LETTER FROM PARIS #10 farewell

It’s Rachel’s last day and we have nothing special for her. Then it becomes truly “April in Paris.” I’ll explain.

We agree on a last day visit to the Marine Museum at Trocadero. It is very imposing, with very large models of warships and in one prominent place – the famous picture of Napoleon saying goodbye to his army.

The museum is closed. It’s Tuesday. But there is the aquarium. Why not?

The harbinger of good fortune is our “April in Paris” experience. We walk along the road behind the Chaillot Palace. We are under a joyful canopy of “chestnuts in blossom.” I want to sing the whole song.

The Aquarium is magical. It has the most innovative displays of fish: everything from the perch that inhabit the Seine, all the way to the exotics, plus corals, plus starfish, plus hundreds of school kids having the time of their life. You can tell, they run happily from one display to the next and they scream. Like schoolchildren everywhere they scream just for the fun of screaming.

Highlight turns out to be an utterly superb film of the oceans. Best thing I have ever seen. Better even than some of the Attenborough masterpieces. I watch the credits and see names from everywhere. Because it is so detailed; because it has so many exquisite underwatrer scenes; because it has every kind of creature that swims I am reminded of the multi-year project of filming “March of The Penguins.” It is more dramatic. There are killer whales taking a young whale from its mother. There are waves breaking over rocks.

There is everything that one could dream of in a film of its kind. Rachel, being either “cool” or knowing tells me they see these films all the time at school.

She stops in the plaza by the Trocadero for a few last beauty shots of the Eiffel Tower. And we are gone.

PS: I have taken note of comments from some readers, often about my being too critical instead of taking people on a pleasant journey. One correspondent referred to my comments as “vituperative.” I ask neither to be forgiven for my bluntness or praised for my insights. It is who I am. It is who I have always been. Perhaps I am too critical, but I’ve been around so long I can’t remember when I wasn’t - critical that is. I write these "letters" for two reasons: to please my friends, and to help me remember.