Samedi le 18 Septembre
Went down for breakfast early, gulped some juice and coffee, and gobbled some pastries. We paid our balance to madame and she gave us a little baby bottle of Calvados as a gift. I ran upstairs to get the book I had brought from home (‘A Portrait of Canada’) to give to her as a gift. She seemed pleased with it, reading the inscription aloud and calling us, “…tres gentil, tres adorable…’, and exclaiming over the fact that it was actually written in French. She then walked over to one of the very large, antique, free-standing cupboards in the common room and retrieved a little tin of butter cookies that she insisted we take. Farewell kisses all around, and a wish from madam of many returns to France.
Everything loaded into the car, we made our way back to Caen to drop the Citröen (dommage) and get the train back to Paris. We meant to fill the tank up before we left it in the car park, but the GPS guided us to a dépanneur rather than a service station, so…it got returned with a nearly empty tank. Youch!
We reached the station in plenty of time to have a café crème (from a vending machine) and to make it to the train as soon as the platform was posted. Just to be on the safe side, I showed our tickets to a steward and asked where we should sit. The result was a relaxing ride into Paris without the discomfort of feeling yourself being talked about disapprovingly.
We arrived at the station and got a taxi to the hotel. The room was ready so we dropped our bags and after a quick lunch (3rd croque monsieur in a week…un-knowable glass of rosé) we entered the jungle that was Galleries Lafayette. The joint was jumpin’; it was Saturday after all. I knew that this store was not cheap, so the main goal was not so much to actually shop there as to get a picture of the famous dome. There was an info desk nearby so we grabbed a map of the store. The lower level was devoted to shoes and also had a souvenir department so we made haste. There were items of every possible description to suit tooreests of every persuasion, including some gloriously tacky stuff. Anyway, having accomplished the vital goal of securing prezzies for our workmates, we emerged back into the Parisian sunshine in search of treasures for ourselves. Into the madhouses of Zara and Mango, the forays were successful and we were on our way to find some refreshment when we saw a kiosk selling all manner of feathery headgear. Of course, I could not pass without trying on a couple of these wondrous (made in China) Parisian confections. Some of you may recall my desire a year ago to celebrate my 40th birthday by having my picture taken wearing a chic black dress, impossibly high heels and a preposterously huge hat with the Eiffel Tower in the background. I ended up at Versailles instead that day (no disappointment there) but the longing for some plumage remained.
After a number of tries I decided on a black headband with feathers and a birdcage veil. It’s so Parisian. I will wear it somewhere, I am promising myself.
We paused for a libation, then Reyn headed back to the hotel with our purchases and I went back to the furor of les Galleries for a few last souvenirs.
After freshening up at the hotel we took the métro to Trocadéro as had been planned. We sat down at the Café Trocadéro, ordered some wine and toasted Paris one last time. As we ate our pasta, the sun slipped slowly away, darkness descended and the tower lit up. We walked closer, lingering to take pictures and video of the 22:00 twinkle show, and then headed back to the room for final packing and our last sleep in Paris.
11 October 2010
07 October 2010
What I Did On My Summer Vacation 2010 Edition pt 5
Vendredi le 17 Septembre
Last night we bundled ourselves into jackets and went out into the darkness of the courtyard to stargaze. It was magical.
The morning was gorgeous, clear and sunny, and the dew on the windshield of our Citröen promised fair weather for the day.
We had asked madame if we could take some apples to the horses in the paddock behind the courtyard and she had said, “Pas problème.” We picked a few apples from the tree along the driveway and made our way to the paddock, but alas, there were no chevaux out in the field. We left the fruit in a pile on the fencepost in case one of them happened to canter by later in the day.
At madame’s urging we again packed up a few pastries, some fruits and a bottle of water from the breakfast table prior to heading out for the day. We programmed Bayeux into the GPS and we were on our way. The drive was fairly short but oh so scenic. The route did not take us on the motorway, but rather on quiet regional roads planted with large trees along one side of them. We followed the curves and twisted past any number of little farmhouses, fields of corn and pastures of content cows.
Bayeux then appeared. A charming place from the little that we saw of it. The Centre Guillaume de Conquérant was housed in a stately building with a replica Norman ship plunked down in the middle of the courtyard amid a sea of smooth grey stones.
We waited for a short time in line to purchase our tickets and to get our audioguide. The tapestry was behind glass doors in a dimly lit gallery. The commentary went along quite rapidly but there were a few pauses that enabled us to look closely at the embroidery.
I wondered about the artisans responsible for such a work of art/historical document. Was it done by women or men? A team or only a few? These were questions left unanswered by the audioguide.
We took a meander through the large gift shop but ultimately did not purchase anything.
On to a café for café crèmes and a bowl of onion soup. Yum!
We debated on the way to the cathedral whether to purchase a section of a spent WWII German ammo clip from a small antique shop. Ultimately decided against it.
The cathedral was covered in scaffolding, I kid you not, but it was spectacular nonetheless. We took a quick look around the inside, ducked into the crypt and then made our way back to the car. The cathedral had been rather a bonus as I hadn’t been aware of a second attraction in Bayeux!
Mont Saint Michel was the next item up for bids. We drove through a very light rain shower on the way there, but otherwise the weather was clear. After about 90 minutes we got our first glimpse of le Mont almost out of nowhere. Silhouetted against a brilliant blue sky, it was a most impressive sight. 10 minutes or so more brought us to the parking lot and a 10 minute walk brought us to the entrance to the town. As we walked toward the entrance we noticed some kind of stage being set up with bleacher seats and lighting. Turned out that there was a touring production of ‘Carmen’ being staged there in the open air that evening and the next. What a setting for opera!
There were crowds along every inch of the narrow streets that lead up the hill to the church. We figured at that point that some lunch might be in order, so we stopped at a restaurant and ordered of all things, spaghetti Bolognese. At first glance the plated looked incredibly small for the price (I think it was €12 or something crazy like that…) but it turned out the plate had a large depression in the centre that actually hid a fair amount of pasta. Anyway, it was surprisingly good and the carbs were put to good use climbing the rest of the way up to the church.
Once we reached the entrance we saw the admission was €7.50 and to be honest we thought that was a little steep. On the one hand it seemed like a lot to pay just to go into a church, but on the other hand, it was what we had come all this way to see, and what else would we do if we didn’t go through the church? Go back to the car? That would have been stooopeeed…
It was a perfect day for looking out from the parvis out across what seemed like miles of sand and to the ocean beyond.
Turned out there was a lot to see and even though we didn’t upgrade to the audioguide (€4.50 extra) we got enough info from the printed paper guide to keep the tour interesting. As seems to be the norm for me at these places the cloisters was definitely the highlight for me, but it was interesting to note that on the parvis there were numbers that had been carved into many of the stone pavers. I determined with my amazing power of deduction that that was the place where the monks played hopscotch between matins and evensong.
On the way back down we stopped to get Reyn a Nutella and banana crepe and I left him eating it in the street in order to backtrack to a souvenir shop we had passed earlier. There was a small square panel that replicated a part of the Lady and the Unicorn tapestry that we had seen last year at the Cluny in Paris. I had regretted not getting some type of memento from there so it was a happy if odd coincidence.
Back at the car we shared a pear from madame’s fruit basket that morning. Despite being jostled around the back of a Citröen most of the day, it was perfectly ripe, juicy and delicious.
We started the hour-long drive back to Villers-Bocage for dinner. After two so-so evening meals at a pizzeria called Les Quatres Saisons, we decided to try a brasserie or café for our last dinner in Normandy. Walking down the main street we found a little place called Le P’tit Zinc and were told to come back at 19:00 as they were not yet open. As we left I noticed a small decal in the window. It had a picture of a D-Day landing beach and said in English, “We welcome our liberators.” Just not before 19:00.
We killed time looking at some real estate listings and fantasizing about retiring in a little French town…
So we made our way back to this completely unprepossessing corner restaurant and ended up getting the best meal of the whole trip! For a fraction of what it would have cost in Paris, we each had wine/beer, a large entrée, dessert and espresso. What a treat!
Back at the B&B we let madame know we would need breakfast earlier the next day as out train would be leaving relatively early. We checked our email then went up to pack as much as possible so as to make a speedy departure on the morrow.
Last night we bundled ourselves into jackets and went out into the darkness of the courtyard to stargaze. It was magical.
The morning was gorgeous, clear and sunny, and the dew on the windshield of our Citröen promised fair weather for the day.
We had asked madame if we could take some apples to the horses in the paddock behind the courtyard and she had said, “Pas problème.” We picked a few apples from the tree along the driveway and made our way to the paddock, but alas, there were no chevaux out in the field. We left the fruit in a pile on the fencepost in case one of them happened to canter by later in the day.
At madame’s urging we again packed up a few pastries, some fruits and a bottle of water from the breakfast table prior to heading out for the day. We programmed Bayeux into the GPS and we were on our way. The drive was fairly short but oh so scenic. The route did not take us on the motorway, but rather on quiet regional roads planted with large trees along one side of them. We followed the curves and twisted past any number of little farmhouses, fields of corn and pastures of content cows.
Bayeux then appeared. A charming place from the little that we saw of it. The Centre Guillaume de Conquérant was housed in a stately building with a replica Norman ship plunked down in the middle of the courtyard amid a sea of smooth grey stones.
We waited for a short time in line to purchase our tickets and to get our audioguide. The tapestry was behind glass doors in a dimly lit gallery. The commentary went along quite rapidly but there were a few pauses that enabled us to look closely at the embroidery.
I wondered about the artisans responsible for such a work of art/historical document. Was it done by women or men? A team or only a few? These were questions left unanswered by the audioguide.
We took a meander through the large gift shop but ultimately did not purchase anything.
On to a café for café crèmes and a bowl of onion soup. Yum!
We debated on the way to the cathedral whether to purchase a section of a spent WWII German ammo clip from a small antique shop. Ultimately decided against it.
The cathedral was covered in scaffolding, I kid you not, but it was spectacular nonetheless. We took a quick look around the inside, ducked into the crypt and then made our way back to the car. The cathedral had been rather a bonus as I hadn’t been aware of a second attraction in Bayeux!
