I don't know where this day went. One minute, I'm eating my morning croissant, the next -- it's dark and I better hurry or I will forfeit my dinner reservation.
Because I don't know where time disappeared, you won't get a long post out of me today. But short does not imply failure. The day was beautiful. But terribly short. At least, in retrospect, it feels that it got away from me too fast.
You're going to tell me I probably got up too late. Well fine, but in Paris, everyone (who is a visitor) gets up too late. I forced myself out of bed by 9. I'm sure others pushed it even further.
(A look out my window onto the Odeon Theater. It's going to be a beautiful day again!)
I go to breakfast at the Cafe Les Editeurs. It's just a couple of blocks from my hotel and I have long come to the conclusion that searching for some other breakfast elsewhere is stupid. Les Editeurs has a great fixed price option, and it has the best croissants within spittin' distance (sorry, the imagery isn't good there!), and it's close by.
(I sit by the window today. The view: )
Inside, I'm stunned to see that it's packed. There's barely a seat available. I have never, ever seen it this crowded! Where did all the people come from? They all seem to be speaking French. But why have the numbers swelled? I think for a few minutes if there is a good way to ask the waitstaff why this place is suddenly so popular, decide that there is not, and so I sit down and take my usual selfie with the pain au chocolat and a heavenly croissant...
... and then I move on with my day, walking, popping into stores, covering the Left Bank blocks I've covered too many times before with my footprints.
I do pick up a number of holiday presents as the day progresses. In general, I am one who hates the physical act of shopping, but put me in Paris stores and I melt. The experience at once tests my patience (if the person before me wants to speculate endlessly about the perfect gift for her young niece, she will get the clerk's undivided attention, no matter how long it takes) and leaves me feeling like I've just cycled through ten holiday parties, where people just couldn't wait for me to appear so that they could talk to me. French shop clerks make it personal. It's not about the product, it's about you and them and if you play by the rules of politeness and etiquette, you can walk away thinking you've just made a handful of new best friends.
And here's another detail to remember: the clerks have that knack of making everything look better than it really is. They're born with it. I'll give you an example. There are many many articles of clothing that seem to me to be just so very perfect. But I cannot spend money on myself and hope to keep on traveling going forward, so I go through the day resisting the impulse to just try something on. But then along comes this sweatshirt. Here, this one:
I can't stop imagining myself all cozy in it on any number of winter days where I am playing with the grandkids. Horrors! They don't have my size! Long sold out. I try on the smaller one: nah. It's too close fitting. I try the larger one. I hesitate. Madame the clerk rushes over and she immediately tsk tsk's her way to this sleeve, that cord, pulling it a little just so, and when she is done, the scene is transfixed. The sweatshirt is just right, perfect, adorable, but I'll say this -- it'll never look as good on me again as it did back then in the sore when madame got her hands on it.
Speaking of dogs -- if you bring one in along for the ride, the clerks will fawn over her or him even more than they will fawn over you, so be prepared for that shift in adoration. You can't let your ego get involved. French just have this hyper affection for pooches.
I spent a good hour (more?) in the food halls of the Left Bank Department store, Le Bon Marche. I have many holiday meals before me and I thought it would be nice to buy some treats for them. One of my family members has to stay clear of dairy products and so I pore over product ingredients, sifting out those that have tell tale signs of lait or beurre or anything else that comes from a cow.
Then there are the surprise visits to places I hadn't quite remembered were there. Take Angelina's: someone recently raved about Angelina's in Paris. It's a chocolate shop, specializing in chocolates and hot chocolate mixes, all sold in delightfully decorated cans. Snowdrop loves these painted French tins and so I put on my list a trip to the Right Bank, where Angelina's has been occupying a sacred spot for more than 100 years.
Who knew that it can also be found on Rue du Bac -- a street I always walk to in my rambles and ambles in Paris.
(Two young women studying Angelina's pastries in the window.)
Rue du Bac is also home to Cafe Varenne. If you ever have been to Paris with me, you will have been to Cafe Varenne. I had intended to go to lunch there today, but by the time my loop brings me to it, it is after five.
I sit down anyway. Outside. The weather is that much better here than in Wisconsin.
What would madame like?
I was wondering if this one thing is possible...
Madame, anything is possible.
.. a slice of cheese and some bread?
I'll be right back with it.
Travelers complain about French waiters. Honestly, I don't get it. French waiters are the most hard working, efficient waiters I've ever come across. Are they gruff? I don't know... Perhaps they don't smile with their teeth showing. But almost always, they are polite, fast and efficient and every once in a while -- very funny.
Paris at this time of the year is, of course, Christmas focused. The store windows aren't amass with elaborate decorations, but they are clever! Take this simple one in a shoe store...
