Ah, bonne chance!
On Thursday night, June 17, 2010, as we were walking back to our hotel, Résidence les Gobelin in Paris, we noticed a few people who were dressed in white from head to toe milling about in a small area. They were carrying folding tables and picnic baskets. As the French police converged on their location (as if to manage them), the people dressed in white suddenly changed direction and started walking quickly down the block toward the Louvre. The Paris police were hot on their trail.
Curious.
We followed them to see why the police would be interested in stalking well-dressed picnickers. When we came to the next corner, more groups of white clad picnickers were converging from every direction. It went from a few dozen to a few hundred in white, and then as we followed them into Le Carrousel du Louvre there were thousands and thousands of them. It was like an Alfred Hitchcock movie. They all moved in synchronized rhythm, like a ballet that flowed, dancing to and fro as they set up their tables (in a matter of minutes) for dinner, complete with tablecloths and full place settings, including china, water goblets, wine glasses and fine silver.
There were bands set up all over the impromptu “dining room” serenading the diners and adding to the music was the police. Whenever the police would blare their sirens at the diners to disperse them, the picnickers would stand on their chairs waving their white dinner napkins in the air and cheer in delightful defiance drowning out the police sirens. It was the most creative obfuscation of the police that I think I’ve ever been witness to. Truly tasteful.
Romantic candles and centerpieces graced the tables as a white sea of 12,000 people popped corks on their champagne and wine bottles at Le Carrousel du Louvre. It was truly magical to watch this dinner unfold.
Inquiring revealed some answers…(Eddie, in particular, was very helpful)…
The Dîner en Blanc (Dinner in White) occurs once a year in Paris. And to accomplish this amazing event, it is organized in secret in order to circumvent police intervention. The event is illegal because it is held in a famous public place, and and so membership to this event is by invitation only to maintain its integrity and success. Members are invited to join a small group headed by their secret host. Many groups arrive by chartered bus to the location. But “where” the location will be is kept a secret (to confuse the police and ensure its success) until about 15-20 minutes before the dinner begins.
Even if the law is being flouted, no harm is done.
Je tire mon chapeau aux Français.
Leave it to the French to pull off the dinner of the century. God love the French!
The overnight flight from Reykjavik to Paris 
was the single shortest overnight flight I’ve had in my entire life.
Nevertheless, we arrived in Paris bright and early on Monday, June 14th and breakfasted at a lovely little spot called Capucines on Des Capucines Blvd in Paris. We didn’t have a hotel for that night, so Philipp made a quick reservation at Hôtel de la Vallée in the 2nd arrondissement; an unknown 1 ½ star joint that had an available room.
The hotel wasn’t pretty, but it was clean and had a bed. The climb up the stairs with luggage was brutal for Philipp, but fairly tolerable for me. (Here’s where you can figure out who lugged 75 pounds of bags up three flights of narrow stairs). After we unloaded our things in the room we did a little exploring and found a nice little place to have dinner. It was when we came back to the hotel that we figured out why there was an available room! This neighborhood was a working class community by day and a “working girl” district by night. That was the only night we spent there.
The next day we had plans to meet my friend GG for dinner. I first met GG at Harvard where she was one of my teaching assistants for three history classes I took. She knows Paris very well and I think she’s been spending her summers in Paris ever since Taft left office. She rents her apartment from friends of hers, Jennifer and Philippe, who happen to own an adorable little hotel, Résidence les Gobelins, in the 13th arrondissement (on the south side of Paris). GG lined us up and Jennifer took wonderful care of us.
Since GG is a regular in the neighborhood, we met her for dinner at La Manufacture, one of her local haunts. It was really great to see her again and we had a really good time. Did I mention the wine was really good? Oh, yeah : )
The next two days were spent wandering around Paris, ignoring the ½ mile long line to get into Notre Dame, and shopping at both of the La Fayette Galleries.
I wanted to get a sense of what Paris was all about and I wouldn’t experience that if I spent my time in museums surrounded by tourists from 200 different nations. So we walked five miles one day, and seven the next. 
Along the way we popped into shops and cafes, and I came to the conclusion that Paris is my new love.