Mont Saint Michel was the next item up for bids. We drove through a very light rain shower on the way there, but otherwise the weather was clear. After about 90 minutes we got our first glimpse of le Mont almost out of nowhere. Silhouetted against a brilliant blue sky, it was a most impressive sight. 10 minutes or so more brought us to the parking lot and a 10 minute walk brought us to the entrance to the town. As we walked toward the entrance we noticed some kind of stage being set up with bleacher seats and lighting. Turned out that there was a touring production of ‘Carmen’ being staged there in the open air that evening and the next. What a setting for opera!
There were crowds along every inch of the narrow streets that lead up the hill to the church. We figured at that point that some lunch might be in order, so we stopped at a restaurant and ordered of all things, spaghetti Bolognese. At first glance the plated looked incredibly small for the price (I think it was €12 or something crazy like that…) but it turned out the plate had a large depression in the centre that actually hid a fair amount of pasta. Anyway, it was surprisingly good and the carbs were put to good use climbing the rest of the way up to the church.
Once we reached the entrance we saw the admission was €7.50 and to be honest we thought that was a little steep. On the one hand it seemed like a lot to pay just to go into a church, but on the other hand, it was what we had come all this way to see, and what else would we do if we didn’t go through the church? Go back to the car? That would have been stooopeeed…
It was a perfect day for looking out from the parvis out across what seemed like miles of sand and to the ocean beyond.
Turned out there was a lot to see and even though we didn’t upgrade to the audioguide (€4.50 extra) we got enough info from the printed paper guide to keep the tour interesting. As seems to be the norm for me at these places the cloisters was definitely the highlight for me, but it was interesting to note that on the parvis there were numbers that had been carved into many of the stone pavers. I determined with my amazing power of deduction that that was the place where the monks played hopscotch between matins and evensong.
On the way back down we stopped to get Reyn a Nutella and banana crepe and I left him eating it in the street in order to backtrack to a souvenir shop we had passed earlier. There was a small square panel that replicated a part of the Lady and the Unicorn tapestry that we had seen last year at the Cluny in Paris. I had regretted not getting some type of memento from there so it was a happy if odd coincidence.
Back at the car we shared a pear from madame’s fruit basket that morning. Despite being jostled around the back of a Citröen most of the day, it was perfectly ripe, juicy and delicious.
We started the hour-long drive back to Villers-Bocage for dinner. After two so-so evening meals at a pizzeria called Les Quatres Saisons, we decided to try a brasserie or café for our last dinner in Normandy. Walking down the main street we found a little place called Le P’tit Zinc and were told to come back at 19:00 as they were not yet open. As we left I noticed a small decal in the window. It had a picture of a D-Day landing beach and said in English, “We welcome our liberators.” Just not before 19:00.
We killed time looking at some real estate listings and fantasizing about retiring in a little French town…
So we made our way back to this completely unprepossessing corner restaurant and ended up getting the best meal of the whole trip! For a fraction of what it would have cost in Paris, we each had wine/beer, a large entrée, dessert and espresso. What a treat!
Back at the B&B we let madame know we would need breakfast earlier the next day as out train would be leaving relatively early. We checked our email then went up to pack as much as possible so as to make a speedy departure on the morrow.
What I Did On My Summer Vacation 2010 Edition pt 4
Mercredi le 15 Septembre
7:00 comes quickly after a night of champagne.
Parisian skies were grey and the streets were wet as we got to St. Lazare to take our train to Caen. After lugging our suitcases up what seemed to be a fa-fillion stairs, we stood watching the departure boards and sipped from tiny café crèmes.
A smelly and crazy old man began chatting with us in English about a town where he wanted to go. Crazy people seem to be a theme on this holiday.
Anyway, the platform number came up and we made our way to the train without incident.
I had purchased the train tickets in advance online and there were no seat numbers listed on them, so we just sat wherever there were empty places. I still don’t know exactly how it works, but the ones we chose seemed to have been reserved even though they were not listed as such on the poster in the corridor. There were eight seats in the compartment, the score was 5 tourists to 3 French people and from what I could catch of the conversation, all of the tourists were in someone else’s seats. But no one asked that we move, they seemed to prefer to talk about us disparagingly instead. The journey was therefore a little awkward, but by the time we reached Lisieux they had all left the train and we were able to relax a bit for the last leg of the journey. I slept for about 30 minutes and felt pretty fresh on exiting the train.
We emerged from the station at Caen and true to expectation the car rental office really was right across the street. We were assigned a Citröen Picasso and Reyn was totally stoked when he saw it. We set up the GPS and plotted a course for Courseulles-Sur-Mer, left the parking lot and turned right into the tramway, missing a collision with an oncoming tram. Good thing we got the extra insurance. Oh – did I mention that the GPS was directing us in German? We got a hearty laugh from the obvious irony that a German voice was guiding us through Normandy to Juno Beach of all places. At any rate, Reyn understands enough German that this did not present an insurmountable obstacle, so we went with it for most of the day until quite by accident stumbled upon a way to change the language settings.
The French seem to love roundabouts/traffic circles and once we figured out that ‘cedez le passage’ probably meant something to the effect of ‘give way’ or ‘yield’ we had no problems. And we figured that out after the first roundabout and the second near collision. Like I said, good thing we got the extra insurance.
We arrived at Courseulles-Sur-Mer in good time and took a walk on Juno Beach. It is hard to put into words the feelings that I had, standing there, thinking about the events that had transpired right in that spot. I wondered what it must have felt like, storming that beach drenched in freezing Atlantic Ocean water, weighed down with equipment, trying madly to dodge bullets in order to stay alive so that you could dodge more bullets.
We returned to the town itself to have some lunch prior to returning to the Juno Beach Centre to take a tour of the immediate area.
Lunch was delicious; a fried omelet avec frites for me, and Reyn had the plat du jour. It started out a bit dicey, but ended with an amazing café gourmande of an assortment of little chocolate and mocha themed mini-desserts. And he shared!
The Juno Beach Centre is staffed by Canadian students who work giving tours and are generally WWII ambassadors for the people who visit. A young woman lead our group in and around the beach, and even into the still-intact German observation bunker that comprised part of the park. We learned that right at the very spot it was the Royal Winnipeg Rifles who came ashore and captured that bunker.
It was very windy and even though the tour was extremely interesting, we were glad to return to the building to see the short introductory film and walk through the museum.
Afterward, I filled a small baggie with some sand from the beach. Some people may not think that was appropriate. For me it did not denigrate the sacrifices that were made to win that sand, rather it serves as a reminder every time I see it.
The next place I needed to go was the Canadian War Cemetery at Bény-sur-Mer. I have always considered it to be my duty as a Canadian to pay respects to the fallen soldiers of my country.
The cemetery was a serene and tranquil place despite the work going on to replace each of the markers. It seems that erosion has caused a great deal of damage and there is a project, now almost complete, that will see each of them replaced.
The meticulously kept grounds, planted with maple trees and a profusion of flowers in and among the graves, clearly showed me that the French continue to honour the dead.
I am not ashamed to say that as I walked through the rows and saw so many young, young men’s names and dates, I became quite choked up. Being there in person brings it home to you in a way that seeing it on films or reading about it in books never could.
As we made our way back to the car another couple was just arriving. I thought it wonderful to see that this was a place that had many visitors.
We plotted the GPS coordinates into our unit and we were off to find the B&B near Villers-Bocage. It was around 19:00 by the time we arrived and I was a little worried that madame might be perturbed with our late-ish arrival. I unlatched the gate and I saw her coming out of the house to greet us, words of genuine welcome tumbling forth in the melodious French of a native-speaker.
She showed us to our room and in and around the common area of small kitchen and large breakfast room/lounge, and left us to settle in.
She reappeared a few minutes later with a bottle of farm-made cider as refreshment. We chatted a little and showed her on a large world map of the type you used to see in geography class exactly where in Canada we were from. Surprisingly, there was already a push pin in the spot so we had been beaten to la Ferme by someone!
After dinner in Villers-Bocage (nothing great) we went straight back to the room to shower, upload pics to the computer and to crash.
After so many awful broken sleeps in Paris, this oh so quiet and oh so dark little corner of France was most welcome, and I slept like a rock! Yay!
Jeudi le 16 Septembre
A rooster crowed around 7:00 and intermittently thereafter. Up at 8:55 for the pre-arranged 9:00 breakfast, we quickly made ourselves presentable and went down to eat.
We met 4 other guests at table and chatted amicably as we gobbled a delicious omelet (made with eggs fresh that morning), and sampled any number of fresh pastries that madame had purchased in the town earlier that morning. The coffee was delicious and cheerfully refilled. In short a perfect breakfast!
We went back up to the room to prepare for the day. I had already planned on seeing Deauville and Honfleur and had hoped to be able to add Étretat on as well, and madame had assured us that this was completely do-able. So off we went.
We chose a route that avoided tolls on the way to Deauville and as a result had a much longer drive than was probably necessary, but we did see some lovely countryside and charming villages as a result. We marveled at how cute everything was, geraniums on just about every window ledge and lovely rustic farmhouses…just postcards everywhere you looked.
We arrived in Deauville and could see right away that this was a ritzy place. We walked along the boardwalk at the beach and took a few pictures, but that was really all we wanted to do there.
Back in the car to go to Honfleur. This would be our destination for lunch. We parked the car and strolled over to the old harbour and sat ourselves down for café crème and croque monsieur. It was there, in Honfleur, that Reyn and I took on the noble quest of finding the best café crème in France. Stay tuned. Lunch was delicious and the sun warm as we sat back and enjoyed the view of the masts in the harbour and the very old and narrow buildings along the three sides. The Impressionists loved the quality of the light in Honfleur and they flocked to paint there; Champlain also sailed from Honfleur for Quebec.
After lunch we looked at a few souvenir shops and walked around the harbour, stopping to watch a merry-go-round/carousel do its thing.
Back in the car and headed for Étretat. We went over the Pont de Normandie which spans the river Seine. It is a huge thing and cost us €5 each way.
For me, Étretat was the highlight of the day for sheer spectacle. We drove into the town, which is conveniently located right between two of the stone formations and walked down to la mer.
To paraphrase Seinfeld, the sea was angry that day my friend. We could see that rain was literally racing in toward shore, and so we had to take shelter under the awning of a news kiosk, as my flimsy umbrella really didn’t offer much protection. I suppose we could have got back in the car, but I can’t recall that option being considered.