Snowdrop would have loved it.
By the time I complete my loop and am back at my sweet little hotel, It's past seven and I have only ten minutes to collapse before setting out again for dinner.
I am once more under the influence of the hotel staff: they really loved a new Italian place that's over in the 5th, Cucina Mutualite. (If it's in the 5th Arrondissement, you're inevitably going to catch sight of the Pantheon on your walk.)
Again, it comes from the imagination and talent of a super chef and if you know any French chef at all, you will have heard of him -- Alain Ducasse. He has to have at least two dozen restaurants by now world wide and yes, he has more Michelin stars up his leave than just about any one. But Cucina is no fancy place. It's modern, simple, with industrial lines and lots of clever puns on art work. (Waiters are all in red and white stripes. The hanging salamis are made of cloth.)
(Like yesterday's place, it's an open kitchen set up.)
I've actually been in this space when it was another restaurant -- one specializing in Paris sourced foods. But that's a good two or three years ago. Since Ducasse took over, it's all about the best interpretation of very simple Italian foods.
And it is awesome! My pasta vongole (with clams) is the best I'd ever had -- not too briny, silky smooth, with totally delicious little clams generously worked into the noodles. (I again sit at the bar -- the restaurant fills up even on a Tuesday night and though I reserved a while back, tables go fast.)
I had skipped an appetizer so that I could try both a pasta dish and a main course. I chose the sea bass for the second. I had toyed with selecting the Florentine steak, but the waiter shook his head, telling me it would be too much after the pasta. Helpful guy.
I did have two griefs: one is that they shut off the Italian music a few minutes into my visit. I suspect they'd left it on by mistake, but I had been enjoying it tremendously and then it was gone. Secondly, no one noticed (not me, not them) that I did not get my credit card back after I paid for my meal. It's only a fifteen minute walk to my hotel, but I was hugely tired and when I got a phone message about the card as I entered the hotel lobby, I was dismayed: back I had to go, another 15 minutes each way.
Nonetheless, the staff was so sweet and apologetic that I forgave everything. I made up for the long walk by turning my smart phone onto Christmas music. I dont have ear buds, so anyone within a close range would have had to listen as well and I have quite the selection -- from the Muppets to Clare's College Choir in England.
(There are many ways to move around Paris these days. Personally, I still prefer walking over anything else.)
A full day! A good day! I am getting my fill of walking the city. When I get back (Thursday), farmette life will feel like a vacation!
Because I don't know where time disappeared, you won't get a long post out of me today. But short does not imply failure. The day was beautiful. But terribly short. At least, in retrospect, it feels that it got away from me too fast.
You're going to tell me I probably got up too late. Well fine, but in Paris, everyone (who is a visitor) gets up too late. I forced myself out of bed by 9. I'm sure others pushed it even further.
(A look out my window onto the Odeon Theater. It's going to be a beautiful day again!)
I go to breakfast at the Cafe Les Editeurs. It's just a couple of blocks from my hotel and I have long come to the conclusion that searching for some other breakfast elsewhere is stupid. Les Editeurs has a great fixed price option, and it has the best croissants within spittin' distance (sorry, the imagery isn't good there!), and it's close by.
(I sit by the window today. The view: )
Inside, I'm stunned to see that it's packed. There's barely a seat available. I have never, ever seen it this crowded! Where did all the people come from? They all seem to be speaking French. But why have the numbers swelled? I think for a few minutes if there is a good way to ask the waitstaff why this place is suddenly so popular, decide that there is not, and so I sit down and take my usual selfie with the pain au chocolat and a heavenly croissant...
... and then I move on with my day, walking, popping into stores, covering the Left Bank blocks I've covered too many times before with my footprints.
I do pick up a number of holiday presents as the day progresses. In general, I am one who hates the physical act of shopping, but put me in Paris stores and I melt. The experience at once tests my patience (if the person before me wants to speculate endlessly about the perfect gift for her young niece, she will get the clerk's undivided attention, no matter how long it takes) and leaves me feeling like I've just cycled through ten holiday parties, where people just couldn't wait for me to appear so that they could talk to me. French shop clerks make it personal. It's not about the product, it's about you and them and if you play by the rules of politeness and etiquette, you can walk away thinking you've just made a handful of new best friends.
And here's another detail to remember: the clerks have that knack of making everything look better than it really is. They're born with it. I'll give you an example. There are many many articles of clothing that seem to me to be just so very perfect. But I cannot spend money on myself and hope to keep on traveling going forward, so I go through the day resisting the impulse to just try something on. But then along comes this sweatshirt. Here, this one:
I can't stop imagining myself all cozy in it on any number of winter days where I am playing with the grandkids. Horrors! They don't have my size! Long sold out. I try on the smaller one: nah. It's too close fitting. I try the larger one. I hesitate. Madame the clerk rushes over and she immediately tsk tsk's her way to this sleeve, that cord, pulling it a little just so, and when she is done, the scene is transfixed. The sweatshirt is just right, perfect, adorable, but I'll say this -- it'll never look as good on me again as it did back then in the sore when madame got her hands on it.