In order to foster our blossoming relationship, I should spend more time with Paris.
Perhaps future plans will take care of that.
With our much-needed shower behind us, we got a ride back to Reykjavik and our hotel. I spent way too much time trying to figure out a) where we should have dinner before catching the plane, and b) where we should stay in Paris the next day. I was exhausted, and eventually failed to achieve either of those things.
I did, at least, have a good idea of when the FlyBus buses to the airport ran, for us to catch our extremely-red-eye flight to Paris. Though I wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take us to get to the bus station, since the previous morning had also been in a fog of tired, and with a false start trip to the other hotel.
The bus to the airport takes about an hour, so since our flight out was at 1:05 in the morning, we could catch the 22:00 bus and be at the airport the recommended (but in my experience usually unnecessary) 2 hours ahead. Or, as a plan B, we could take the very last bus at all, at 23:00, getting us to the airport really only just over an hour before takeoff.
Eventually, we decided we’d just start walking to the bus terminal and see what we could find to eat on the way. It was already about 21:00 by the time we did this. Not so promising.
The late light in summer in Iceland is disorienting, but very cool. We found ourselves at what I think was a little Thai restaurant, at around 21:30, which was refreshingly reasonably priced, and basically run by a husband (Icelandic) and wife (Thai) team. Ironically, what first caught my attention was the sign outside that promised waffles and, I think, cherry pie or peach cobbler or something. Not sure they were actually serving either of those at that time of night, though. Looking back at it, I don’t recall if their door had any indication of opening hours. There was one couple at a table when we got there, but they were basically finished. Since it was still so bright out, it didn’t even occur to me that it was actually rather late to be having dinner, and most mom-and-pop operations in the rest of the world would already be closed. At the time it felt totally natural, and it would have seemed weird to have the restaurant be closed.
With the lack of usual “it’s late at night” cues, we sat and ate a delicious meal, had dessert, and headed back out into the street at probably 22:40. Yikes. I had a map, so I more or less knew where we had to get to, but didn’t really know about the intervening terrain. It got hilly. And highway-overpass-y and staircase-y. And just a real pain in the butt to negotiate while loaded down with giant suitcases, even ones with wheels.
No taxis cruising around where we were, though we kept an eye out. Since this last bus was already Plan B, clearly an Emergency Plan was also in order. Presumably we could catch a taxi from the bus terminal to the airport at great cost. Throwing money at a problem is far from the best solution, but it’s at least a solution.
Suddenly the bus terminal was in sight. But far away. So we started running (or as close to it as we could with all the stuff we had with us). Felt like a marathon, but we caught the bus with I think 3 minutes to spare.
Standing in line to check in, it occurs to me to go over our travel papers. And I can’t find our Eurail Pass! Each of us thought the other had packed it. The packing process was just too last-minute and crazy. I thought it had disappeared from the dining room table, so I figured it was packed with the guide books. Luscious thought I had all the papers for traveling, passports, boarding passes, etc. Argh! Some more frantic digging in the luggage we’re about to check turns up nothing. None of the Eurail stuff is to be found (map, pass, manual, schedule). We’ll take a more careful look the next day, but if we did leave it behind, what do we do? It’s late Sunday night in Iceland. That means it’s still Sunday evening on the East Coast. Who can we get in touch with who can check at our place? Turns out Howard is gone for the weekend and won’t be back until Tuesday. Ade can and will drop by though. I’m on the phone with him just as we’re about to board the plane, as he is looking around and finding nothing.
By the time we get to Paris, everyone near home will be asleep.
Not good.
Tags: bus, departure, eurail, Iceland, luggage, planb, redeye, reykjavik, running
We were picked up by the Eldhestar van to take us the hour-and-a-bit to the horsey place where the day’s activities (the Hot Springs Tour) would happen. Given the time shift, and the lack of sleep on the plane, the 8am pickup was awfully early. I basically missed breakfast.
It started as a somewhat cold and soggy day, and we were all given bright orange rain outfits for the ride, though we wouldn’t need them for very long. Still, it wasn’t all that hot most of the time, and fairly windy, so it was good we were insulated. Even me!
