Babe from Bordeaux: Paris Part Un

A couple weeks ago I got on a plane and went to Paris. This is the first picture I took after a bus ride and short trip on the métro:

This is a man in a chicken suit with a Daffy Duck puppet on one hand in front of the Opéra. He was posing in pictures with people for money.

After dodging Chicken Man I went to the top of the Galeries Lafayette with a bunch of other people in my school's group. The Galeries Lafayette is a massive shopping center; we visited it on the recommendation of our tour guide, Rafael, who said that its roof has one of the best views of Paris. After about seven escalator rides (I lost count), I agreed with Rafael:

...you can't see the Eiffel Tower from the Eiffel Tower.

I should note that earlier my painting prof--of all people--coined a code-phrase for alerting all the ladies on the trip to the presence of hot Frenchen: Babe from Bordeaux. I spotted one on the roof:

Ironically, someone from my group got him to take a group picture of us shortly after I photo-creeped on him. He spoke English with a French accent; it turns out he studied in Alaska for awhile. It feels like I should say "small world," but I've never been to Alaska.

Me and my friend Becca on the roof. We're pretending we're not jet-lagged for this photo.

Seriously. My eyes wouldn't stop watering and trying to close. But jet lag didn't stop me from appreciating the shiny white tiles of the métro and the tiles made to look like elaborate frames around advertisements. (You'll have to take my word for all of this since I wasn't comfortable getting all snap happy around serious-looking Parisian commuters.)

Jet lag also couldn't spoil the Opera, or Palais Garnier.

The Grand Staircase, sans camera flash. I wish those were allowed . . .

The French social elite used to stand here to be seen. The opera wasn't the only show at Palais Garnier. The Opera's interior was also once described as a "temple of pleasure" and it looks like it. There are so many exquisite surfaces, though, that it's difficult to take in how nice a building it is. It's sort of like trying to appreciate a dessert with too much sugar or chocolate in it, if the latter is possible. Or perhaps it's just me. The building's exterior is gorgeous, too. (And walking around it, unlike the interior, is free.)

Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux's The Dance on the Opera's facade.

Say what you will about the creepy expressions of the female dancers--I like this sculpture. I particularly enjoy the energy of the male personification of Dance and the way his hands are flung out in the air as if to say, "Party!"

More photos coming soon,