. In typical French fashion, dessert was an array of cheeses. They had gone to a little cheese shop in La Bastille that they know I like, and bought a bunch of good ones. One in particular was a cheese I had bought for myself when Ruta was here: a triple cream cheese, covered in red and gold raisins that had been soaked in rum. It is delicious, and the Bordeaux that I brought went very well with it.
Later, we sat out on the deck and talked and talked in the cool evening breeze while finishing off the wine. I get along so well with these people. They are just fascinating. They have made everything about their lives so interesting, from the fact that they live on a boat on the Seine, all the way down to the wine glasses they used for dinner. Sylvain asked if I liked them, and of course I said yes, and that they looked old. He said, "Oh, they are, from the 19th century. You can pick up a set for about 200 euros pretty easily." It was at that point that I very carefully put the glass down and started looking around the boat for a nice, plastic sippy cup. A moment later, Eva got up to open a window and accidentally swept one off the table. The glass shattered, and its wine splashed all over the couch. Eva was so upset, but Sylvain and Catherine threw their heads back, laughing. "I guess that's what I get for bragging about the wine glasses!" Sylvain said.
I just think that is incredible. These people just know how to live, and they have all these friends from around the world. When I arrived for dinner, Sylvain was coming in from a day of visiting a friend at L'Hotel de Dieu, Paris's main hospital, where Princess Diana died. Unfortunately, if you are not a doctor or a patient, you cannot get into the ICU, so Sylvain stole a paramedic's jacket that he found on a chair in the waiting room and marched in to see his friend. He had brought this 80 year old man some beer ("I know he's in the ICU, but he really likes his beer, so..."), and sat with him for a few hours. Later that night, when I was leaving and couldn't find my scarf, he put the jacket on me. It is a three quarter length, leather jacket with big, official writing on the back that says HOTEL DE DIEU. As I walked back down the quai towards La Louise, people definitely turned heads. I felt like running along the river, yelling, "Out of the way! I'M A DOCTOR!"
Oh, and the friend he was visiting? The man is fluent in English and French, so Sylvain speaks Franglish to him. Why does the guy speak both so well? Oh, only cause he worked for the US Secret Service. What kind of man spends his days stealing paramedics jackets, just so he can bring beer to his 80 year old spy friend in the ICU? That's awesome.
Dinner started at 7:30, and again in typical French fashion, ended at about midnight.
My friend Olivier gave me a ring on my cell and said, "Be at La Place de la Concorde in twenty minutes. We're going out." I had already had some good but strong scotch and a bottle of wine, but hey, who's counting?
Olivier and I, as well as a new friend from Madrid (Javier) went out to a bar in the Latin Quarter for sangria, and then headed up near the Moulin Rouge for another drink when the sangria bar closed.
The night was fun, but what was of note was the name of the bar: La Requin de Chagrin (it rhymes in French). Chagrin in English means, what? Sad, and a little embarrassed. In French it means deeply depressed, as in "Il est mort du chagrin" or "He died of a broken heart."
La requin is "the shark," so I was having beers at a bar called "The Deeply Depressed Shark." What is wrong with these people? You have to love them. In fact, the bar has a picture of a shark, looking over his shoulder at you, and weeping, while smoking a cigarette and playing the piano. What?
I got in at about 3:30am and went right to bed. I am sure that the beer, sangria, wine and scotch helped, but I like to think it was the gentle rocking of the boat that lulled me into sleep.
Whatever it was that lulled me into sleep, it was the pounding hangover I had the next morning that woke me up. Please note, the gentle rocking of a boat may be calming and relaxing while dining with friends and watching the world go by, but it is enough to make you want to tear your own head off if you are hungover.
I had some water, stared at the wall for an hour until I could feel my head again, and headed out.
Not much today, just bumming around Paris. I started a new book, "Revolutionary Road" and had breakfast at an outdoor cafe. Later, I stopped into a random cathedral for a look-see, when I discovered I was right next to a big movie theatre. I ducked in and caught the afternoon showing of Woody Allen's new movie, "Cassandra's Dream."
All I am going to say about it is this: at some point in your life, before you die, you must see this movie. It is one of the most spectacularly brilliant movies I have seen in a long time, and I am not a huge Woody Allen fan. Holy cripes, this movie was good. It opens in the States in January, so clear your calenders.
Anyway, I'm back at the Hyatt now, and as much as I love what I am doing, it is always a little depressing to come back to work after spending your days trolling the streets of Paris, ready to run into whatever may come along.
Sounds like some body's got a case of the Mondays.
Maybe, but I don't think I'm anywhere near as upset as that shark was.
Poor thing.