Day 8: Jardin d’Acclimation

On our last full day in Paris, we went to the Bois du Boulogne to the Jardin d’Acclimation. An amusement park which has been charming children since Napoleon III opened it 150 years ago, it promised to have the ponies which had been so elusive to us. Even if the horses were in the south of France vacationing with their friends from the Jardin du Luxembourg, we figured it was a good excuse to take the Métro somewhere. Mikey may be a city boy, but public transportation is exotic to a child of Los Angeles. They’re all trains to him, and they’re all Thomas the Tank Engine.

When we got to the Jardin, we found we just missed the in-park train which runs every 20 minutes, but Mikey immediately found the ponies – in this case, the mechanical ponies which take you on a very bumpy ride. I rode along with him twice, and then he said he was ready to go on his own. Unfortunately, the rules were that solo riders had to be 5 or older. This unfair, ageist policy triggered one of the very few melt-down tantrums of the trip.

Ian finally showed him what three was on his hand, for three years ago which he would be in a week. Then he showed him what five was on his hand.

“When you’re that many fingers old, we’ll come back and you can ride the pony by yourself.”

“Okay,” Mikey sniffed.

And then we were off, on a boat ride, over vents that blasted mist, round a merry-go-round, into a hall of mirrors, and on Mikey’s first roller coaster which only scared him when the car went very fast through a dark tunnel. We spotted llamas and donkeys, and then lo and behold, ponies. At last, Mikey got his pony ride.

By then, it was mid-day, and the boy was tired. Too tired to even complain when he found out he was also too young to go on a trampoline. I think he was relieved. Minutes later, he was curled up in his stroller, and minutes after that, we were on the Avenue Charles du Gaulle, having wine in a café.

While Mikey slept, we took the Métro back to the 1st and the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, and spent a few hours shopping.

Mikey woke up when we got to our hotel in time to dress to meet our friend Richard and Roberto, who live in a gorgeous apartment in the 9th near the Opéra. I’ve unfortunately forgotten the name of the restaurant they took us to, which was pure old Paris, a series of candlelit chambers, where Mikey ate rabbit.

Occasionally, in between the courses, when we were tired of sitting, we went outside into the dark streets of Paris to jump in mud puddles and say bon soir to strangers.

Like you do.