No More Museums in Paris, Please

I think we've done it. 7 museums in 4 days. Musee D'Orsay, Rodin Museum, Pantheon, Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower, Louvre, L'Orangerie. There's actually like 20 more, but I think 7 is the most we can take before going insane. Les and I have gotten to the point where we just quickly walk through the museums and methodically turn our head left and right, seeing if anything catches our eye. We might stop at a piece where a lot of people are crowding around, because obviously, they know something we don't and thus, deserves our attention. The best decision we've made on this Paris trip though, is buying the advance museum ticket pass. 48 Euro and you can get through any line at any museum for 4 days. This is especially nice when the Louvre line is about 30 min deep. I like being able to smugly eye the people in line with their angry and envious stares, then briskly walk through the gate like I'm some rock star. Should've done some research, I'd say.

Today's goal was simple: check out the Louvre, the largest museum this side of the Mississippi. And probably the Atlantic. After a quick lunch at the cafe across the street, we headed through the side gates and into the belly of the beast, right below the giant glass Pyramid. It was noon, and the crowd was already about 500 people just in the main lobby.

Les and I really just wanted to see the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo, and anything else would be a bonus. Seems like that's where everyone else wants to see too. 2 floors and about a 1/2 mile hike inside the labyrinth of hallways and corridors, we finally reach the main hall that houses the smiling lady. Of course, there's about a crowd of 6 rows deep, but good thing Les is of smaller stature, so she manuevers us to a pretty good viewing position. Let me just say, the Mona Lisa is not as small as people say. Now I've heard over and over again that "wow, the Mona Lisa is super small, or it's definitely not as big as you think it is", so as I prepared myself for the impending meet, I'd visualize the painting to be the size of a small notebook or business card. Well, turns out that picturing it small does help, because when I actually see it, it's a nice surprise that it is, in fact, a normal sized painting. The painting itself is interesting, but I'm not sure what the big fuss is about. She is definitely smiling, or smirking, which is also confirmed by the research study that used facial expression software to deduce with a 80% certainty she is having a happy day.

After the Mona Lisa, I resume my quest to relive my Da Vinci code infatuation by visiting the art and retracing the hero's night at the book's beginning. Madonna of the Rocks, check. The Rose Line marker on the ground, check. Bathroom where the tracer gets put on a bar of soap and thrown to the street below, eh, no check. There's no window in the bathroom. Liars.

We check out the Venus de Milo and then aimlessly wander the rest of the museum for the next 2.5 hours. Which brings me to my next question: who in their right minds can see the whole museum and actually remember what they saw? They say it takes something like 6 months to see all 5000 exhibits, and most people get probably 3-4 hours before they fall into a fetal position. Heck, after 2 hours in the stuffy and crowded hallways, the vomit-inducing smell of sweat and funk just permeates like crazy. Doesn't help that people have to climb like 50 steps between each level.

After escaping the Louvre, we walk down the giant garden area to the L'Orangerie museum. This is where Monet and Picasso lives, so it was worth a peek. Using our backstage passes yet again and drawing some hideous looks, we head through the tiny gallery. Monet has 2 big oval rooms that houses his 360 deg painting of a pond with leaves. Okay... not one, but 2 of them. Granted, they are big, but I think it'd be more impressive with a 360 deg LED movie theatre playing Lord of the Rings. Heading down to see the Picassos, I notice that his paintings aren't really weirdly abstract. In fact, only 1 of the 6 that I saw had the eyes and nose going funky and weird. The others were pictures of naked women. I guess they didn't have Playboy back then.

With 5 hours of museum walking in our systems, we decide to get some dinner across the river. Les has been reading Julie & Julia, and she is bent on looking for Julia Child's favorite restaurante called Michaud. After abour 20 min of searching the area where it should have been, we assume it's been closed by now and decide to settle on its closest possibility, a cafe on the corner of Universityand Jacobs. I again order my steak tartare and Les gets some pasta. I also get a carafe of wine because apparently it costs the same as a can of Coke, so my choice is pretty easy. The tartare so far in Paris has been pretty good, but today's version was something entirely different. Usually, the tartare comes in a shaped patty of raw beef, with a bunch of stuff inside. I'm never quite sure what, but I can take a guess at some ingredients. Well, today, I know exactly what's in it, because it was a do-it-yourself tartare. They slapped on a raw patty of ground beef with a raw egg yolk on top, and put some onions, parsley, relish, and capers on the side. Then they gave me a bottle of ketchup, worchester sauce, tobasco, oil, and some pepper. Well, randomly mixing the liquids and parts together while mashing it like a glob of play-doh isn't the most appealing part of home cooking. But, I will say that it turned out decent and now I can make my own tartare back home where it doesn't cost 20 Euro. I'm sure the cook was laughing through the window seeing if the Americans would try to make it themselves at the table.

After dinner, we decide to head back to our hotel about 2 mi away. It's not that hard of a walk after all these days, but our legs are starting to feel the compounded stress. We stop off to get some chocolates and consider buying a box to bring back home to our friends and coworkers, but ultimately decide against it. We won't be home for another week, traveling with it will be hard, and we'll probably eat it somewhere along the way.

We also stop by a shopping center near our apartment to do some of the famed Paris shopping, but soon realize that we don't really care about fashion too much anymore. There was a time when we'd spend good money for namebrand clothes and the latest fashion, but heck, we're married now and don't need to impress each other. In fact, it's only a matter of time before we start going out to dinner in elastic sweatpants and undershirts. This probably explains why a lot of dads start wearing shorts, New Balance shoes, and knee-high white socks. Comfort > Image. We are getting old.

Looks like they arrested the Yale killer guy. With a name like that, he's got to be guilty. He also looks like Shia LaBoef.

ps - We did get the right restaurant, as confirmed by my best friend, Google.