Paris, Saturday Morning

Our hotel is almost hidden, a single doorway on Rue Cler, this lovely market street. Inside, there are five floors of rooms, a tiny elevator, and the proprietors who speak English - a welcome sight to visitors just off the plane.

Quite a few Americans are here, including a group of 20 people from Maine who are heading to a three-week Buddhist retreat near Le Mans, which must be close to where we’ll be.

Rue Cler is a market street, filled with color and sound and smells. Across the street is a produce market with a huge selection of fruits and vegetables. Next door is a cheese shop - imagine, if you can, and entire store filed with all kinds of cheeses. They are beautifully displayed., more like a department store. Then there’s the wine shop, and the fish market, the butcher, and yes, the baker. There are also at least five cafes, a shoe store with nice summer sandals, and what seems to be the equivalent of Dollar General, as well as two grocery stores.

I order hot chocolate at the café across from the bakery. The French make the best hot chocolate. We ask f we can get something from the bakery to have with the hot chocolate. It’s ok as long as we’re not bringing the same kinds of foods they sell at the café. At the bakery eight or ten steps away, we order a croissant for Bernie and a raspberry tart for me.

Wiping away the last buttery crumbs, we walk the short distance to Les Invalides, which houses both the Army Museum and a hospital for veterans. Several elderly men in wheelchairs accompanied by a nurse sit in the sun, looking out at the breathtaking gardens.

Inside we purchase museum passes and begin our tour. This one is for Bernie. I love history, but my interest is in everyday people and their daily lives. Bernie is a military history fan. He’s read a lot about Napoleon and has spent nearly all of the last year studying World War I.

He’s excited at seeing an early Gatlin gun. I hum the Army song (Jakie, you know that one, don’t you?) as he points out a caisson. Uniforms and insignia fascinate Bernie.

I’m surprised, though, at how touched I am at the homage the French pay to the United States, especially in the WWI and WWII sections. The French have been our friend since the American Revolution. Lafayette fought alongside Washington.

And during World War II, General Pershing made a point of visiting Lafayette’s grave. It was there that Pershing’s aid declared, “Lafayette, we are here.”

Forget all that silly nonsense about the French not liking us. It isn’t true. More about that later.

Next: The Seine and the Eiffel Tower at night.