Luckily the rain swept through fairly quickly and we decided to climb up one of the hillsides to really get a sense of the cliffs and the cote d’albatre. The rain had made the steps a bit wet but we managed the climb fairly quickly, it actually was not as bad a climb as it had seemed it might be. Surprisingly, there was no fee to do this; strange that the real money making enterprise in the town seemed to be the pay toilets.
Even though the weather was overcast, the view was still spectacular. Looking to my left I could see the elephant trunk and looking to my right there was nothing but more spectacular white coastline. It was truly wondrous and one of the main highlights of the entire trip for me.
After a long drive back to Villers-Bocage we bought a bottle of wine to take back to the B&B and then got some dinner (same restaurant as the previous night, similar unremarkable food).
Now we’re relaxing and letting the sights of the day sink into our memories.
7:00 comes quickly after a night of champagne.
Parisian skies were grey and the streets were wet as we got to St. Lazare to take our train to Caen. After lugging our suitcases up what seemed to be a fa-fillion stairs, we stood watching the departure boards and sipped from tiny café crèmes.
A smelly and crazy old man began chatting with us in English about a town where he wanted to go. Crazy people seem to be a theme on this holiday.
Anyway, the platform number came up and we made our way to the train without incident.
I had purchased the train tickets in advance online and there were no seat numbers listed on them, so we just sat wherever there were empty places. I still don’t know exactly how it works, but the ones we chose seemed to have been reserved even though they were not listed as such on the poster in the corridor. There were eight seats in the compartment, the score was 5 tourists to 3 French people and from what I could catch of the conversation, all of the tourists were in someone else’s seats. But no one asked that we move, they seemed to prefer to talk about us disparagingly instead. The journey was therefore a little awkward, but by the time we reached Lisieux they had all left the train and we were able to relax a bit for the last leg of the journey. I slept for about 30 minutes and felt pretty fresh on exiting the train.
We emerged from the station at Caen and true to expectation the car rental office really was right across the street. We were assigned a Citröen Picasso and Reyn was totally stoked when he saw it. We set up the GPS and plotted a course for Courseulles-Sur-Mer, left the parking lot and turned right into the tramway, missing a collision with an oncoming tram. Good thing we got the extra insurance. Oh – did I mention that the GPS was directing us in German? We got a hearty laugh from the obvious irony that a German voice was guiding us through Normandy to Juno Beach of all places. At any rate, Reyn understands enough German that this did not present an insurmountable obstacle, so we went with it for most of the day until quite by accident stumbled upon a way to change the language settings.
The French seem to love roundabouts/traffic circles and once we figured out that ‘cedez le passage’ probably meant something to the effect of ‘give way’ or ‘yield’ we had no problems. And we figured that out after the first roundabout and the second near collision. Like I said, good thing we got the extra insurance.
We arrived at Courseulles-Sur-Mer in good time and took a walk on Juno Beach. It is hard to put into words the feelings that I had, standing there, thinking about the events that had transpired right in that spot. I wondered what it must have felt like, storming that beach drenched in freezing Atlantic Ocean water, weighed down with equipment, trying madly to dodge bullets in order to stay alive so that you could dodge more bullets.
We returned to the town itself to have some lunch prior to returning to the Juno Beach Centre to take a tour of the immediate area.
Lunch was delicious; a fried omelet avec frites for me, and Reyn had the plat du jour. It started out a bit dicey, but ended with an amazing café gourmande of an assortment of little chocolate and mocha themed mini-desserts. And he shared!
The Juno Beach Centre is staffed by Canadian students who work giving tours and are generally WWII ambassadors for the people who visit. A young woman lead our group in and around the beach, and even into the still-intact German observation bunker that comprised part of the park. We learned that right at the very spot it was the Royal Winnipeg Rifles who came ashore and captured that bunker.
It was very windy and even though the tour was extremely interesting, we were glad to return to the building to see the short introductory film and walk through the museum.
Afterward, I filled a small baggie with some sand from the beach. Some people may not think that was appropriate. For me it did not denigrate the sacrifices that were made to win that sand, rather it serves as a reminder every time I see it.
The next place I needed to go was the Canadian War Cemetery at Bény-sur-Mer. I have always considered it to be my duty as a Canadian to pay respects to the fallen soldiers of my country.
The cemetery was a serene and tranquil place despite the work going on to replace each of the markers. It seems that erosion has caused a great deal of damage and there is a project, now almost complete, that will see each of them replaced.
The meticulously kept grounds, planted with maple trees and a profusion of flowers in and among the graves, clearly showed me that the French continue to honour the dead.
I am not ashamed to say that as I walked through the rows and saw so many young, young men’s names and dates, I became quite choked up. Being there in person brings it home to you in a way that seeing it on films or reading about it in books never could.
As we made our way back to the car another couple was just arriving. I thought it wonderful to see that this was a place that had many visitors.
We plotted the GPS coordinates into our unit and we were off to find the B&B near Villers-Bocage. It was around 19:00 by the time we arrived and I was a little worried that madame might be perturbed with our late-ish arrival. I unlatched the gate and I saw her coming out of the house to greet us, words of genuine welcome tumbling forth in the melodious French of a native-speaker.
She showed us to our room and in and around the common area of small kitchen and large breakfast room/lounge, and left us to settle in.
She reappeared a few minutes later with a bottle of farm-made cider as refreshment. We chatted a little and showed her on a large world map of the type you used to see in geography class exactly where in Canada we were from. Surprisingly, there was already a push pin in the spot so we had been beaten to la Ferme by someone!
After dinner in Villers-Bocage (nothing great) we went straight back to the room to shower, upload pics to the computer and to crash.
After so many awful broken sleeps in Paris, this oh so quiet and oh so dark little corner of France was most welcome, and I slept like a rock! Yay!
Jeudi le 16 Septembre
A rooster crowed around 7:00 and intermittently thereafter. Up at 8:55 for the pre-arranged 9:00 breakfast, we quickly made ourselves presentable and went down to eat.
We met 4 other guests at table and chatted amicably as we gobbled a delicious omelet (made with eggs fresh that morning), and sampled any number of fresh pastries that madame had purchased in the town earlier that morning. The coffee was delicious and cheerfully refilled. In short a perfect breakfast!
We went back up to the room to prepare for the day. I had already planned on seeing Deauville and Honfleur and had hoped to be able to add Étretat on as well, and madame had assured us that this was completely do-able. So off we went.
We chose a route that avoided tolls on the way to Deauville and as a result had a much longer drive than was probably necessary, but we did see some lovely countryside and charming villages as a result. We marveled at how cute everything was, geraniums on just about every window ledge and lovely rustic farmhouses…just postcards everywhere you looked.
We arrived in Deauville and could see right away that this was a ritzy place. We walked along the boardwalk at the beach and took a few pictures, but that was really all we wanted to do there.
Back in the car to go to Honfleur. This would be our destination for lunch. We parked the car and strolled over to the old harbour and sat ourselves down for café crème and croque monsieur. It was there, in Honfleur, that Reyn and I took on the noble quest of finding the best café crème in France. Stay tuned. Lunch was delicious and the sun warm as we sat back and enjoyed the view of the masts in the harbour and the very old and narrow buildings along the three sides. The Impressionists loved the quality of the light in Honfleur and they flocked to paint there; Champlain also sailed from Honfleur for Quebec.
After lunch we looked at a few souvenir shops and walked around the harbour, stopping to watch a merry-go-round/carousel do its thing.
Back in the car and headed for Étretat. We went over the Pont de Normandie which spans the river Seine. It is a huge thing and cost us €5 each way.
For me, Étretat was the highlight of the day for sheer spectacle. We drove into the town, which is conveniently located right between two of the stone formations and walked down to la mer.
To paraphrase Seinfeld, the sea was angry that day my friend. We could see that rain was literally racing in toward shore, and so we had to take shelter under the awning of a news kiosk, as my flimsy umbrella really didn’t offer much protection. I suppose we could have got back in the car, but I can’t recall that option being considered.
Luckily the rain swept through fairly quickly and we decided to climb up one of the hillsides to really get a sense of the cliffs and the cote d’albatre. The rain had made the steps a bit wet but we managed the climb fairly quickly, it actually was not as bad a climb as it had seemed it might be. Surprisingly, there was no fee to do this; strange that the real money making enterprise in the town seemed to be the pay toilets.
Even though the weather was overcast, the view was still spectacular. Looking to my left I could see the elephant trunk and looking to my right there was nothing but more spectacular white coastline. It was truly wondrous and one of the main highlights of the entire trip for me.
After a long drive back to Villers-Bocage we bought a bottle of wine to take back to the B&B and then got some dinner (same restaurant as the previous night, similar unremarkable food).
Now we’re relaxing and letting the sights of the day sink into our memories.
05 October 2010
What I Did On My Summer Vacation 2010 Edition pt 3
Lundi le 14 Septembre
On the train now going to Chartres.
We missed the planned-for 9:33 train due to sleeping in until 8:00 (Dommage) and confusion about where to buy the actual tickets. On the bright side this meant we had plenty of time for café crèmes and pain au chocolat, so not entirely a bad thing. I’m thinking we will probably be too late to join the noon tour with Malcolm Miller, but I have the guidebook pages from Rick Steves so…here’s hoping this day trip is off the Chartres.
So we alighted the train and made our way to the cathedral in plenty of time to catch the noon tour. The spire was visible from the train station and the way was pretty obvious. On the way we noted a large ferris wheel in a plaza and made a note to return later and perhaps have a go-round. Our first view of the cathedral was a bit disappointing if I’m being honest, as the entire front was obscured by scaffolding due to extensive restoration being undertaken. Now I understand that these things cannot be left to simply crumble and fall apart and become blackened with the passage of time, but this type of thing is really starting to be a regular feature of our trips abroad! Anyhow, we went inside and awaited Mr. Miller.