Luscious has told a great tale about her experience of the day, so I won’t get too verbose about it all. Or will I? Anyway, the short version is that it was fun and absolutely worth it.
My horse was all about eating (they matched us up well), and took care of me fairly well. There were a few moments where it was clear he was checking to see who was really in charge, but I think I did fairly well at asserting myself, and we got along just fine.
The lunch break at the river was too short. But very cool. It was at a spot where the hot spring water river joins with a regular stream, and the temperature is wonderfully human-tolerable.
There were quite a few other people around, enjoying it, too. Many weren’t all that shy about their bodies, but being American about it, we decided to at least find a little dip in the terrain to change into and out of our clothes.
After really only a few minutes to soak, we held up the show a little by getting back to the horses later than everyone else. At least that’s what our guide accused us of. Though they were all still getting saddled up and ready when we got there, so we were just among the last to get ready.
The riding itself was pretty good. Icelandic horses have an extra gait that other horses don’t have. A very smooth ride, called a “tölt“, which some horses get into mor easily than others. I was able to hit it at times, but frequently enough for my jarring bones, he would prefer a regular trot. Ah well.
Quite a bit of time spent on horseback. My mother would have been pleased.
When we got back to the Eldhestar hotel, we went around and enjoyed a bit of coffe and hot chocolate with the rest of the crowd from our and the other tours. However, we somehow missed the trip back to Reykjavik. Not that we were in a hurry, since we had to catch a 2am flight, and it was only 5 or 6 at the time, but a little disconcerting.
We turned down the offer of a sandwich while the person who would shuttle us back to our hotel got ready, and instead decided to ask them if we could take a shower. Ahhh… good choice, given the day’s activities and the fact that we weren’t going to see another hotel room for at least 24 hours (and a shower for even longer, as it turned out).
More on the evening and flight later.
So, a shorter post this time, and the first of mine emerging from a serious time warp (see the post from 18 July for explanation).
I’m starting to catch up on missed posts (Luscious has already begun her retroactive back-dating exercise).
The weather got kind of ugly and cold and rainy the first day in Reykjavik. Not a great way to experience the place, for sure. I have many positive memories of Iceland from visiting when I was 11, and I was rather concerned that Luscious would hate it if all she saw was rainy misery (she’s already sensitive enough to cold, I didn’t need the place to burn itself into her mind as a big, damp freezer). Though, thinking about it, there were definitely a few rainy days during my childhood trip, too.
We walked around a bit just to get a sense of the town. Noted that the locals were very hardy, and completely ignoring the slight rain, while you could tell the tourists by the fact that they were pathetically huddling under their umbrellas.
Turns out that the rain over the previous couple of days was good for the area, since the volcanic ash had recently (apparently for the first time) blown over the area. The rain settled it all down, and they were just left with some mud, which washed away, rather than serious ash dust horribleness.
We decided to do something indoorsy for the evening, and depending on the forecast, spend more time outside the next day. At the Tourist Information Center, we were given some reassurance that the weather would indeed improve, and booked a horse ride to some hot springs. About which more in the next post.
Which left the evening. Turns out that most of the historical and/or saga-related performances were either not available that night, or only during the day (I was really hoping for some Icelandic Sagas in front of a big fireplace, or maybe some lava movies). Instead, we ventured off to something that the information people weren’t really even sure existed anymore. A little comedy performance held at a restaurant nearby, presenting the history of the area. Well, we would need food, too, eventually, so why not go check it out?
We sat in some oversized comfy leather couches in the empty bar area of an empty large restaurant for a while, wondering if we were going to be the only audience (we had been reassured upon arrival that it was in fact going to happen).
As it turned out, we were the only audience.
Two actors arrived and took us downstairs to a room that was set up for the performance. I guess they only do it when someone shows up for it. I think it cost 4300 ISK each, or so. And for the money, it was a charmingly entertaining trip through local history. It’s called “Let’s Talk Local Reykjavik” (there’s a Husavik version up north, too, as of quite recently).
Luscious may have more to say about it, but as far as I’m concerned, it was fun, and worth the price of admission. The actors were willing to break character (or occasionally stay in character) to answer questions, and afterward, we had a nice little chat with them about Iceland, the world, the future, and all kinds of other things. Private performance… a treat.
