The Gift of Gab

I find it ironic that the previous three times when I was in France, I had difficulty finding people that would be willing to converse with poor, American me in English. Now, since I try to exclusively converse in French, people will often switch to English. I find this...pleasant. Although, I still try to maintain my French unless I truly hit a brick wall...hasn't happened yet.

That said, dinner was kind of a wreck. Staying in the “nice” area in Paris means that no cafe is reasonably priced. I love paying 4 euros for a Pepsi...damn my caffeine addiction. Some sort of a bagel/chicken/cheese concoction rang up to 12. Worst of all, the waiter couldn't understand a word of my French. I mean, he spoke English, but the realization that my accent was the French equivalent of Kim Jong Il in Team America: World Police is a little disheartening. Now I can't get the image of that puppet out of my head.

Backing up. The temptation was simply too great I caved and spent the majority of my day at the Louvre. My accent must not be that terrible (or...and maybe I'm crazy with this one...women seem to understand my accent better than guys? Go figure...) but I was able to talk my way into free admission. Internships: the gift that keep on giving. I've been to this museum four times and still haven't seen it all. So I resolved to see the entire museum during this trip: make no little plans? I think so.

After my feet started throbbing and I tripped over a bench like a total spaz, I had only seen maybe half of the museum...and that's after 5-6 hours. I'm nothing if not thorough. Although the number of tourists and tourist groups that I had to wade my way through slowed everything down. I was about to have an “art moment” with Ingre's Grande Odalisque when a group came swarming out of the two flanking doors and surrounded me, ruining my shot :( Seriously, it was like a bee attack, except with people...and no stinging.

I need to take the time to soapbox. I completely understand that the Louvre is a gigantic museum and, as such, will likely be understaffed at most times. They even periodically close swathes of galleries during the week to cope. But I really don't like it when visitors are blatantly violating rules right in front of them and they say nothing. There are more “No Flash Photography” image-based signs in that museum than there are Starbucks in NYC and yet people still don't get the picture (ha picture; I crack myself up). But this was also happening in front of one guard who appeared to want nothing more than to leave...and she said nothing. Flash is one thing, but touching is a whole other. The “DON'T TOUCH THE WORKS OF ART” signs keep equal paces with the “No Flash” ones. And I'm sorry, it's a museum and it is international common knowledge that you do not touch things in museums (or go back to childhood, “Don't touch that, it doesn't belong to you.”). One floating guard took the time to ask a guy my age to take his feet off a bench. Had she been in the gallery five minutes earlier, she would have witnessed a lady happily caressing Assyrian urns and statues one-by-one down the line. And yes, can't forget the British family that were lovingly hugging the Egyptian sculpture of what appeared to by Sekhmet. Or the man that felt the need to circle something multiple times with his finger on a Roman stele to make a point. That said, I guess it's smart that the Mona Lisa is behind bullet and flash proof glass...

But yes, Louvre. AMAZING. It was six hours of “OMG I STUDIED THAT IN CLASS!” So epic. I can't wait until I go back for round two.

After that, I just took to trotting. Eventually worked my way to Notre Dame and the Centre Pompidou. It finally occurred to me just how much of Paris closes up in August due to their annual vacations. Entire streets of shops are barred and grated promising to return at various dates at the end of the month. Womp womp.

The gift of gab...or maybe gab in the larger sense (or lack thereof) was definitely the dominating theme for the day.