In case you missed my earlier article, let me tell you with certainty where you were in your life on August 29-30, 1976! You were in Paris, France. You had just arrived from Los Angeles via a DC-10 charter flight. Since my first article, I have received confirmation in connection with the question I initially posed – do you remember at which airport in Paris we landed? I have since been assured that it was Le Bourget Airport – not Orly as I had thought. (This confirmation came from another architect – Mike Johnson. Thank God for the architects who notice lots of details!)
I haven’t yet heard any scintillating “first night in Paris” stories from any of you about August 29, 1976, but I think I can say with certainty that you were getting to know some of your Gruppo classmates and besieging the French capital in all directions.
One of our own, Blair Body, who like me chose to sleep instead of frolicking, did share his memories with me about the Hotel Ibis in greater detail. According to him, sometime within the intervening 50 years, Blair has actually tried to plot on a map where our original Hotel Ibis was located, without success. (As I query Mr. Google today, I see that there still exist Hotel Ibises in Paris – and there are quite a few of them.)
Even though he cannot tell us the precise address, Blair has surprising recall of some details of the Hotel Ibis and its environs which I’ll share. For example, he remembers that our Hotel Ibis was on the outskirts of Paris, near the ring road and to the north or northwest of Paris city center, in a pretty anonymous working-class neighborhood with absolutely nothing special to see. He summed it up beautifully by saying that when he walked out of the hotel for the first time, he had two thoughts simultaneously: “This is Paris??” and “THIS IS PARIS!!” It was the moment when Blair realized and finally believed that we had made it. We were in Europe!
Blair also recalls the neighborhood around our Hotel Ibis being pretty humdrum, but it was weirdly different from anything he had experienced prior, including the way it smelled. As he was walking down the street from the hotel with two other nascent Gruppo members (if you remember being one of these two people – step up because Blair cannot remember who you were), he realized he was exhausted and practically falling asleep on his feet. Blair said he’s never had this “walking while asleep” experience before or since that date – but he describes it as plodding along, putting one foot in front of the other, and each time his foot hit the pavement, he’d wake up just a little bit. After repeating this a few times, he finally stopped in his tracks and told his two companions that they should go on without him. Which presumably they did. For his part, Blair turned back to the hotel and made it to his room where he tumbled into his little wooden single bed. He says he slept through dinner and right around to the next morning.
For my part, after a good night’s sleep, I remember a couple of details which I’ll share. I have a memory of being on the Paris Metro on the morning of August 30, 1976 (which as it turns out was a Monday) with the intention of visiting the Louvre. I didn’t make it to the Louvre that day, and as an aside, I have never succeeded in making it to the Louvre because I have a unique talent for choosing to go there during times when it is closed.
As I stood at the front of the Metro car that Monday morning on my way into central Paris, I was feeling ebullient with a sentence that kept running through my head, “I can’t believe I’m in Paris, France!” From where I stood, I had a prime vantage point to observe all of the Parisians, who were quite the serious lot, sitting in their seats with bowed heads on their way to work. I was struck by how sad and gloomy they all looked. Not one smiling face among them. And I remember thinking to myself, “How can you all be this sad? You’re in Paris!”
I think I was paired with Teresa Pane Mohamed and Kathy Huckabay on that first day of gallivanting in Paris (both of whom would later go on to become my roommates in Firenze. Isn’t life great like that?) I cannot remember much of what we saw except for the Seine River and possibly a quick look inside Notre Dame, because I have a memory of seeing the big rose stained-glass window that you used to see as you exited the church. I also remember buying my first baguette with soft, smelly cheese and possibly a bottle of wine to have for my travels.
No matter how short a time we were going to be there, I also knew I needed to dine in a curbside Paris bistro because that’s what you do in Paris. Teresa and Kathy agreed with this plan, and we found an outside table at our chosen Paris bistro. It was here that I had my first experience that everyone talks about and for which Paris is famous – I got to see firsthand what an impatient and haughty Parisian “garçon” could be like when he realized we were not fluent in French.
Luckily, Teresa knew the name of a French cheese, which was more than I could dredge up since my cheese choices as a youth were quite limited – usually orange cheddar cheese. Teresa asked for a sandwich with Gruyère cheese! I’d never had Gruyère, but I thought it sounded exotic, so I ordered the same thing. The garçon, who was clearly pleased with Teresa’s efforts at communicating in his native tongue, offered that we could try a sandwich called a “Croque Monsieur” which as you all now know, is a heated sandwich with melted cheese and ham. It was wonderful!
As our magical day in Paris was winding to a close, we knew we needed to find our way to the “Gare de Lyon,” which is the major train station in Paris for all southbound trains. We had a date to catch a train to Firenze! Since I had studied French for 2 years in college, I was the designated “asker” for directions as to how we could make our way to this train station. (In the present day, Teresa has taken on the role of the “asker,” a title she earned from me on a trip to Kauai a few years ago). On this date, I remember approaching a pair of nuns who were walking along (I figured nuns by vocation had to be helpful and nice to strangers), and I asked in my best French, “Où est la Gare de Lyon?” They seemed to understand my query, but the problem was that I could not understand their response in French!
Our train ride to Firenze on the evening of August 30, 1976 is the subject of my next article. Please share any and all memories or details you have regarding your day in Paris on August 30, 1976, on the Il Gruppo ’76 Facebook page!
Photo of Paris: Barry Lewis, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons