Paris By Guillaume

Saturday afternoon, my workmate Guillaume (see French dinner guest) took me on a tour of Paris on his motorbike. Apparently Paris By Guillaume is a regular tour he gives to visiting relatives and friends.

Before Saturday, the closest I had come to being on a motorcycle was in college, when I rode the back of my friend’s moped through deserted Kalamazoo streets in the middle of the night. And something about a childhood promise to my mother to never ride a motorcycle had burned an innate fear into my subconscious. So needless to say, I was a bit nervous.

I met Guillaume at the Ternes metro stop, a busy roundabout with flower stalls on the center island. I was looking for him on the street, but, like a true Parisian motorcyclist, he careened across the island to find me. He handed me a helmet, showed me where to hold on (there were handles, so thankfully I didn’t have to hold onto him), and said “Try not to move when we go around corners”. Yikes!

Now of course I’ve seen Paris, but Paris By Guillaume By Motorbike is a completely different experience. If you want a truly Parisian tour of the city, hop on the back of a mad Frenchman’s motorbike. The back of his helmet should have a warning sticker that says “Do not take this tour if you have a weak heart or a fear of dying”.

As we started off, he yelled over his shoulder “First, the Champs-Elysées!” and I squeaked in reply. We were heading toward the busiest, craziest roundabout in France. What a way to start my first motorcycle ride!

We dashed around the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs-Elysées, through the fashionable shopping district (very important on a Parisian’s tour), around the Eiffel Tower, over the Alexandre bridge, through the Place de Concorde, zip zip zip, everywhere in the city. At every major landmark or picturesque view, he would stop and wait for me to take a photo.

Admittedly, Paris by motorbike is much faster than Paris by car, metro, or foot, and the warm fall afternoon weather was perfect. My seat was a few inches higher than his, so I could easily see all around me. At a stop light on the Pont Alexandre, a tourist took our picture while Guillaume gave her a thumbs up.
Eventually, we stopped in Saint-Germain-des-Prés when I spotted the famous Café de Flores. As I hopped off the bike, (which is not the most graceful action), I noticed that Café de Flores is just next to the possibly more famous Les Deux Magots, the café that Hemingway was known to frequent.

Both cafés were packed, but Guillaume was having a lucky day (I considered not getting t-boned by two buses and a bicyclist “lucky”) and we managed to grab a table at Café de Flores, right on the street. We each had a tourist-priced drink and sat back to watch the wealthy Parisians stroll by.

Afterward, he took me to Le Bon Marché, which is another fancy pants department store in the same vein as Galleries Lafayette, but more expensive and prestigious. Next door at Le Grand Epicerie, which is another fancy pants gourmet food store (how many does this city need?), I bought saffron for Adam and chocolate for David.

Next, zip zip, to Guillaume’s favorite ice cream place, Ben and Jerry’s, hah. Then up to Montmarte to see the evening sun on the Sacré Coeur and the city.
All this in three hours. By then dusk was approaching, and Guillaume was eager to watch the highly anticipated France vs. Italy football game. I guess France is still bitter about the World Cup game last year. So we stopped at his place to pick up some German beer that Clemens had left behind, and zipped back to Levallois to watch the game with David on our giant tv.

I made dinner, the game ended scoreless, and we were halfway through the Portugal vs. Poland match when Guillaume’s crew started calling and beckoning him to the bar. So we said our good nights, and zip zip zip, he was off.