Navigating the Snow of Paris — Jill Greco Bodnar

A Weekend Wintery Wonderland….at First

Saturday, January 19, 2013

The aftermath of the previous evening’s snowfall was a city draped in white and in silence as there were few cars on the streets. People ventured out on foot, admiring the rare, heavy snowfall. They took photos of their kids playing in the snow and throwing snowballs at each other. For an unknown reason, the Luxembourg Gardens’ gates were closed and locked so I could only admire its fields of snow from behind its bars and imagine the most epic snowball fight in history that could have taken place there.

I set off up the river towards the Louvre and just snapped interesting snowy scenes. The Tuileries Gardens were also mostly closed, and other places were becoming clouded in fog, adding to the dreariness that could have been from centuries ago. On my way back to Saint-Germain, a young woman walked towards me then stopped to reach down into the dirty sidewalk snow. She picked up a shiny piece of gold jewelry and tried to hand it to me. Right away I knew she was a scammer! I had read in a guidebook about scammers who pretend to pick up a gold ring off the sidewalk as if you lost it, then ask for money to return it to you. If they have an accomplice, they can pick your pocket in the confusion. I was so pissed and yelled at her and stormed away. I couldn’t believe that in the middle of winter, these scammers still worked people. There was hardly anyone else around, yet she targeted me. I was fortunate to have read up on Paris’ notorious scammers and breathed a sigh of relief walking away before anything could happen.

Back in Saint-Germain, I fortified myself at Ladurée with macarons, ordering them in clear French and proud not so have sounded like the ugly American women in front of me. Saint-Germain has some high end, luxury stores. I was walking past Hermès when the doorman opened its door for a woman in front of me. “What the hell,” I thought, “when in Paris….” I smiled at the doorman and followed behind the woman with a little extra strut like it was my normal Saturday routine. I wasn’t immediately escorted out and smirked at myself, humored that they would let almost anyone through the door. Items that I had only seen on the pages of Vogue were prominently displayed, from their iconic silk scarves, leather saddles, dinner plates with jumping horses, baby clothes, silver bracelets, and wallets. I had no idea who bought this stuff. There were no prices displayed so they evidently didn’t need to know the price. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it,” as they say. A salesperson helped an older, distinguished woman trying on a silk scarf while her husband admired how stately she appeared. “Not even in my universe,” I thought.

Coffee was begging to be had so I left Hermès without a scarf decorated with golden horns and hunting scenes, but more determined to find a better one than that woman had tried on.

When a Wintery Wonderland Turns Against You

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Yes, the result of snow falling in Paris was magical, but it also shut everything - everything - down over the weekend. Two days after the snowfall, I had to move from my first hotel in the Latin Quarter to the group tour hotel in the Rue Cler neighborhood near the Eiffel Tower. When I was checking out, the clerk at the first hotel had no solutions for how I could easily get across the city. No taxis. No buses. The Metro subway had limited service, but I had not been underground yet and my inherent train anxiety steadfastly refused that option. No doubt it would have ended in tears and me en route to Germany.

The double-whammy of it being Sunday AND four inches of snow meant that the people of Paris were not going anywhere. Stubborn to the core and with a place I had to be, I trudged across the city with my two giant suitcases (an important lesson in overpacking) for OVER TWO MILES through the snow to the other side of town. I would periodically stop to wave down an occasional taxi, but they paid me no heed. Fashion Week, the winter’s main event, was in town and what taxis were out did not want to stop for a soaking wet Yankee. It’s fair to say that no one in Paris owns a snow shovel, let alone has any interest in clearing their sidewalk for pedestrians on a Sunday. The wheels of my suitcases quickly became caked in icy slush, so my march was further complicated by stopping to try and clear them. It became a useless cause so I just dragged them helplessly behind me. My arms screamed as the muscles strained to pull 75# of dead weight. My blundering knows no bounds.

My icy trek from the Latin Quarter to my second hotel near the Eiffel Tower.

Let’s Get This Paris Party Started

I made it to the tour group’s hotel and remember sitting in the lobby, thawing out and allowing my legs and arms to finally rest. There were dubious looks aimed my way, even my future roommate looked at me like I’d…well, like I’d just walked across town in the snow. Once we introduced ourselves, we got along really well, as we did with all the other Americans on the tour. Our guide, Arnauld, was a local Parisian who lived with his partner and their children outside of Paris. I adored him from the start. He was whip smart, direct, devious, a crack scheduler and planner, and could wrangle a herd of excited and distracted Americans around Paris while simultaneously teaching us how to not act like Americans.

After our welcome at the hotel, it was time to dive straight into Paris with a coach bus tour. Did we stick out like a sore thumb? Yes. Did I care because I wasn’t outside walking the snowy, slushy sidewalks on my own? No. Night was falling and the lights of the city were beginning to wink back at us. The Hotel de Ville was still decorated in Christmas lights. I had no idea where the bus was taking us. Everyone was gaping out one side of the bus to the other, taking it all in, as if we’d never see it again. Then the bus stopped and Arnauld called us to exit. Boom - the Eiffel Tower stood right in front of us, glowing in golden lights from within its iron beams. You can see photos of the Eiffel Tower, but the idea of its significance seems benign, like cultural white noise. But then you see it in person and you….get it. Not only its structural magnificence, but what it has stood sentinel over for more than 125 years: the wars, the tears, the passions of France and Parisians. It truly does represent the strength of this proud country.

Our group made one last stop for our first dinner together. I have no idea where or what we ate (well, one journal notation was about chocolate cake so it must have been divine). I was exhausted and so happy for the beginning of this experience.