Gigi & Pippa both have swimming as part of their school program. The big kids in the school, grades 3-5 (or CE2 a CM2 for those paying attention), go to a pool a little further away that is undergoing some repair at the moment. So Gigi's teacher had the wonderful idea of using swim-class-time to go on some field trips around Paris.
I chaperone the first field trip today, which is to wander around the Latin Quarter and Notre Dame. In the 5th arrondissement, we see La Rue du Chat Qui Peche, which is officially the narrowest, smallest street in all of Paris. It's a small alley about the width of an arm-span, and the full length can be walked in about 20 steps. It also should win for the most colorfully named street in Paris, as it translates to "the Road of the Cat that Fishes."
We go to Notre Dame, touring the inside of the cathedral, and standing on the bronze plate out front that is used as the Ground Zero marker for all measurements within or to Paris.
But the moment that will always stick with me is when we are standing on one of the bridges to Ile de la Cité, where Notre Dame is located, waving to the tourists on the Bateaux Mouches (tour boats), and appreciating the view of the Seine. I look up just as the teacher has Gigi do the honors of throwing a wadded-up piece of paper -- on purpose -- directly into the river. The premise, I believe, is to see which way the water is flowing. But I cannot really process that, as I am instead having a Bay Area-induced heart attack at watching my daughter litter, not only with her teacher's blessing, but at her teacher's insistence! I actually can not help myself from crying out loud, "Ah mon Dieu! Quel example horrible! On ne vient pas de jeter quelque chose dans la Seine. C'est pas possible!" "Oh my God! What a horrible example! We did not just throw something into the Seine. It's not possible!" The traffic is so loud that the teacher does not hear me, and I can't decide if I am relieved because I don't want her to hate me and think me a judgmental American prig, or if I am disappointed because I am a judgmental American prig and want her to know the full weight of my disapproval.
I chaperone the first field trip today, which is to wander around the Latin Quarter and Notre Dame. In the 5th arrondissement, we see La Rue du Chat Qui Peche, which is officially the narrowest, smallest street in all of Paris. It's a small alley about the width of an arm-span, and the full length can be walked in about 20 steps. It also should win for the most colorfully named street in Paris, as it translates to "the Road of the Cat that Fishes."
We go to Notre Dame, touring the inside of the cathedral, and standing on the bronze plate out front that is used as the Ground Zero marker for all measurements within or to Paris.
But the moment that will always stick with me is when we are standing on one of the bridges to Ile de la Cité, where Notre Dame is located, waving to the tourists on the Bateaux Mouches (tour boats), and appreciating the view of the Seine. I look up just as the teacher has Gigi do the honors of throwing a wadded-up piece of paper -- on purpose -- directly into the river. The premise, I believe, is to see which way the water is flowing. But I cannot really process that, as I am instead having a Bay Area-induced heart attack at watching my daughter litter, not only with her teacher's blessing, but at her teacher's insistence! I actually can not help myself from crying out loud, "Ah mon Dieu! Quel example horrible! On ne vient pas de jeter quelque chose dans la Seine. C'est pas possible!" "Oh my God! What a horrible example! We did not just throw something into the Seine. It's not possible!" The traffic is so loud that the teacher does not hear me, and I can't decide if I am relieved because I don't want her to hate me and think me a judgmental American prig, or if I am disappointed because I am a judgmental American prig and want her to know the full weight of my disapproval.
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