May 4, 2011

My last day in Paris started when I woke up this morning and I used all the packing skills I learned from my dad to make my backpack as efficient as possible—after all, this morning was dedicated to souvenir shopping. Inevitably, there are several items in my bag that I didn’t use at all while in Paris, taking up valuable knick knack space, something I will have to overcome if I want to bring home enough berets and baguettes to sustain my friends’ and family’s notions of France.

After consuming anything edible in my bag to make as much room as possible (including several pillow mints, half a pack of gum, and a now-unidentifiably crushed pastry leftover from the hostel) I set out onto the mean streets (or rues méchant) of Paris to get my shop-on. I had no idea where I was (in relation to shops and things) but it was surprisingly easy to stumble upon several shops selling Eiffel Tower shaped pens, and keychains, and umbrellas, and toothpicks, and salad tongs, and novelty glasses, and hat racks, and wine bottles. (Not to leave out all the Eiffel Tower printed things, like tea towels, aprons, t-shirts, socks, etc.) After my backpack could no longer hold anything French and novelty I headed out in search of food.

I arrived at a pattiserie and marvelled at all the beautiful choices, the macarons being, of course, the centre piece of everything. This particular shop was bustling with fashionable French people, and so distracted me with their intriguing fabulousness that by the time I reached the front of the line I hadn’t decided what I wanted to get. I made a safe choice and selected a beignet (mostly because I knew it [roughly] meant donut) that was the size of my head. Let me tell you, it was an excellent decision.

After eating my weight in dough, I returned to the Musée d’Orsay, which had been closed that last time I tried to visit. This is a fabulous art museum, at which you’re not allowed to take pictures, so, instead, I will direct you to Google. I saw, essentially, every famous painting you’ve ever heard of that isn’t at the Louvre. The most exciting part about this museum was that I got in for free! There was a special line for European citizens. For some reason this line was completely empty, which I found very unlikely. Regardless, in my attempt to get into the museum as quickly as possible (I had a train to catch, after all), I sauntered up to the desk and asked, “I have a UK visa, making me a resident of England, does that count?” And guess what? IT DID! AND I got in for FREE! How many other museums offered this free access that I missed out on because I automatically stood in the regular line, like a schmuck? Of course I only find out about this two days before leaving the continent. I spent the next hour or two getting cultured, to my delight.

OK, Paris trip checklist: Eiffel Tower, check. Arc de Triomphe, check. Champs d’Elisée, check. Amazing art, check. Guys in stripey shirts and scarves, check. Uncomfortably stumble through a conversation in French with a Parisian before switching to English and apologizing profusely, check. What’s left? I guess I have to eat frog’s legs.

I’d looked at the menu for every restaurant I’ve walked by for the last four days in search of frog’s legs. I was surprised by how hard they were to find. Once I finally found them on a menu (as “cuisses de grenouilles”), I chickened out and went to a North American style pub. But on this day, my last day, I went back to the place where I’d seen them, a restaurant called La Frégate not far from la Seine, and I ordered myself some cuisses de grenouilles en persillade (with parsley and garlic…AND BUTTER). The waiter looked at me kind of funny because I was talking to/filming myself eating. After much anticipation, I bit into my first leg and…it was not good. I have explained it as tasting exactly like you’d think it would taste (and I don’t mean “like chicken”). It tasted like a damn frog out of a swamp covered in butter. Escargots on the other hand, I’ll eat that any day.

With a full tummy, satisfied or not, it was time to head back to the Gare du Nord and hop my train to London. I had one more full day of British culture to absorb before flying home to Canada for good.