Sandy Supposes....

Paris is two-faced

PROMPT: Paris above and below ground...

          Bienvenue jeudi au Paris! I can't believe I am still exploring Paris. This matin/morning, I soared amongst les nuages dans le ciel. Yes, I was so excited flying up in those fluffy white clouds in a helicopter/helicoptere. There may well have been turbulence, but I didn't notice, I was bouncing in my seat. My neck should be in the best shape of its life because I constantly swivelled it as I absorbed the spectacular scenery. As I shared a big grin with my copter companions, I felt their electric excitement, too. Rising into the air was like riding an elevator, whoosh. Even from the ciel bleu/ blue sky, Paris is pretty.

          Our flight of fancy took us to Maincy and the site of le Chateau Vaux--le-Vicomte, French for Viscount dale castle. I like the sound of chateau, it seems so posh. This was certainly a n extremely posh palace, no little place in the countryside. Huh, I discovered it was built on such a grand style, grand as in large and grand as in fancy because it could host the king on a state sleepover. Wow! It should be featured on that old show, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous'. It is immense and beautiful.

          This was a first for me. I was greeted with champagne just when my head was still in the clouds. Let the euphoria continue. My impression of the interior was of gild and gold, height and grandeur. The ceilings were marvelous with painted murals. The rooms or salons were incredible, obviously no expense was spared.

          The chateau was erected to frame and showcase the gorgeous jardin/garden. It complimented the interior with its lushness and exact lines. The large reflecting pool was beautiful. yep, this chateau was a castle. It had a bridge and a moat.

          The hoity-toity treatment continued with a luxury limo lounge. We returned to Paris with a chauffeur I named James. He wasn't a butler, so I could not refer to him as Jeeves. James just smiled and nodded a lot. He refused our autographs.

          Well, well Lyn's a Witchy Woman has booked us for some'different' tours. For two days we've been blinded by the bright lights of this city seeing all things glittery and golden. Now we are to be introduced to the dark, le noir. We willingly walk to learn about spectres and ghosts that go bump in the night. I love this tour's descriptor: " stroll serpentine streets in search of spectres and spooks." OOHH, we'll experience Thriller or a gothic novel. I never did spot a serpent, nope, no hissing, or fangs, or coils. I saw night fall and cloak the narrow streets and alleys in darkness. I heard tales of reputed hauntings. SB Musing was shuffling like a zombie and groaning, but it might well have been because of her bum ankle. Fivesixer wheezed and whistled. His ankle apparently doesn't like cobblestoned streets and dampness. Sally reminded us of jack the Ripper. I was entertained, but I felt no goose bumps or hair-raising. Maybe this was because i felt protected and prepared. In my poches/pockets, I kept a grip on a clove of garlic/ l'ail, and a few packets of salt/sel. I did not, however, have a stake or a wooden cross/ croix. I will admit that sometimes the guide and his lampe de poche/ flashlight seemed too far away in the doom, er, I mean gloom. Carrying gas lamps would've lent some authenticity to our trek. Where were the pitchforks?

          I must say I adored the animated movie 'Ratatouille', but the Rat Trap Store was gross and creepy. I'm not a rat fearing extermination, and I didn't like it. What's with the dead vermin bodies swinging in a window display? Is this a version of scalps to exterminators?

         Au revoir snake streets, and bon soir les Catacombes. What a city, underground tunnels several kilometres long, winding in a labyrinth Up above , Paris has lumieres and l'amour, lights and love, but beneath its bustling avenues there is death and dankness. What a contrast!

         Sometimes stumbling and sometimes sloshing, we explored the tunnels. Due to humidity, water drips from the stone ceiling and pools on the floor in unavoidable puddles. We descended and later ascended via two narrow spiral staircases. Where were the hunchback of notre dame and the phantom of the opera? Wasn't this their kind of setting? It was still a shock to see a wall, a seemingly unending wall of human remains piled together. The bones, or ossements were so bleak in this ossuary. Skulls stared blankly. Limbs languished in a tangle. A stark sign warned, "Stop. This is the land of the dead."

         Back in the 18th century, it was decided that the cemetieres/ cemeteries were over-crowded and possibly dangerous to the health of the living, so many bodies were exhumed and transplanted to the catacombs. Most remains came from the Cemetiere des Innocents, and a commemorative fountain now marks its former spot.

         Whew! Returning to the city street/ la rue, I gulped great lungfuls of air. Now I could guffaw, but climbing from the catacombs my party was more than a little insulted that we were patted down and searched, a French frisk. There was nothing romantic about it. Kit couldn't stifle a yelp.SB Musing offered to strip. We made no bones about our displeasure, but the bone guards just shrugged. Unbelievably, some tourists try to shoplift bones from the catacombs. What the...? Our group never even considered snagging a slightly used and musty ankle-bone or two. Yes, we limp, but Frankenstein we're not. Bonne nuit mes amis! I think I am bone tired for some reason..