Paris on my Mind
When I told colleagues I was going to London and Paris, most lit up at some warm memory of strolling along St Germain de Pres, sitting in some café on some random corner sipping wildly expensive coffee or a glass of wine, eating some fabulous meal, or taking in the sights and art of the City of Lights. London just doesn’t generate the same veneration.
Paris was ground zero for my trip to Europe. I was scheduled to give two workshops two times each at the SAMA (Strategic Account Management Association) European Congress at the Hotel le Meridienne, conveniently located just near Garre Montparnasse in the historic old district.
Being the seasoned traveler that I am, I paid about zero attention to the details involved with getting to our hotel other than to arrange to take the Eurostar from Waterloo Station in London to Garre du Nord in Paris on the Saturday before the Monday I was to speak. How hard could it be? I’ve been to Paris many times, love the Metro, know how to read a map, and have drilled into my children’s imagination Kevin’s first rule of travel: find the train station and go from there. In any city in any country other than the one I live in, everything ties in some way back to the train station. So how hard could it be?
The problem with that logic is that it works great in Zurich, Amsterdam, and any one of a hundred small and midsized cities you could name. It’s less certain in Paris and London where there are many very large train stations. In the case of Paris, Gare du Nord is on one side of town and Gare Montparnasse is on the other. No problem, get out the map, guess at where the hotel was (now you can see the problem), and find a metro line that gets you close. So far so good.
I actually knew the name of the street the hotel was on and by comparing three maps I could tell it was near the big station in Montparnasse. That was the easy part. The hard part was that I didn’t know exactly where on the street the hotel was. And yes, if you saw this coming, the station is immense and depending on where you come out, you could be close to your destination or very, very far away.
Gare Montparnasse is right up against an intersection of four or five significant streets and very nearby a very large building that figures prominently on most maps. The ones I had all decided to show it in “3-D” view, with its miniature perspective making it nearly impossible to figure out where you were. We just could not get oriented, and not speaking the language, didn’t feel keen to ask for help. In the end, we made a big hooking loop of the neighborhood until a nice local man took pity and pointed out that we were about 100 yards from the hotel. I felt frustrated and old.
I don’t know how many of those people with the wistful memories have ever been to Paris in February, but I can confidently and accurately report that it gets cold in Paris. Really cold. In fact, our combined trips to New York, London, and Paris have been one continuous deep freeze. Sitting on the plane riding home I can feel my toes and the weather has already receded into the realm of story. But at the time, it was cold enough to make me seriously question my sanity at wanting to walk anywhere . . . which is really saying something when it comes to Paris.
Our first day in Paris turned into our first night. Some years ago when in London with my family we had made arrangements to take the Eurostar through the Chunnel to Paris only to be turned away when we arrived because of a fire in the tunnel. Imagine my pleasure at hearing “The 11:39 train to Paris will be delayed by at least an hour due to ‘previous problems in the Chunnel.’” The whole idea of problems in a 25 mile long tunnel under water is enough to give me the wheezies.
By the time we’d ridden all those trains and metros the day was toasted as were we. Against my wife’s better judgment, we put on nearly every stitch of clothing we had with us and ventured out to a) get oriented and figure out where we really were, and b) find something to eat. I was determined that we would walk towards the river and find some charming little bistro tucked behind Saint Sulpice or someplace similar if only to validate that we were really there.
I’m pleased to report that we were successful in all respects, stumbling nearly frozen through into a little place on a little street that served us a brilliant meal. In true French fashion, we had to do some persuading of the maitre’d. At 7:00 when we walked through the door, the restaurant was empty but he wasn’t seating anyone. Why? He had people coming at 8:00. I pointed out that we were American and were up to the challenge. We took the Metro home.
Everything finally caught up with me on Sunday. I had been running a medium-grade flu since flying over the big water and had been sleeping not very well. It was noon before we were dressed and ready to meet the day. Wearing only slightly less than everything we had with us, we sallied forth to Saint Germain des Pres, and from thence, to a café for a meal, and then onward to the d’Orsay, the famous converted train station and now home to one of the world’s great collections of impressionist paintings. I’ve been there three times, and although I’ve only ever seen the permanent collections, they never disappoint.