Included in the price of admission, should we choose to make use of it, was 10% off the restaurant, after the performance. We did make use of it. And Luscious has already commented at least on the Minke Whale aspect of that evening’s dinner. I’ll just add that it was at a restaurant called “Restaurant Reykjavik”, and that the rest of the Fish Buffet that I had was interesting, but not overly inspiring. To me, worth trying out, but probably not worth repeating.
The flight from Boston (BOS) to Keflavik (KEF) was uneventful, to me. I was surprised and pleased at how quiet the trip was, in many respects. For one thing, the plane itself (we were very close to the back) was noisy on takeoff and during some initial turbulence, but after that, fairly quiet (for a plane!). The other thing was that there seemed to be tons of little children on the flight, but I rarely heard any of them complaining. Then again, apparently Luscious did. But I had my earbuds in all the time.
Legroom was decent, though I jammed a lot of stuff under the seat in front of me. I don’t think I really slept at all, but I tried to relax as much as possible, listened to music, wore eyeshades, etc. When we landed I felt surprisingly awake and functional, perhaps because it was really only about 2:30 AM in Boston.
The flight was from 9:30 PM (21:30, okay, I’m going to use 24-hour time from now on) local time in Boston to 06:30 in the morning the next day in Reykjavik. That’s really only 5 hours from one gate to the other. Not exactly a good night’s sleep, even if you could sleep well on a plane.
There’s a bus from the airport into Reykjavik that’s definitely the right way to travel (a taxi for that distance would have been prohibitively expensive). It’s called the FlyBus, operated by Reykjavik Excursions. It takes a bit less than an hour each way. Buying a round trip ticket is cheaper than two one-way ones, by a little. Although if you want to take advantage of a side trip to the “Blue Lagoon”, you’ll have to get the ticket separately. We didn’t do the Blue Lagoon this time, because our arriving flight was too early, and our departing flight was too late to make it sensible. But it looks like fun, and if either flight had been scheduled differently, I’d definitely have done it. I can definitely imagine going there to relax right after getting off the plane.
The FlyBus has the option of getting you directly from/to your hotel in Reykjavik, rather than just to the bus terminal. This costs a bit more, and you have to wait a little to transfer, and might be on the connection shuttle bus for a while if it goes to other hotels first. I (frugally, and perhaps naively) decided to just get the ticket to/from the bus terminal, since I figured it’s not such a big city that we couldn’t walk to wherever we needed to go. Also, we were going to have breakfast somewhere anyway before getting to the hotel (didn’t expect super-early check-in to be an option). Interesting decision, as you’ll see further on in this post, as well as in a later one.
One of the first things to notice on the bus from the airport is how incredibly flat the landscape there is (not all of Iceland is like this, by any means, but that peninsula sure is!). It’s also just very alien-looking. Lava fields. I didn’t get any pictures of it, but it’s kind of crackly. And mostly covered in very short green stuff. Quite desolate and barren, in general. Brings to mind the Southwest of the United States, except much cooler, and less dry. Also, there are vast expanses of lupins or lupines in the area, apparently imported to help turn the lava fields into usable soil (they fix nitrogen from the air, so they can handle the conditions quite well) which makes for a surprisingly pretty desolate wasteland.
So we get to the bus station in Reykjavik, and watch pretty much everyone else get on their connecting shuttles to take them to their hotels. Meanwhile, I find myself a map and ask where we might find some breakfast. It’s Saturday morning, and given the party atmosphere in Reykjavik on Friday and Saturday nights, I’m told there may be very little in the way of breakfast to be had, other than at hotel breakfast buffets. Well, okay. I guess we’ll just head for our hotel and see what we can get there.