The main focus of the tour was one of the rose windows and Mr. Miller was amusing, erudite and clearly in love with the cathedral. The nave had been cleaned recently and was sparkling white in the distance as we sat in some chairs placed over the labyrinth design. Among other things, we learned that in the early history of the cathedral pilgrims would regularly sleep in the building and the floor is actually on a tilt in order to facilitate the washing out of the grime associated with such activities. The chairs are removed from the floor on Fridays so as to expose the labyrinth. Christ’s halo, when sculpted, always has a cross in relief. You generally read stained glass windows from bottom to top and from left to right. The word cathedral comes from the Greek cathedra meaning throne, as in the throne of a bishop. During the war, the people of Chartres painstakingly removed all of the stained glass windows and hid them. In short, many tidbits to stow away for Final Jeopardy!
Absolutely famished by the time the tour ended, instead of tracking down the planned restaurant, Les Feuillantines, we committed the cardinal tooreest sin of eating right by the tooreest attraction. We had wonderful café crèmes and quiche Lorraine avec salade. It really was delicious and we sat in the sun but under a lovely umbrella and just soaked it all in. Reyn had originally ordered the plat du jour but it never did arrive. When questioned, the server seemed to have no recollection of the request at all, saying that there was no more left. So Reyn had to settle for the quiche as well. When the bill came, we were comped one café crème and I protested that is was not necessary, but alas he insisted. Score one for out-of-Paris dining.
During lunch we tried to phone Philip a number of times but did not get through to arrange meeting for dinner back in the city. We determined to try again throughout the day.
After lunch we thought it might be amusing to wander and try to find – oh I don’t know – say a pâtisserie or something…and so we did, and we did find one, but it was after 14:00 and so nothing was opening again until 15:00. Had to kill some time, so we strolled through the narrow little streets of old Chartres. Absolutement charmant. Also we walked to the rear of the cathedral to look over across the river what was once, according to Malcolm Miller, a German airfield. Below us stretched the rest of Chartres, and immediately in front of us was laid out a charming little labyrinth.
We decided that we would take the guided tour of the crypt, but somehow never thought to question what language it would be conducted in. Unfortunately, it was entirely in French. There was a printed sheet of information that was provided when we purchased the tickets, but it didn’t really have a lot of information and from the length of time the guide spent explaining various things, could only have been the bare bones. We ended up not finishing the tour in order to get back to the train station in time to catch the train back to Paris.
Before going back to the hotel we stopped at a café to take some refreshment, tried numerous times to reach Philip and watched any number of what to our eyes seemed like sure collisions between scooters and cars, but to Parisians would probably just be rush hour as usual.
We made our way back to the hotel and debated what to do about dinner. It was getting on 19:30 or so and still not a word from Philip, so we decided Reyn would go down the street to the local McDoo and get take out. We would rest our tootsies, eat, relax and watch at least some of the US Open men’s final that had been delayed due to rain on Sunday.
We also chowed down on more of the pâte, camembert, cornichons and crackers that we had stockpiled for noshing, and finished the bottle of vin rouge we had purchased Saturday afternoon.
After turning out the light I slept for about 2 hours, then woke up at 2:30 or so, had some yogourt and Advil, then tossed again until finally falling asleep and sleeping until around 9:00.
Mardi le 14 Septembre
In the morning we went down to Café Cordial (ironically named naturellement) for café crèmes and crepes. The lady on the corner where we had purchased the crepe on Saturday afternoon, at the Select Haussmann, was not yet open so we had to settle for a Nutella crepe (me) and a chocolate and banana crepe (Reyn) even though I am pretty sure I ordered a Nutella and banana and a chocolate. They were good, but the crepes were not freshly made and so lacked the heat that would have made the fillings truly unctuous and really yummy. The cafés were really good though, and we had a second round as we watched people rushing off to work.
There were three main places that I wanted to get to on this day. The Musée Jacquemart Andre, Parc Monceau, and a little oasis in the 8th Arr. that had been posted on the Paris Daily Photo blog to which I subscribe. The rest of the day was wide open.
We hopped on to the métro and reached the musée in good time, shortly after 10:30 or so. Located in an amazing former private home the musée displays the collection of the Jaquemart Andre couple, who acquired a stunning collection over the course of their lives. Unfortunately photography was not allowed, but we were able to purchase the guidebook, in English, that details the most stunning of the items and showcases the interiors of the rooms very well. I have to say that this place surpassed the Nissim de Camondo that we saw last year. Much larger, more sumptuous. The Winter Garden was the most stunning room to me, with its skylight and tour de force double staircase situated, oddly, at the end of the room. I had to look quite closely to notice that much of the marble in the room was in fact trompe l’oeil. It kind of inspired me to try it myself, although I don’t think it would quite fit our slightly less grand décor.
The paintings of course were magnificent throughout, but my favourite was the one of the Marquise D’Antin at the age of 14, posed along with her bird and dog and wearing an exquisite silk dress that you could almost hear rustling. We later found a poster on display in the gift shop of this very painting, but alas it was not actually for sale. Dommage!
I had hoped to have a snack or even lunch in the café located in the former dining room of the mansion, but after looking at the menu and the prices, decided against it.
Next item up for bids was Parc Monceau.
It might have been Trip Advisor that gave me the heads-up on this place, but I can’t be certain. At any rate, I am so glad to have been able to go to this park. This was a little corner of paradise for me. Mercifully few tooreests and many actual Parisians doing what Parisians do. Eating their lunches, walking their chiens, jogging, rendezvous-ing…
We sat for a spell near the duck pond that has the ‘ruin’ of a wall behind it and I have to say it was one of the most romantic spots I had been in the whole city.
Elsewhere in the park is a monument to Chopin, where he is seated playing a piano with a swooning muse at his feet, and it was a particular mission of mine to find it and photograph it for posterity. Eventually I asked the attendant at the WCs (an elegant little building by the way) for directions and we meandered down the path.
Completely by chance I happened to be wearing a rather large scarf/shawl and I was able to mimic the muse’s pose quite well. Reyn took several shots as we giggled about how very silly we were being; a few passersby looked quite amused as well.
We exited the park after running the gauntlet of a positive bevy of young schoolchildren who were being herded into lines by their minders. All in navy blue and white, clothes still surprisingly starched after an energetic play session, they were in various stages of disarray and disobedience as we walked among them.
We were quite near the Charles de Gaulle étoile and decided to look for someplace to have some lunch. The proximity to the étoile and the Champs was definitely working against us though, as the menu prices were nearly as high as the musée café! We finally settled on a cute little sort-of cafeteria place that had some yummy and fresh looking wraps on offer. It wasn’t fancy but it was good.
After lunch we wandered over to a little garden in behind a former-Rothschild hotel particulier in the 8th on av Friedland. It had been posted on the Paris Daily Photo only a couple of days prior, but since we had brought a laptop along with us I was able to keep up with those posts and so voila, there we were!
It was a nice little park where we could have even sat on the grass (!) had we wanted to do so. The day was sunny and warm and perfect for park-hopping. We plotted our next adventure as we sat on a bench in the middle of Paris enjoying this little oasis.
We decided to get the métro to Pigalle and then walk up to Place du Tertre in Montmartre. We passed by Place des Abbesses, site of le mûr de je t’aime that I had adored seeing in person last year, and started climbing the steps up the butte.
We made several rounds of the artists’ displays and tried to decide which would make the best wedding gift for a couple at home who were marrying later in the week. Due to some bad planning we were going to miss the wedding, but had determined to find something in Paris to give them as a gift. The people buying the paintings are tooreests, and they are really just buying an expensive postcard and that is understandable, we did it last time…but this would be a present for people who had never been to Paris, so it was a bit trickier to find something suitable.
At length we made a decision, and decided to reward ourselves with a nice glass of liquid refreshment. We sat down opposite a column of easels and watched the tooreests go by. After a while one of the artists began throwing a tennis ball for his chien to fetch, and this was the cause of much mirth at the café.
We returned to the same artist, bought another painting, this one for us, and then headed for Sacre Coeur.
It has become a bit of a ritual for me to make wishes and throw coins in a fountain when we are on holiday, and last year I had done so at Sacre Coeur. Reyn and I spoke of it as we walked and he asked me what I had wished for, and as it had come true already I saw no harm in telling him my wish had been, “To return, in good health.” I have to say that I was quite caught up in the emotion of that moment, realizing how very, very fortunate I had been, to be able to go to Paris not just once, but twice. A few big, juicy, grateful tears rolled down my cheeks.
Reyn said, “Well then we have to go back there, to honour that wish.” I agreed wholeheartedly and when we got there I made another wish and I can’t tell you what it was, although you can probably guess.
We descended the steps in front of the church and made our way back to the hotel, which was a much longer walk than it looked on the map. We found a pâtisserie along the way though, so the promise of a sweetie when we got back to the room was just enough to keep us going.
We got back to the hotel in plenty of time to relax a bit and get changed before going down the street to Café Zephyr for dinner. Afterwards we took the métro (changing lines 3 times) to get to Moulin Rouge for the show at 19:00. Once we were on the métro we rapidly reached the conclusion that it had been a bad decision. It was stifling hot, crowded and made me rather grumpy in my towering heels and silk dress. I could feel streamlets of sweat running down my spine and it made me feel less than chic.
We did manage to arrive in good time being greeted professionally if perfunctorily and promptly relieved of our camera. After declining to purchase the program for the show we were whisked off to Siberia, also known as table 188 and seated with an American couple, from you guessed it, Florida. We exchanged pleasantries and chatted amicably until the show began. The sextet at our table was completed by a French couple who alternately talked and necked through the whole show.
Anyway, the dancers came out in progressively more elaborate/stranger garb, there were gendarmes in silver, glittering uniforms, there were pirates and wenches, there were Kabuki masks, there were American GIs swing dancing with pin-up girls, there were Russian dancers and Cambodian dancers and the two main characters dangled out over the audience and sang a song…and then just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse/more painful/ stranger/more over the top, they brought out the miniature horses and the girl in the clear water tank swimming with an anaconda. I seriously regretted not buying the program because any commentary that could have tied all of this together in any semblance of a plot would have been invaluable.
The best description I can come up with to describe the Moulin Rouge is that it is kind of like the movie Victor/Victoria except instead of a woman impersonating a man impersonating a woman, it is Paris impersonating Las Vegas impersonating Paris. There are two types of visitors to Paris I think, the tooreests who think that Moulin Rouge is the real deal, and the tourists who understand that the whole thing is meant to be ironic.