There is a lot of mythology about the French in general and the residents of Paris in particular: about their attitudes, their point of view on Americans, and their general intractability. I have to say that I’ve never experienced any of it personally but for the silly man at the restaurant and the concierge at my hotel on the day we left who assured me there were no taxis to be found anywhere in Paris and that if I wanted to go to the airport I would have to take a bus.
Neither my wife nor I speak a lick of useful French though we can say good morning, where is the cat, ham and cheese, good afternoon, and thank you. English is spoken though not as much as in other cities we’ve visited. Still, it’s always pleasing if not a bit astonishing how far you can get with sign language, pointing, and the occasional noun. It’s all in the attitude I think. If you act like you genuinely need help and you make a credible effort at trying to communicate, almost everyone will try to help out (the concierge spoke English, and was an idiot in any language).
For those waiting in suspense, the workshops went well, and on the second go round went brilliantly. I always go through a cycle starting the day or so before I go on of: a) oh my God, why did I agree to do this; b) I’m not prepared, I don’t know my material (usually because it’s brand new due to the fact that I’m easily bored with stuff I already have done); c) ready or not, here I come; d) gee, that was fun; e) I hope they invite me back next year. Having trained tens of thousands of people and having conducted thousands of meetings you’d think I would have greater possession of myself than that, but there you go.
There are some mighty big and mighty fine department stores and shopping centers in Paris and we visited a few just for fun. But one tends to pay more attention to all the little shops scattered on all the big and little streets. Small business really does make the world go round and I would confess that while I’m not a shopper, I’m happy to stroll past and through shop after shop in a place like Paris just to take it all in.
Random Thoughts
At the end of a trip like this, I’m usually left with the same range of feelings.
I love to travel. I love to go and see. It doesn’t particularly matter if I’ve seen it before, though I do like the strange and new. I just like how I feel when in travel mode: senses on full alert, camera at the ready, taking in all the details of what the natives regard as normal.
I’m lately stunned at how far the dollar has fallen, and in larger measure, how much political capital our current administration has squandered over the past four years. The Europeans are still bitterly opposed to the Iraq war though clearly things are different now. We all seem to be of a single mind when it comes to Syria and perhaps increasingly will find common cause in regards to Iran’s nuclear program.
I know plenty of people who do not share my concern for what the folks in old Europe say or think and I suppose to a point I buy their argument. We are a sovereign nation and the only reigning super power. We consume a third of the world’s energy, we are the economic engine that makes the world go round, and it is our Navy and no other that keeps the world’s oil flowing safely through the Persian Gulf. We have interests to protect and we do. Thank God that all the folks with whom we have such soaring trade deficits can’t spend their dollars fast enough. They’ll be eager buyers of our equally soaring national debt at least for the next couple of years. Beyond that . . .
I’m also aware that far less than 20% of all American’s hold a passport. So while almost all Europeans (and nearly everyone else in the world with some means) have traveled to other countries and speak multiple languages, the same cannot be said about Americans. In an increasingly connected world, many of us just don’t want to see it or be part of it.
Pax Americana and the American Century was a resounding success for our side by every measure. In my children’s lifetime the center of gravity will shift elsewhere (to China and perhaps India). It will once again be a truly multi-polar world except this time the other players will hold better cards than the former USSR. I don’t know that this is a bad thing or that there’s anything that can or should be done about it. But I do know that the people here in the big PX who think that we can go our own way because we’re the biggest, best, and most righteous will some day wake up to a different and less comfortable reality, and if you look around a bit, you can see it happening right now before your very eyes.
Some Photos from the trip
Hall inside the d'Orsay museum
Merry go Round outside the Hotel de Ville
Tunnel inside the Gare Montparnasse station
Newstand at Saint Michelle at night
Picture of someone taking a picture of a picture
And again. It's the strangest thing. What will she do with this?
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Copyright © 2005 Kevin Hoffberg
Last modified:
05/03/06