So we head off into the city. The bus station looks frighteningly like it’s out in the middle of nowhere, but from the other side of the building you can see it really is just on the edge of town. Luscious is absolutely exhausted, but gamely goes along with my plan to walk around to keep us awake, and acclimating to the time zone change. It’s Iceland, and early morning, and we really haven’t slept. For some reason I’m still feeling good and awake and relatively warm. Not so poor Luscious. But she’s very patient, and I take both giant bags (thank goodness for good rolling travel gear) and start hauling them up the hill where we have get across. Up and up. Colder. She’s wearing my jacket over her light coat (we really haven’t packed much for cold weather) and I’m just in jeans and a T-shirt. Having to take breaks every so often, because my grip wears out. Then we crest the hill, which is a good sign, since our hotel is near the water, on the other side. Down the other side is a little easier, and we find the hotel I had booked all of maybe 24 hours earlier on Expedia (did I mention a lot of this has been ridiculously last-minute planning): Fosshotel Baron.
Maneuvering two giant bags into the lobby, we see a breakfast room off to the side, and a lot of people already checking out. This is a good sign, maybe we’ll already be able to get our room even at this incredibly early hour. But not so fast! The gal behind the counter has no idea who we are, and certainly knows nothing about a room we’re supposed to have. Wha? I go over to the public computer in the corner to try and look up the Expedia confirmation information, with my hands quite literally unable to type properly because they are exhausted from gripping the bags for the trek over from the bus stop. Before I even get logged in (fumbling for a few minutes with typing my password) I hear behind me that she’s found the information, and we have been moved to a different hotel, because this hotel is out of room. Aw, man!
It’s not that far away, but still, my hands and forearms are very displeased. Not to mention Luscious is exhausted and hungry, and having to work quite hard to remain patient. She gets a lot of practice at being patient around me. And I love her for putting up with me. Out into the slightly-later morning, up a few blocks and over a few blocks, and we find Fosshotel Lind. Not quite as nice a place. Not quite as close to the center of town. Not by the water. But I’m not in any mood to fight this right now. The gal behind the desk here is very nice, points us to our room which is already available (yay!), and also says that we can have an extra breakfast (at the other place, they were going to charge us, since of course breakfast is really only for the morning after you stay at the hotel, not the arrival morning). No great loss to them, and a nice peace offering to anyone inconvenienced this way, I guess.
Luscious has herself a bit of breakfast, and goes to lie down. I start reading some of the touristy publications to see what we might do with our two days, and keep eating. Enjoying their salmon, and their skyr. A bit later, I haul myself to the room, too. In theory, we just plan to rest for a bit, but I rub Luscious’ legs and feet, and she passes out. I don’t have the heart to wake her again, and so I surrender too, and we crash until early afternoon. So much for fighting jet lag.
Wow. Time to draw this to a close. Sorry about that. Anyone preferring Hemingway will just have to grit their teeth and bear it. Of course, you probably didn’t make it this far anyway.
Keeping up with blogging
So it’s been a while since I’ve posted, though I have two drafts about Iceland waiting for completion.
Been handling some travel challenges recently, but with a bit of luck they are now all resolved (and will be detailed in future posts).
I notice that while I want to talk about the trip here, there’s some fairly large hurdle to actually starting to type. (as you may notice, once I do start to type, a whole lot comes out. Get used to it)
There’s a bunch of stuff I’d also still like to get working about the blog setup itself. The map, for example, before we do a lot more moving around. Also, it’d be cool if the Facebook feed (a) worked more consistently, and (b) showed my posts in my area, and Luscious’ posts in her area.
Regarding posts and comments, I would suggest if you want to comment, you should sign up (“Register” in the “Meta” section in the rightmost column near the bottom). I’m skeptical that I’ll get any OpenID stuff hooked in soon, though it’s possible. but if you register, it won’t pester you with the CAPTCHA, and I think it won’t even hold comments in the moderation queue. Also, once you’ve commented once, moderation is turned off for your future comments, even if you don’t have an account (I guess it does it by email address).
Also, I’m way behind in getting pictures uploaded. I might start just posting photos from my phone to here directly, with little commentary, just to get things going. We’ll see.
Anyway, stick around, please. I do promise we’ll keep at it. But be aware that comments and encouragement go a long way to getting us inspired to write some more.
I’ll get the backlog cleaned up soon. Time to post real travel stuff now!
Tags: accounts, blogging, captcha, comments, map, meta, pictures