Now having said that, it was spectacular and the production values were high, the dancers did what they did very well, and the champagne was compris. And who wouldn’t like that?
After the show we collected our camera, took some pictures of ourselves with the lights of the Moulin Rouge in the background, flagged down a taxi (which is actually a competitive sport in Paris) and went back to the hotel. We snacked on pâté, crackers, cornichons and camembert as we packed up as much as possible before turning in for the night.
On the train now going to Chartres.
We missed the planned-for 9:33 train due to sleeping in until 8:00 (Dommage) and confusion about where to buy the actual tickets. On the bright side this meant we had plenty of time for café crèmes and pain au chocolat, so not entirely a bad thing. I’m thinking we will probably be too late to join the noon tour with Malcolm Miller, but I have the guidebook pages from Rick Steves so…here’s hoping this day trip is off the Chartres.
So we alighted the train and made our way to the cathedral in plenty of time to catch the noon tour. The spire was visible from the train station and the way was pretty obvious. On the way we noted a large ferris wheel in a plaza and made a note to return later and perhaps have a go-round. Our first view of the cathedral was a bit disappointing if I’m being honest, as the entire front was obscured by scaffolding due to extensive restoration being undertaken. Now I understand that these things cannot be left to simply crumble and fall apart and become blackened with the passage of time, but this type of thing is really starting to be a regular feature of our trips abroad! Anyhow, we went inside and awaited Mr. Miller.
The main focus of the tour was one of the rose windows and Mr. Miller was amusing, erudite and clearly in love with the cathedral. The nave had been cleaned recently and was sparkling white in the distance as we sat in some chairs placed over the labyrinth design. Among other things, we learned that in the early history of the cathedral pilgrims would regularly sleep in the building and the floor is actually on a tilt in order to facilitate the washing out of the grime associated with such activities. The chairs are removed from the floor on Fridays so as to expose the labyrinth. Christ’s halo, when sculpted, always has a cross in relief. You generally read stained glass windows from bottom to top and from left to right. The word cathedral comes from the Greek cathedra meaning throne, as in the throne of a bishop. During the war, the people of Chartres painstakingly removed all of the stained glass windows and hid them. In short, many tidbits to stow away for Final Jeopardy!
Absolutely famished by the time the tour ended, instead of tracking down the planned restaurant, Les Feuillantines, we committed the cardinal tooreest sin of eating right by the tooreest attraction. We had wonderful café crèmes and quiche Lorraine avec salade. It really was delicious and we sat in the sun but under a lovely umbrella and just soaked it all in. Reyn had originally ordered the plat du jour but it never did arrive. When questioned, the server seemed to have no recollection of the request at all, saying that there was no more left. So Reyn had to settle for the quiche as well. When the bill came, we were comped one café crème and I protested that is was not necessary, but alas he insisted. Score one for out-of-Paris dining.
During lunch we tried to phone Philip a number of times but did not get through to arrange meeting for dinner back in the city. We determined to try again throughout the day.
After lunch we thought it might be amusing to wander and try to find – oh I don’t know – say a pâtisserie or something…and so we did, and we did find one, but it was after 14:00 and so nothing was opening again until 15:00. Had to kill some time, so we strolled through the narrow little streets of old Chartres. Absolutement charmant. Also we walked to the rear of the cathedral to look over across the river what was once, according to Malcolm Miller, a German airfield. Below us stretched the rest of Chartres, and immediately in front of us was laid out a charming little labyrinth.
We decided that we would take the guided tour of the crypt, but somehow never thought to question what language it would be conducted in. Unfortunately, it was entirely in French. There was a printed sheet of information that was provided when we purchased the tickets, but it didn’t really have a lot of information and from the length of time the guide spent explaining various things, could only have been the bare bones. We ended up not finishing the tour in order to get back to the train station in time to catch the train back to Paris.
Before going back to the hotel we stopped at a café to take some refreshment, tried numerous times to reach Philip and watched any number of what to our eyes seemed like sure collisions between scooters and cars, but to Parisians would probably just be rush hour as usual.
We made our way back to the hotel and debated what to do about dinner. It was getting on 19:30 or so and still not a word from Philip, so we decided Reyn would go down the street to the local McDoo and get take out. We would rest our tootsies, eat, relax and watch at least some of the US Open men’s final that had been delayed due to rain on Sunday.
We also chowed down on more of the pâte, camembert, cornichons and crackers that we had stockpiled for noshing, and finished the bottle of vin rouge we had purchased Saturday afternoon.
After turning out the light I slept for about 2 hours, then woke up at 2:30 or so, had some yogourt and Advil, then tossed again until finally falling asleep and sleeping until around 9:00.
Mardi le 14 Septembre
In the morning we went down to Café Cordial (ironically named naturellement) for café crèmes and crepes. The lady on the corner where we had purchased the crepe on Saturday afternoon, at the Select Haussmann, was not yet open so we had to settle for a Nutella crepe (me) and a chocolate and banana crepe (Reyn) even though I am pretty sure I ordered a Nutella and banana and a chocolate. They were good, but the crepes were not freshly made and so lacked the heat that would have made the fillings truly unctuous and really yummy. The cafés were really good though, and we had a second round as we watched people rushing off to work.
There were three main places that I wanted to get to on this day. The Musée Jacquemart Andre, Parc Monceau, and a little oasis in the 8th Arr. that had been posted on the Paris Daily Photo blog to which I subscribe. The rest of the day was wide open.
We hopped on to the métro and reached the musée in good time, shortly after 10:30 or so. Located in an amazing former private home the musée displays the collection of the Jaquemart Andre couple, who acquired a stunning collection over the course of their lives. Unfortunately photography was not allowed, but we were able to purchase the guidebook, in English, that details the most stunning of the items and showcases the interiors of the rooms very well. I have to say that this place surpassed the Nissim de Camondo that we saw last year. Much larger, more sumptuous. The Winter Garden was the most stunning room to me, with its skylight and tour de force double staircase situated, oddly, at the end of the room. I had to look quite closely to notice that much of the marble in the room was in fact trompe l’oeil. It kind of inspired me to try it myself, although I don’t think it would quite fit our slightly less grand décor.
The paintings of course were magnificent throughout, but my favourite was the one of the Marquise D’Antin at the age of 14, posed along with her bird and dog and wearing an exquisite silk dress that you could almost hear rustling. We later found a poster on display in the gift shop of this very painting, but alas it was not actually for sale. Dommage!
I had hoped to have a snack or even lunch in the café located in the former dining room of the mansion, but after looking at the menu and the prices, decided against it.
Next item up for bids was Parc Monceau.
It might have been Trip Advisor that gave me the heads-up on this place, but I can’t be certain. At any rate, I am so glad to have been able to go to this park. This was a little corner of paradise for me. Mercifully few tooreests and many actual Parisians doing what Parisians do. Eating their lunches, walking their chiens, jogging, rendezvous-ing…
We sat for a spell near the duck pond that has the ‘ruin’ of a wall behind it and I have to say it was one of the most romantic spots I had been in the whole city.
Elsewhere in the park is a monument to Chopin, where he is seated playing a piano with a swooning muse at his feet, and it was a particular mission of mine to find it and photograph it for posterity. Eventually I asked the attendant at the WCs (an elegant little building by the way) for directions and we meandered down the path.
Completely by chance I happened to be wearing a rather large scarf/shawl and I was able to mimic the muse’s pose quite well. Reyn took several shots as we giggled about how very silly we were being; a few passersby looked quite amused as well.
We exited the park after running the gauntlet of a positive bevy of young schoolchildren who were being herded into lines by their minders. All in navy blue and white, clothes still surprisingly starched after an energetic play session, they were in various stages of disarray and disobedience as we walked among them.
We were quite near the Charles de Gaulle étoile and decided to look for someplace to have some lunch. The proximity to the étoile and the Champs was definitely working against us though, as the menu prices were nearly as high as the musée café! We finally settled on a cute little sort-of cafeteria place that had some yummy and fresh looking wraps on offer. It wasn’t fancy but it was good.
After lunch we wandered over to a little garden in behind a former-Rothschild hotel particulier in the 8th on av Friedland. It had been posted on the Paris Daily Photo only a couple of days prior, but since we had brought a laptop along with us I was able to keep up with those posts and so voila, there we were!
It was a nice little park where we could have even sat on the grass (!) had we wanted to do so. The day was sunny and warm and perfect for park-hopping. We plotted our next adventure as we sat on a bench in the middle of Paris enjoying this little oasis.
We decided to get the métro to Pigalle and then walk up to Place du Tertre in Montmartre. We passed by Place des Abbesses, site of le mûr de je t’aime that I had adored seeing in person last year, and started climbing the steps up the butte.
We made several rounds of the artists’ displays and tried to decide which would make the best wedding gift for a couple at home who were marrying later in the week. Due to some bad planning we were going to miss the wedding, but had determined to find something in Paris to give them as a gift. The people buying the paintings are tooreests, and they are really just buying an expensive postcard and that is understandable, we did it last time…but this would be a present for people who had never been to Paris, so it was a bit trickier to find something suitable.
At length we made a decision, and decided to reward ourselves with a nice glass of liquid refreshment. We sat down opposite a column of easels and watched the tooreests go by. After a while one of the artists began throwing a tennis ball for his chien to fetch, and this was the cause of much mirth at the café.
We returned to the same artist, bought another painting, this one for us, and then headed for Sacre Coeur.
It has become a bit of a ritual for me to make wishes and throw coins in a fountain when we are on holiday, and last year I had done so at Sacre Coeur. Reyn and I spoke of it as we walked and he asked me what I had wished for, and as it had come true already I saw no harm in telling him my wish had been, “To return, in good health.” I have to say that I was quite caught up in the emotion of that moment, realizing how very, very fortunate I had been, to be able to go to Paris not just once, but twice. A few big, juicy, grateful tears rolled down my cheeks.
Reyn said, “Well then we have to go back there, to honour that wish.” I agreed wholeheartedly and when we got there I made another wish and I can’t tell you what it was, although you can probably guess.
We descended the steps in front of the church and made our way back to the hotel, which was a much longer walk than it looked on the map. We found a pâtisserie along the way though, so the promise of a sweetie when we got back to the room was just enough to keep us going.
