Paris with Kids

With preteens: Drop your charges into the sewer.

What is it exactly about the Paris Sewer Museum that leaves normally blase junior high school kids speechless? Is it the rivers of real sewer water rushing a couple of yards below our feet as we stand on a catwalk? Could it be the stuffed rat -- accompanied by an explanation by our chipper guide of how dead vermin release toxic gas when stepped on? Or maybe it's Mademoiselle's constant references to toilets, flushing, etc., as overhead pipes drip water (clean, we are assured) onto our heads.

As it turned out, it was something else that left our pair of 11-year-olds -- our son and his Texas-born friend Mathieu, who now lives in Paris -- wide-eyed and quiet as trained clams.

"The smell." "Yeah, definitely the smell."

We had just arrived for a weekend in the City of Light -- a lovely, warm fall day on the Quai d'Orsay along the Seine. But rather than drag our son around to monuments, palaces and exhibitions of priceless art as we had several times before, our plan was to experience Paris through the eyes of sixth-graders -- too cool for puppet shows yet too small to appreciate the adult charms of one of the world's most romantic, sophisticated cities.

And so that led us -- the boys, my wife and I, and Mathieu's mom -- to our first museum stop in the working sewers of Paris. The entrance to Paris's Musee des Egouts is a kiosk on the left bank of the Seine in a chic district next to the Pont d'Alma.

Going subterranean on a nice Saturday afternoon, while most of the civilized world seems to be strolling though the nearby Tuileries Gardens, may seem counterintuitive. But Generation PlayStation likes a little shock and awe -- not to mention a whiff of reality. The Musee des Egouts provided just the sort of off-center view that set the right tone for a successful family break, something I doubt we could have achieved at the Louvre or Versailles.

What's more, we learned everything we'd never even dreamed we wanted to know about sewers since the Middle Ages, and the lives, technology and mechanics that go on beneath those manhole covers in a major city.

About 20 minutes into the tour, our guide warned us in French to get a good bit of oxygen before we entered the tunnels, those underground canals where torrents of sewer water rush toward treatment stations. (Tours are also offered in English during summer, or visitors can use a free English booklet for a self-guided tour.) Once inside -- let us just say the smell is not that of the Parc de Bagatelle and its famous roses -- most peoples' instinct is to raise a hand to nose and mouth.

The two boys buried their faces in their sweaters, bobbing up only for occasional commentary. Standing on a metal bridge with rapids of dirty water below our feet, the boys stared into the fetid current.

"Look, paper," Mathieu suddenly pointed.

A sly grin crossed my son's face. "Heh," he chuckled. "Toilet paper!"

They shared a laugh at that.