As it turns out,our rude awakening was determined by fate as i turned to my laptop to read an email from my dad saying they are on their way to our unit. i thought i had better open the window over the street because it was highly unlikely my parents would find the door to our apartment in the tiny alcove in the dark tunnel. With Solomon under my arms, i opened the window and stuck my head out to see if i could see my parents. Lo and behold, my mum and dad were sitting in the cafe underneath the apartment. I called out to them and they walked into clearer view as Solomon began shrieking and kicking so hard, he nearly fell out of my hands. I put Solomon down under the window to go open up the entry door to the apartment block and he, quickly and with a cry of despair, crawled up the window so that he could see his grandparents again.
I walked downstairs and opened up the apartment block door and my parents were nowhere in sight. As I called to them my dads voice responded from a strange distance away. Bewildered by the apparent location of the sound which came, not from the logical location of outside my door, but upstairs on level 3 of some random apartment block across the alley. True enough he popped his head out the window- level 3 of some random apartment block- i guess the earleir banter through my apartment window did not give him clear enough orientation that i was in the unit directly above him and not in the next street. Still bewildered, yet slightly amused, i told him he was probably trespassing and should come down as quick as possible, to the right entrance. Rather than rushing down, my dad decided i was wrong about which door was the correct entrance to my unit.
There we stood, 7.30am in a foreign country whose inhabitants usually start at 11am, with my dad in someone elses apartment yelling down at me that I was in the wrong door. Despite the fact we had spoken through my window on the other side of the block, not one minute earlier and despite the fact i came out of the apartment block door, we stood there arguing for a few minutes about who was at the right unit. finally, i coaxed him down the stairs of the apartment block he was adamant was mine, and we came to my unit.
After a lovely breakfast of fresh blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, red berries and cherries, we all headed off toward a famous eatery called Le Kong for a second breakfast.
It was a lovely morning, the weather was warm with a mild chill in the air, perfect for a easy stroll through the streets of this lovely city. Serene and peaceful, the beautiful cobblestone streets and intricate art-nouveau building expressions are a perfect backdrop to the flat comfortable topography. As we walked through the streets and along the river the beauty of Paris was truly exposed. Every building looked the same and, though alone meant nothing, together, the landscape weaved a wondrous tapestry of beauty, ancient decadence, appreciation for philosophy and art, and most of all, the knowledge that history is the true culture which unites us in its mutual respect and understanding. Walking through Paris is like walking through time. Indeed not much has changed here since post WW1.
As we walked, we came across a comic book store which had shelf after shelf of comics and graphic novels, as well as figurines and memorabilia to all the fantasy writings over the years. Like a child at Christmas, i rummaged through the book store and picked out some comics of my favourite superhero- BATMAN.
Finally, after about a half hour leisurely stroll, we arrived at the glass domed restaurant we had been seeking- Le Kong. Though it was still quite early, Bec was adamant that she was familiar with their menu and that they served breakfast. We caught the elevator to the top and were met with a waitress who looked shocked and surprised to see us. they definitely did not serve breakfast, but we were able to wait in the bar until the restaurant opened in an hour. The restaurant sat inside a glass dome delicately held together with thin profile and wired stainless steel. on such a clear and cool day, the setting was absolutely beautiful. We ordered a heap of food including duck breast smothered in honey gravy, steamed fish with clams, tuna tartare and Foi gras, which is a very french lightly fried duck liver- tender and tasty, but too greasy and strange flavour. The food was absolutely sensational, full of flavour and freshness, it was a little pricy but we were all very pleased and satisfied.
Afterwards we headed off to the Pompidou Centre, which is a revolutionary architectural masterpiece known for turning a building inside out. On the way, my mum decided she would change Solomons nappy in the middle of the street, not because it was dirty, but because it had been too long since she had done a grandmothery thing.
After a bit more walking and a bit more shopping, we finally arrived at the Pompidou centre. It was a very strange building with so much exposed structural steel and a huge elevated pathway along the outside. This building was well known because it had exposed all the elements of a building whch were usually hidden within the fabric of the building. By putting all these elements outside, the inside was able to be a sequence of clean, uninterrupted and uncluttered spaces. perfect for a museum and library which currently served as its function. With so much steel columns and wires and exposed pipes, with the glass walls behind, it looked as though the building was still surrounded with a scaffold. The building truly deserved its iconic status, it was very interesting to experience as you traversed through its domed walkways.
Before we went in we wandered around the building forecourt which was filled with people enjoying their day, as well as some buskers, performers and street artists. A crew of ridiculously built Jamaicans stopped by for a Capoeira ensemble and an extremely old man, who was built like a tank, was performing a magic show which included eating matches and cigarettes- clearly if he had visited my mum or her sisters, he would know thats not such a big feat. Still the forecourt was alive and exciting, we sat at a little cafe on the outskirts to take in the experience before going in for a closer look at the building.
Right at the bottom, just after the entrance, is an escalator which takes you to the top of the building. In clear sight, painted on to the face of the escalator was a sign which pronounced it was forbidden for women, children and prams- possibly a remnant of the Nazi occupation? without hesitation, and since i had been lucky enough to not be burdened with such attributes, i jumped on the lovely escalator to the heavens whilst Bec, with Solomon, got searched and i think arrested, i dont know what happened, i ascended too quickly and she was out of sight.
From the top i could see ALL of Paris and it was a glorious sight. I could also see Bec and my mum at the nearby cafe - they were safe.
After satisfying my architectural urges, i went down to move on to our next adventure. At the bottom my dad got Solomons picture drawn by the exact same guy that drew us in New York- how did he find us here? The artist seemed to think that he could draw anything for a face, but as long as he drew curly hair, maybe we would be convinced the image was our son and not that orphan girl from Annie (her name is Annie). My dad gave him half of what he asked, to which the artist was still incredibly surprised, and we had in our possession, yet another useless hand drawn image possessing no resemblance to its subject.
Afterwards, mum and dad took Solomon back to our apartment, and Bec an I were unburdened for an afternoon Paris experience. We went to a well known shopping mall called BHV in a hope to find some incredibe Parisian attire. We found the experience to be very much like Myer, where you try on anything you find in desperation and turn around in the mirror enough times to get sea sick, in order to convince yourself its a lovely jumper and not a disgusting overpriced pile of wool which you pack neatly at the back of your cupboard only to be used as a work jumper in two years time.
We left and decided to limit our shopping to unique boutiques rather than large chains. After a bit more shopping we discovered an antique dealer village which had quite a few shops, all selling real antique wares. When i say antique, i dont mean the quaint useful item full of chracter like an old chair. I mean ancient items with absolutely no use which frustate the hell out of you as they gather inconceivable amounts of dust and you dont have the heart to throw out. Items like a 20cm glass bear, or a bunch of old butttons, or a credenza which is 1m high but looks like its made out of 38 trees.
After a bit more exploration, and a juicy eggplant, fetta and mozarella crepe later, we got back home exhausted. As we sat with my parents and son in the unit, we all slowly drifted off to a deep sleep- and without dinner.
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