We got back to the hotel in plenty of time to relax a bit and get changed before going down the street to Café Zephyr for dinner. Afterwards we took the métro (changing lines 3 times) to get to Moulin Rouge for the show at 19:00. Once we were on the métro we rapidly reached the conclusion that it had been a bad decision. It was stifling hot, crowded and made me rather grumpy in my towering heels and silk dress. I could feel streamlets of sweat running down my spine and it made me feel less than chic.
We did manage to arrive in good time being greeted professionally if perfunctorily and promptly relieved of our camera. After declining to purchase the program for the show we were whisked off to Siberia, also known as table 188 and seated with an American couple, from you guessed it, Florida. We exchanged pleasantries and chatted amicably until the show began. The sextet at our table was completed by a French couple who alternately talked and necked through the whole show.
Anyway, the dancers came out in progressively more elaborate/stranger garb, there were gendarmes in silver, glittering uniforms, there were pirates and wenches, there were Kabuki masks, there were American GIs swing dancing with pin-up girls, there were Russian dancers and Cambodian dancers and the two main characters dangled out over the audience and sang a song…and then just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse/more painful/ stranger/more over the top, they brought out the miniature horses and the girl in the clear water tank swimming with an anaconda. I seriously regretted not buying the program because any commentary that could have tied all of this together in any semblance of a plot would have been invaluable.
The best description I can come up with to describe the Moulin Rouge is that it is kind of like the movie Victor/Victoria except instead of a woman impersonating a man impersonating a woman, it is Paris impersonating Las Vegas impersonating Paris. There are two types of visitors to Paris I think, the tooreests who think that Moulin Rouge is the real deal, and the tourists who understand that the whole thing is meant to be ironic.
Now having said that, it was spectacular and the production values were high, the dancers did what they did very well, and the champagne was compris. And who wouldn’t like that?
After the show we collected our camera, took some pictures of ourselves with the lights of the Moulin Rouge in the background, flagged down a taxi (which is actually a competitive sport in Paris) and went back to the hotel. We snacked on pâté, crackers, cornichons and camembert as we packed up as much as possible before turning in for the night.
What I Did On My Summer Vacation 2010 Edition pt 2
Lundi le 13 Septembre
Holy moly the rest of Sunday was jam-packed!
We ended up not quite getting to the Opéra Garnier on time for the guided tour; it was already full by the time we arrived. At any rate the tickets we had were for une visite libre, turns out the guided visits are more expensive and it doesn’t seem like those can be booked online. Not to worry however, as the place gives plenty to look at even if you don’t get the full story behind everything.
The Garnier is so over the top that I don’t even know where to begin. The only surfaces that escape gilding are the marble and the mirrors and the chandeliers have a minimum size of massive. There were a number of boxes that had been left open so that visitors could peer into the performance hall. We walked through the doors to find a cavernous space and a rehearsal in progress for the opening production of the season. The modern stage set of bed and rope hanging from the ceiling juxtaposed itself from the intricately carved and gilded wood figures that wrapped themselves around the boxes. The soft light from the chandelier in the centre of the Chagall-painted mural on the ceiling illuminated the sumptuously upholstered rows of seats on the main level, and the interiors of the boxes that climbed up the sides and back of the space.
I imagined gowned and feather-bedecked ladies leaning over, greeting friends with kisses and whispering behind hand-painted fans. It was easy to conjure this image in my mind as the atmosphere was truly of another era, despite the ultra-modern and spare set on the stage.
Leaving the box we wandered through the remainder of the second level, discovering the long gallery behind the balcony. A truly impressive space with another dozen or so exquisite chandeliers and beautifully proportioned to be used as a dining area or even a ballroom should the need arise. Sunshine streaming through the French doors to the balcony beckoned us outside to look out over Place de l’Opéra. Below us stretched av de l’Opéra where we had strolled the day before, and nearer to us were the front steps of the Palais Garnier, tooreests sitting and picnicking, feeding the pigeons, taking pictures, and soaking in the atmosphere.
We descended the famous staircase and made our way outside and around the building to the gift shop. I had received an email from the boutique prior to leaving on our trip that the DVD of the Paris Opéra ballet documentary was now on sale, so I hoped to pick it up as a souvenir of our visit, but alas upon questioning the madame at the counter the DVD was not for our region. Dommage! We made do instead with an opera DVD of Fidelio by Beethoven. There were any number of books and posters on offer but either option posed a similar packing dilemma. Also, with the foray into Normandy coming up we had decided to forego most souvenir purchases so that we wouldn’t have to lug them around France.
We hopped on the métro to get to Ile St Louis.
I honestly can say that this was one place in Paris I could have lived without seeing. First of all, it was absolutely jam-packed with tooreests. Secondly, it was more like the Disneyland version of Paris than any other area I had been in previously. We strolled around a bit looking for a place to have some lunch and ended up sitting next to an English-speaking party whose conversation we couldn’t help but overhear. The man in the group was complaining vociferously about how he had been treated by a Canadian barmaid when he complained that his beer glass had not been adequately filled. Apparently she responded with “the typical Canadian attitude”. Now let me tell you that from this man’s demeanour I could tell that he probably had very little patience for serving wenches and he likely deserved every bit of "Canadian attitude" that he got. At any rate, it spoiled my salad and wine to the extent that only something sweet could take away the bad taste in my mouth. We hatched a plan to get some ice cream at Berthillon and then go back to the room, pick up more money and then get to Ste Chappelle for the 19:00 concert there. We stood in line for a few minutes but then decided to get a pastry instead, as the line was not moving an inch.
So we meandered along and went into a charming little pâtisserie, made our purchase and experienced another example of how the French take such pride in the little artful things one can have in everyday life. The young man who served me was trying to wrap our two sweeties when a woman came to him and began to scold gently. She took over and with the utmost care, reverence almost, crafted an origami masterpiece out of the wrapping paper – a perfect pyramid – without using any tape. She took such care in creasing the paper just so, and I was enchanted and delighted with the result. At home, you have to put your crappy, mass-produced, ‘whipped-topping’-filled éclair into a clear plastic baggie that inevitably gets crushed in the grocery bag. Here, someone lovingly wraps your precious pastry in a gentle hug and sends you on your way with a cheerful, "Et voila." Paradise, non? This is civilization.
Hopped back on to the métro and went back to the hotel briefly to pick up some additional €. Back on to the métro to Cité where we emerged behind the bird market, which was still apparently in full wing as we could hear various songs being sung. We quickly strolled to the Palais de Justice complex and were guided inside to purchase the tickets for the concert. Unlike last year, for whatever reason, tickets were not sold outside the gates on the sidewalk. At any rate, we decided to upgrade our tickets by €5 each to be able to sit nearer the musicians. It was money well spent. We sat and took in the glorious surroundings of the Ste Chappelle, stained glass glowing as the early evening sunlight streamed through the panels. The restoration work continues there and I would love to return one day to see everything completed.
The Soloistes Francais were as wonderful as I remembered them, and we listened to Albinoni, Pachelbel and Vivaldi. Nothing crazy or avant-garde, just lovely music in a stunning setting. Magical. With music like this and architecture like this, how can there be war in the world?
Afterward we debated what to do as it was still relatively early in the evening. Ultimately we decided to walk along the Seine to the Quai St Bernard.
The sun sank rapidly and the wind picked up as walked. We had learned last year that couples danced along the banks of the Seine some evenings and I had researched that topic further in advance of this latest trip. It turns out that most evenings, when the weather is good, people gather along various spots and dance all manner of styles. What we were seeking this night however, were the tango dancers. We began to despair that no one was out in the chilly windy evening when Reyn at last spotted some dancers. As we neared we could hear the music playing.
There were actually two groups that night, and after watching the first for a bit, we moved on to the second group which was larger and seemed to be more adept.
Particularly captivating was a couple who were dressed very nondescriptly, he in regular pants and shirt, she in jeans, loose shirt and Converse sneakers. But they danced divinely with a lovely posture, she on demi-pointe the whole time, such grace. To look at them, they could have been on their way to or from almost anywhere in the city, but there they were, doing the tango on the riverbank. Seulement dans Paris!
After getting thoroughly chilled to the bone we made our way to some out of the way dog-forsaken métro stop on the Ile St Louis and headed home. Me to a hot shower, Reyn to the US Open on the telly.
Holy moly the rest of Sunday was jam-packed!
We ended up not quite getting to the Opéra Garnier on time for the guided tour; it was already full by the time we arrived. At any rate the tickets we had were for une visite libre, turns out the guided visits are more expensive and it doesn’t seem like those can be booked online. Not to worry however, as the place gives plenty to look at even if you don’t get the full story behind everything.
The Garnier is so over the top that I don’t even know where to begin. The only surfaces that escape gilding are the marble and the mirrors and the chandeliers have a minimum size of massive. There were a number of boxes that had been left open so that visitors could peer into the performance hall. We walked through the doors to find a cavernous space and a rehearsal in progress for the opening production of the season. The modern stage set of bed and rope hanging from the ceiling juxtaposed itself from the intricately carved and gilded wood figures that wrapped themselves around the boxes. The soft light from the chandelier in the centre of the Chagall-painted mural on the ceiling illuminated the sumptuously upholstered rows of seats on the main level, and the interiors of the boxes that climbed up the sides and back of the space.
I imagined gowned and feather-bedecked ladies leaning over, greeting friends with kisses and whispering behind hand-painted fans. It was easy to conjure this image in my mind as the atmosphere was truly of another era, despite the ultra-modern and spare set on the stage.
Leaving the box we wandered through the remainder of the second level, discovering the long gallery behind the balcony. A truly impressive space with another dozen or so exquisite chandeliers and beautifully proportioned to be used as a dining area or even a ballroom should the need arise. Sunshine streaming through the French doors to the balcony beckoned us outside to look out over Place de l’Opéra. Below us stretched av de l’Opéra where we had strolled the day before, and nearer to us were the front steps of the Palais Garnier, tooreests sitting and picnicking, feeding the pigeons, taking pictures, and soaking in the atmosphere.
We descended the famous staircase and made our way outside and around the building to the gift shop. I had received an email from the boutique prior to leaving on our trip that the DVD of the Paris Opéra ballet documentary was now on sale, so I hoped to pick it up as a souvenir of our visit, but alas upon questioning the madame at the counter the DVD was not for our region. Dommage! We made do instead with an opera DVD of Fidelio by Beethoven. There were any number of books and posters on offer but either option posed a similar packing dilemma. Also, with the foray into Normandy coming up we had decided to forego most souvenir purchases so that we wouldn’t have to lug them around France.
