It rains

It rains it pours I cry

So dawn dawns grey and wet in Paris. We don’t mid snuggled up in out lovely big bed on the fifth floor of our hotel. It has been cool coming back to the same hotel and same area. We know the ropes so to speak. We know the local area, including the bars and the restaurants so it is like being on home turf.

This time, breakfast is included in the room rate so we descend to the sous sol (basement) where are breakfast is served. The basements is deep down in the bowels of the building and appears to be in the old stone lined cellars. It is a great game playing “pick the nationality” of our fellow breakfasters.

A slow start as we are in no great hurry today. First stop is the Louvre. It is pouring with rain and the usual Museum Pass entry is closed so we join the hordes shuffling through the Algerian umbrella salesmen.

The place certainly has changed amazingly since we were last there (being that was 30 years ago!)  The CROWDS, the CROWDS the CROWDS! I have never seen so many people in one place at one time.  As expected the museum itself is also huge. Due diligence had been done on the internet prior to our arrival so we (John!) had a list of things we needed to see.

First up was the basement area, down to the building blocks of the actual palace. Just as well as this was where the stream of bods was also heading. From there it was a short trip up to the Egyptian and Mesopotamian exhibits, part of the plunder of dear old Napoleon (the 1^st)  Not really art as one would expect  but was absolutely fascinating. We spent probably around an hour there before leaving the building and on to Napoleon (3^rd)‘s chambers. Another drop dead experience. The palatial grandeur of the apartments was jaw dropping ornate and ostentatious, but very appropriate in a weird way to the nature of its time. The crowds had thinned a little at this stage so it was a more relaxed visit.

Next stop: Let’s play spot the Moaning Lisa! OK, we saw the old girl 30 years ago and we had been duly warned by every web site about what to expect but it still was bloody hilarious. It was more fun watching the punters than looking at the art work!

By then, we had had enough. So out we went into the fresh (very) air. The rain had eased as we walked through the nearly deserted Tuileries. A coffee at an exorbitant price in a coffee stand in the middle of the gardens was still a welcome respite.

The Orangerie:

OK, our Museum passes give us a queue jump capability at the Orangerie. That would have been fine if the attendant had permitted us to gain access ahead of the ticket less plebs. But oh no, despite protestations from an elderly American gent, the plebs were let in first, ahead of us privileged  individuals. “There is two queues” just didn’t cut it. Then it started to rain. Bloody frogs.

Eventually, we deposit our bags at the front desk and enter the museum

Last time John was not prepared for the experience of seeing Monet’s lilies. This time, even though we were both prepared for it, the paintings still blew us away.  Just the shapes and changes in colour and texture Monet was able to out into the impressionist work left us numb. Sitting on the seats gazing at the immense canvases is a life changing moment. Mind you I could have shot all the imbecilics posing for selfies or posed photos in front of the paintings. Leave your bloody cameras at home and leave the impressions on your mind not you PC!! Really, this should be a camera (and noise) free zone such is the power in the presence of such greatness.

With spirits suitably cleansed and rebuilt, we emerged to decide what our next stop was. Really we had had suffice and so it was back to the hotel, via a handy bar for a beer and a glass of Cote du Rhone. John, spying flags of nations involved in the Rugby World Cup entered a spirited conversation in Franglais with the lads behind the bar about who would win the cup. Great fun!

We walked up Rue Mouffetard on the way home just to sample the atmosphere. This was aided by the purchase of a half bottle of Pinot Noir and a nice slab of “forte” camembert. Either the cheese seller was a great conman or John’s French is improving as there were profuse protestations of how excellent John’s French was. John’s head swelled another few centimetres in hat size as we walked home. This sort of made up for him getting a small (250ml!) beer at the bar when he thought he had ordered a “Grande” (500mls) Perhaps the waiter was deaf.

So wine and cheese ponging out our hotel room.

The bar by the Metro was serving Tapas from 1800hrs so it was back down to the bar for a tapas dinner washed down with a nice bottle of wine. Yep, I could certainly keep doing this!

We have one more day on our museum pass and one day left on our Metro tickets. Watch out Paris, here we come.