Speaking of dogs -- if you bring one in along for the ride, the clerks will fawn over her or him even more than they will fawn over you, so be prepared for that shift in adoration. You can't let your ego get involved. French just have this hyper affection for pooches.
I spent a good hour (more?) in the food halls of the Left Bank Department store, Le Bon Marche. I have many holiday meals before me and I thought it would be nice to buy some treats for them. One of my family members has to stay clear of dairy products and so I pore over product ingredients, sifting out those that have tell tale signs of lait or beurre or anything else that comes from a cow.
Then there are the surprise visits to places I hadn't quite remembered were there. Take Angelina's: someone recently raved about Angelina's in Paris. It's a chocolate shop, specializing in chocolates and hot chocolate mixes, all sold in delightfully decorated cans. Snowdrop loves these painted French tins and so I put on my list a trip to the Right Bank, where Angelina's has been occupying a sacred spot for more than 100 years.
Who knew that it can also be found on Rue du Bac -- a street I always walk to in my rambles and ambles in Paris.
(Two young women studying Angelina's pastries in the window.)
Rue du Bac is also home to Cafe Varenne. If you ever have been to Paris with me, you will have been to Cafe Varenne. I had intended to go to lunch there today, but by the time my loop brings me to it, it is after five.
I sit down anyway. Outside. The weather is that much better here than in Wisconsin.
What would madame like?
I was wondering if this one thing is possible...
Madame, anything is possible.
.. a slice of cheese and some bread?
I'll be right back with it.
Travelers complain about French waiters. Honestly, I don't get it. French waiters are the most hard working, efficient waiters I've ever come across. Are they gruff? I don't know... Perhaps they don't smile with their teeth showing. But almost always, they are polite, fast and efficient and every once in a while -- very funny.
Paris at this time of the year is, of course, Christmas focused. The store windows aren't amass with elaborate decorations, but they are clever! Take this simple one in a shoe store...
Snowdrop would have loved it.
By the time I complete my loop and am back at my sweet little hotel, It's past seven and I have only ten minutes to collapse before setting out again for dinner.
I am once more under the influence of the hotel staff: they really loved a new Italian place that's over in the 5th, Cucina Mutualite. (If it's in the 5th Arrondissement, you're inevitably going to catch sight of the Pantheon on your walk.)
Again, it comes from the imagination and talent of a super chef and if you know any French chef at all, you will have heard of him -- Alain Ducasse. He has to have at least two dozen restaurants by now world wide and yes, he has more Michelin stars up his leave than just about any one. But Cucina is no fancy place. It's modern, simple, with industrial lines and lots of clever puns on art work. (Waiters are all in red and white stripes. The hanging salamis are made of cloth.)
(Like yesterday's place, it's an open kitchen set up.)
I've actually been in this space when it was another restaurant -- one specializing in Paris sourced foods. But that's a good two or three years ago. Since Ducasse took over, it's all about the best interpretation of very simple Italian foods.
And it is awesome! My pasta vongole (with clams) is the best I'd ever had -- not too briny, silky smooth, with totally delicious little clams generously worked into the noodles. (I again sit at the bar -- the restaurant fills up even on a Tuesday night and though I reserved a while back, tables go fast.)
I had skipped an appetizer so that I could try both a pasta dish and a main course. I chose the sea bass for the second. I had toyed with selecting the Florentine steak, but the waiter shook his head, telling me it would be too much after the pasta. Helpful guy.
I did have two griefs: one is that they shut off the Italian music a few minutes into my visit. I suspect they'd left it on by mistake, but I had been enjoying it tremendously and then it was gone. Secondly, no one noticed (not me, not them) that I did not get my credit card back after I paid for my meal. It's only a fifteen minute walk to my hotel, but I was hugely tired and when I got a phone message about the card as I entered the hotel lobby, I was dismayed: back I had to go, another 15 minutes each way.
Nonetheless, the staff was so sweet and apologetic that I forgave everything. I made up for the long walk by turning my smart phone onto Christmas music. I dont have ear buds, so anyone within a close range would have had to listen as well and I have quite the selection -- from the Muppets to Clare's College Choir in England.
(There are many ways to move around Paris these days. Personally, I still prefer walking over anything else.)
A full day! A good day! I am getting my fill of walking the city. When I get back (Thursday), farmette life will feel like a vacation!