We hopped on the métro to get to Ile St Louis.
I honestly can say that this was one place in Paris I could have lived without seeing. First of all, it was absolutely jam-packed with tooreests. Secondly, it was more like the Disneyland version of Paris than any other area I had been in previously. We strolled around a bit looking for a place to have some lunch and ended up sitting next to an English-speaking party whose conversation we couldn’t help but overhear. The man in the group was complaining vociferously about how he had been treated by a Canadian barmaid when he complained that his beer glass had not been adequately filled. Apparently she responded with “the typical Canadian attitude”. Now let me tell you that from this man’s demeanour I could tell that he probably had very little patience for serving wenches and he likely deserved every bit of "Canadian attitude" that he got. At any rate, it spoiled my salad and wine to the extent that only something sweet could take away the bad taste in my mouth. We hatched a plan to get some ice cream at Berthillon and then go back to the room, pick up more money and then get to Ste Chappelle for the 19:00 concert there. We stood in line for a few minutes but then decided to get a pastry instead, as the line was not moving an inch.
So we meandered along and went into a charming little pâtisserie, made our purchase and experienced another example of how the French take such pride in the little artful things one can have in everyday life. The young man who served me was trying to wrap our two sweeties when a woman came to him and began to scold gently. She took over and with the utmost care, reverence almost, crafted an origami masterpiece out of the wrapping paper – a perfect pyramid – without using any tape. She took such care in creasing the paper just so, and I was enchanted and delighted with the result. At home, you have to put your crappy, mass-produced, ‘whipped-topping’-filled éclair into a clear plastic baggie that inevitably gets crushed in the grocery bag. Here, someone lovingly wraps your precious pastry in a gentle hug and sends you on your way with a cheerful, "Et voila." Paradise, non? This is civilization.
Hopped back on to the métro and went back to the hotel briefly to pick up some additional €. Back on to the métro to Cité where we emerged behind the bird market, which was still apparently in full wing as we could hear various songs being sung. We quickly strolled to the Palais de Justice complex and were guided inside to purchase the tickets for the concert. Unlike last year, for whatever reason, tickets were not sold outside the gates on the sidewalk. At any rate, we decided to upgrade our tickets by €5 each to be able to sit nearer the musicians. It was money well spent. We sat and took in the glorious surroundings of the Ste Chappelle, stained glass glowing as the early evening sunlight streamed through the panels. The restoration work continues there and I would love to return one day to see everything completed.
The Soloistes Francais were as wonderful as I remembered them, and we listened to Albinoni, Pachelbel and Vivaldi. Nothing crazy or avant-garde, just lovely music in a stunning setting. Magical. With music like this and architecture like this, how can there be war in the world?
Afterward we debated what to do as it was still relatively early in the evening. Ultimately we decided to walk along the Seine to the Quai St Bernard.
The sun sank rapidly and the wind picked up as walked. We had learned last year that couples danced along the banks of the Seine some evenings and I had researched that topic further in advance of this latest trip. It turns out that most evenings, when the weather is good, people gather along various spots and dance all manner of styles. What we were seeking this night however, were the tango dancers. We began to despair that no one was out in the chilly windy evening when Reyn at last spotted some dancers. As we neared we could hear the music playing.
There were actually two groups that night, and after watching the first for a bit, we moved on to the second group which was larger and seemed to be more adept.
Particularly captivating was a couple who were dressed very nondescriptly, he in regular pants and shirt, she in jeans, loose shirt and Converse sneakers. But they danced divinely with a lovely posture, she on demi-pointe the whole time, such grace. To look at them, they could have been on their way to or from almost anywhere in the city, but there they were, doing the tango on the riverbank. Seulement dans Paris!
After getting thoroughly chilled to the bone we made our way to some out of the way dog-forsaken métro stop on the Ile St Louis and headed home. Me to a hot shower, Reyn to the US Open on the telly.
What I Did On My Summer Vacation 2010 Edition pt 1
Vendredi le 10 Septembre
We left a windy overcast rainy Winnipeg at 16:00 after a day of half-frenzied/half-measured cleaning, laundering and packing.
The morning forecast was quite worrying as thunderstorms were expected later in the day, raising the unwelcome specter of a flight delay. Since the stopover in Toronto was to be tight already a delay would probably have been disastrous for making the connection. Ultimately there were no delays and we left on schedule. Great relief!!!
Taxiing out to the runway at Pearson on the flight to CDG. The flight from Winnipeg was uneventful and seemed very quick in comparison to the marathon flight from Frankfurt last year. We’re in row 35 about mid-way of the aircraft. Washrooms are about 5 rows up, no babies in the vicinity. I’m hoping for a nice, calm and quiet jump over the pond with minimal discomfort. I’m also hoping for at least one petit bouteille of vin to help the journey along.
I’ve brought Brideshead Revisited as reading material; it seems the only fiction I read these dates is on planes!
Hopefully the map function on the entertainment system decides to work at some point. No movies on offer look even remotely interesting so it might turn out that I get some zzzs.
Wheeeee! It’s hard to write when you’re rumbling down the runway! We’re off the ground now.
Dinner has been served. Beef or chicken. I chose the beef and am happy that it turned out to be a kind of boeuf bourguignon type thing with mashed potatoes. Quite yummy actually. On the side a strange cold veggie mélange of cubed squash, red pepper and peas in a vinaigrette. Really dense chocolate gateau for dessert. Wine? Mais oui. And not Chardonnay for a change! A Grenache blanc/sauvignon blanc blend. Happy times! After dinner I plan a long doze.
Samedi le 11 Septembre
So managed to get the teensiest bit of sleep and am fresh as a daisy on the ground in France. Passports: stamped. Luggage: collected. Explosion: controlled. Yes, you read that correctly. We were wheeling our way to the Roissy Bus stop when we along with the rest of the tooreests, were pushed back by an armed anti-terrorist squad. Fatigues, red berets, machine guns. Welcome to France!
As we milled around outside the terminal, I overheard one of the counter clerks explaining to some people there had been a suspicious bag left behind by someone. Hmm. She said it happens from time to time and that we could be standing around for 10 minutes or several hours depending on how the powers that be decide how best to deal with the thing.
We stood around with an ever-increasing crowd for about 20 minutes and then all of a sudden…KABOOM! And then, with no explanation from anyone, we were allowed to continue on our way. I can only surmise that the offending item was blowed up real good.
We’re now on the Roissy Bus literally going around and around the terminals. This place is a maze to me…
Made it to the hotel only to find that the room was not ready. We left our bags and went out for the first of what I hope are many delicious café crèmes. Grabbed a Nutella-banana crepe a emporter and made our way to the local Franprix to get some supplies for the room. Evian, vin, crackers, pâté with pistachios in it, brioche buns for breakfast, yogourt, Pellegrino, grapefruit juice, cornichons, camembert, baguette. Definitely the makings of a feast.
The room was ready when we returned but unfortunately it was not the correct room. I had to go back down to reception with my confirmation to show that we had booked a Club Room not a standard. The Standard Room was the size of a postage stamp – double bed, tiny bathroom, T.V. recessed into an alcove in the wall, and half a cupboard of storage space. We wouldn’t have had room to open our suitcases much less unpack them if we had to stay there. For one person it might have been alright, but not for two. Luckily the confirmation put an end to any possible discussion and the problem was rectified. No balcony this time but the rest of the room was pretty much identical to last year, down to the crystal chandelier and the artwork on the walls.
Anyhow it’s a gorgeous sunny afternoon and we’re thrilled to see that Paris is just how we left her.
Reyn is napping and I think I will join him. We have 19:30 tickets for an Eiffel Tower ascent this evening so rest would probably be a good idea.
Dimanche le 12 Septembre
Sitting at Café Orléans after going through les Catacombes. Feeling a few cobwebs after beaucoup de vin dernier soir. Currently awaiting our café crèmes and croque monsieur sandwiches.
There are millions of scooters in Paris. I know this because every last one of them droned by on the street below our window last night. I fell asleep quickly initially but awoke after about 3 hours (1:30 or so) then laid there awake until about 5:00 until falling asleep again until about 8:30. I had wanted to be in line at the Catacombs no later than 9:30 but that was obviously not going to happen. We took our time a bit but eschewed coffee and pastry until later. Ended up in line for only about 20-30 minutes anyway so no big disaster there.
We descended into the grisly gallery and after a few explanatory panels we followed the corridors for about 15 minutes before we actually saw anything. What follows after you pass through a doorway declaring the entrance to the empire of the dead is quite astonishing in scale. Now I know how much room is taken up by 6,000,000 sets of bones! There were any number of skulls that clearly showed their owners had not died of natural causes – bullet holes (in some cases both entrance and exit wounds) were plentiful and there was at least one fissure that looked to me like it could have been a sabre wound.
Anyway, we’re back at the hotel now after having the aforementioned café crèmes and croque monsieur sandwiches. With the help of our server we found a very nice pâtisserie before getting back on the métro. During the ride back we encountered the same accordion playing busker playing the same songs that we heard on the way to Denfert-Rochereau. Lol, I guess we know whose turf that line is!
We’ve just had our pastries. I chose something called a ‘divine’. It is a raspberry macaroon filled with raspberry-infused chantilly crème and studded all around its middle with raspberries. Another raspberry is on top. As I ate this eighth wonder of the world all I could think of was, “With pâtisserie like this how can there be war in the world?”
We will be heading out for the Opéra Garnier tour in a few minutes. This is another one of the unfinished business items from last year, so we’re both really looking forward to this!
Backtracking now a bit to yesterday evening. After a nap of about 2 hours we felt sufficiently refreshed to begin exploring.
Walked to Place de l’Opéra and then walked up av de l’Opéra on our way to Jardin de Palais Royal. Just as we neared the Palais Royal métro station we heard some musicians playing and as we rounded the corner came across what was basically a string section busking. 5 violins, 2 violas, 2 cellos, 1 bass and 1 crazy lady who believed herself to be the conductor but who clearly was not anything of the sort. We stood and listened as they played Albinoni, took a bit of video and then went on to the garden.
Last year I had noticed a peculiar shop window along one side of the arcades leading to the park and I had been kicking myself all year for not taking a picture of it at that time. Fortunately the antique/used pipe shop seemed to still be in business so I was able to snap a few pictures of the not particularly arranged smoking implements in the windows. Unfortunately however, the pictures did not turn out that well – either a funny glare from the window glass or perhaps very dirty windows (from smoke perhaps?) kind of spoiled the shot I was hoping to capture. Oh well.
We sat in the garden for a spell, enjoying the sunshine and the fact that we had been able to return once more to this absolutely enchanting little corner of Paris.
The next place of pilgrimage was the famous store Dehillerin. It was only a short stroll away on rue Coquillère. The shop itself was crowded to the ceiling with all manner of cookware and gadgets for chefs and wannabes alike. The shop was also crowded with Saturday shoppers who did not on the whole appear to be tooreests. It was very hot in there despite the door being wide open and after I found the wooden spoons I was looking for and ruled out actually purchasing them, I was glad to exit. As luck would have it, just across the street was a café so we decided to have a bite to eat and a beverage.
Afterwards we continued on to rue de Rivoli, through the Louvre courtyards, and then on to the Tuileries, Place de la Concorde, along the river to Pont Alexandre III and up the other side of the Seine. We just made our 7:30 timed tickets for the Eiffel Tower ascent.
What can I say about the view from the second level? Well of course it is stunning however you cannot see the Eiffel Tower. Reyn and I pondered about whether we were ‘on’ the tower or ‘in’ the tower. There was no definitive conclusion. We descended before the twinkle show which kind of disappointed me, but one has to compromise with one’s travel partner from time to time. We made our way to the Brasserie Tour Eiffel and had some wine/beer and watched darkness settle on the Seine. We grabbed a taxi back to the hotel and then tore into the baguette, pâté, camembert and cornichons we had purchased earlier in the day. Deeeeeeelish! We loaded the day’s pictures onto the laptop and burned them to a CD as we savoured our wonderful snack. Lights out shortly after.
We left a windy overcast rainy Winnipeg at 16:00 after a day of half-frenzied/half-measured cleaning, laundering and packing.
The morning forecast was quite worrying as thunderstorms were expected later in the day, raising the unwelcome specter of a flight delay. Since the stopover in Toronto was to be tight already a delay would probably have been disastrous for making the connection. Ultimately there were no delays and we left on schedule. Great relief!!!
Taxiing out to the runway at Pearson on the flight to CDG. The flight from Winnipeg was uneventful and seemed very quick in comparison to the marathon flight from Frankfurt last year. We’re in row 35 about mid-way of the aircraft. Washrooms are about 5 rows up, no babies in the vicinity. I’m hoping for a nice, calm and quiet jump over the pond with minimal discomfort. I’m also hoping for at least one petit bouteille of vin to help the journey along.
I’ve brought Brideshead Revisited as reading material; it seems the only fiction I read these dates is on planes!
Hopefully the map function on the entertainment system decides to work at some point. No movies on offer look even remotely interesting so it might turn out that I get some zzzs.
Wheeeee! It’s hard to write when you’re rumbling down the runway! We’re off the ground now.
Dinner has been served. Beef or chicken. I chose the beef and am happy that it turned out to be a kind of boeuf bourguignon type thing with mashed potatoes. Quite yummy actually. On the side a strange cold veggie mélange of cubed squash, red pepper and peas in a vinaigrette. Really dense chocolate gateau for dessert. Wine? Mais oui. And not Chardonnay for a change! A Grenache blanc/sauvignon blanc blend. Happy times! After dinner I plan a long doze.
Samedi le 11 Septembre
So managed to get the teensiest bit of sleep and am fresh as a daisy on the ground in France. Passports: stamped. Luggage: collected. Explosion: controlled. Yes, you read that correctly. We were wheeling our way to the Roissy Bus stop when we along with the rest of the tooreests, were pushed back by an armed anti-terrorist squad. Fatigues, red berets, machine guns. Welcome to France!
As we milled around outside the terminal, I overheard one of the counter clerks explaining to some people there had been a suspicious bag left behind by someone. Hmm. She said it happens from time to time and that we could be standing around for 10 minutes or several hours depending on how the powers that be decide how best to deal with the thing.
We stood around with an ever-increasing crowd for about 20 minutes and then all of a sudden…KABOOM! And then, with no explanation from anyone, we were allowed to continue on our way. I can only surmise that the offending item was blowed up real good.
We’re now on the Roissy Bus literally going around and around the terminals. This place is a maze to me…
Made it to the hotel only to find that the room was not ready. We left our bags and went out for the first of what I hope are many delicious café crèmes. Grabbed a Nutella-banana crepe a emporter and made our way to the local Franprix to get some supplies for the room. Evian, vin, crackers, pâté with pistachios in it, brioche buns for breakfast, yogourt, Pellegrino, grapefruit juice, cornichons, camembert, baguette. Definitely the makings of a feast.
The room was ready when we returned but unfortunately it was not the correct room. I had to go back down to reception with my confirmation to show that we had booked a Club Room not a standard. The Standard Room was the size of a postage stamp – double bed, tiny bathroom, T.V. recessed into an alcove in the wall, and half a cupboard of storage space. We wouldn’t have had room to open our suitcases much less unpack them if we had to stay there. For one person it might have been alright, but not for two. Luckily the confirmation put an end to any possible discussion and the problem was rectified. No balcony this time but the rest of the room was pretty much identical to last year, down to the crystal chandelier and the artwork on the walls.
Anyhow it’s a gorgeous sunny afternoon and we’re thrilled to see that Paris is just how we left her.
Reyn is napping and I think I will join him. We have 19:30 tickets for an Eiffel Tower ascent this evening so rest would probably be a good idea.
Dimanche le 12 Septembre
Sitting at Café Orléans after going through les Catacombes. Feeling a few cobwebs after beaucoup de vin dernier soir. Currently awaiting our café crèmes and croque monsieur sandwiches.
There are millions of scooters in Paris. I know this because every last one of them droned by on the street below our window last night. I fell asleep quickly initially but awoke after about 3 hours (1:30 or so) then laid there awake until about 5:00 until falling asleep again until about 8:30. I had wanted to be in line at the Catacombs no later than 9:30 but that was obviously not going to happen. We took our time a bit but eschewed coffee and pastry until later. Ended up in line for only about 20-30 minutes anyway so no big disaster there.
We descended into the grisly gallery and after a few explanatory panels we followed the corridors for about 15 minutes before we actually saw anything. What follows after you pass through a doorway declaring the entrance to the empire of the dead is quite astonishing in scale. Now I know how much room is taken up by 6,000,000 sets of bones! There were any number of skulls that clearly showed their owners had not died of natural causes – bullet holes (in some cases both entrance and exit wounds) were plentiful and there was at least one fissure that looked to me like it could have been a sabre wound.
Anyway, we’re back at the hotel now after having the aforementioned café crèmes and croque monsieur sandwiches. With the help of our server we found a very nice pâtisserie before getting back on the métro. During the ride back we encountered the same accordion playing busker playing the same songs that we heard on the way to Denfert-Rochereau. Lol, I guess we know whose turf that line is!
We’ve just had our pastries. I chose something called a ‘divine’. It is a raspberry macaroon filled with raspberry-infused chantilly crème and studded all around its middle with raspberries. Another raspberry is on top. As I ate this eighth wonder of the world all I could think of was, “With pâtisserie like this how can there be war in the world?”
We will be heading out for the Opéra Garnier tour in a few minutes. This is another one of the unfinished business items from last year, so we’re both really looking forward to this!
Backtracking now a bit to yesterday evening. After a nap of about 2 hours we felt sufficiently refreshed to begin exploring.
Walked to Place de l’Opéra and then walked up av de l’Opéra on our way to Jardin de Palais Royal. Just as we neared the Palais Royal métro station we heard some musicians playing and as we rounded the corner came across what was basically a string section busking. 5 violins, 2 violas, 2 cellos, 1 bass and 1 crazy lady who believed herself to be the conductor but who clearly was not anything of the sort. We stood and listened as they played Albinoni, took a bit of video and then went on to the garden.
Last year I had noticed a peculiar shop window along one side of the arcades leading to the park and I had been kicking myself all year for not taking a picture of it at that time. Fortunately the antique/used pipe shop seemed to still be in business so I was able to snap a few pictures of the not particularly arranged smoking implements in the windows. Unfortunately however, the pictures did not turn out that well – either a funny glare from the window glass or perhaps very dirty windows (from smoke perhaps?) kind of spoiled the shot I was hoping to capture. Oh well.
We sat in the garden for a spell, enjoying the sunshine and the fact that we had been able to return once more to this absolutely enchanting little corner of Paris.
The next place of pilgrimage was the famous store Dehillerin. It was only a short stroll away on rue Coquillère. The shop itself was crowded to the ceiling with all manner of cookware and gadgets for chefs and wannabes alike. The shop was also crowded with Saturday shoppers who did not on the whole appear to be tooreests. It was very hot in there despite the door being wide open and after I found the wooden spoons I was looking for and ruled out actually purchasing them, I was glad to exit. As luck would have it, just across the street was a café so we decided to have a bite to eat and a beverage.
Afterwards we continued on to rue de Rivoli, through the Louvre courtyards, and then on to the Tuileries, Place de la Concorde, along the river to Pont Alexandre III and up the other side of the Seine. We just made our 7:30 timed tickets for the Eiffel Tower ascent.
What can I say about the view from the second level? Well of course it is stunning however you cannot see the Eiffel Tower. Reyn and I pondered about whether we were ‘on’ the tower or ‘in’ the tower. There was no definitive conclusion. We descended before the twinkle show which kind of disappointed me, but one has to compromise with one’s travel partner from time to time. We made our way to the Brasserie Tour Eiffel and had some wine/beer and watched darkness settle on the Seine. We grabbed a taxi back to the hotel and then tore into the baguette, pâté, camembert and cornichons we had purchased earlier in the day. Deeeeeeelish! We loaded the day’s pictures onto the laptop and burned them to a CD as we savoured our wonderful snack. Lights out shortly after.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)