Paris 2007 -- part 4/5

[lauraanne_gilman]

Saturday:

I woke up feeling the day before in every inch of my feet, calves, and knees. A very hot shower put me back to rights, and after café et pain chocolat at my now-favorite boulangerie (Miss Manon, where the counter girl knew how I wanted my coffee!), I headed back over to Ile de la Cite for my morning goal – to see Sainte-Chapelle in daylight (the first time I was there it was an overcast November day that didn’t do justice to the stained glass).

I got there before the tourist masses (mostly) and except for several small groups who didn’t seem to understand a) the signs in several languages saying ‘silence please’ or b) the guy posted in the upper chapel saying “silence, SVP” in an irritated voice when the babble rose to a distracting level, it was as lovely as I remember.

(click on the photo for better detail)

After, I walked along the Left Bank for a while, seeing the sights I’d only seen at night, before (see previous post). Lovely neighborhood – I need to spend more time in 5eme, next time I’m in Paris. I also figured out why the Iles so confused me – the first time I was in Paris we stayed in the 7eme, so (being a meerkat of quick learning) I imprinted that Ile St Louis was to the right – as it was, coming from the Left Bank! From the Marais on the Right Bank, it’s on the left. Le duh.

Anyway, by then it was time to get back to the hotel to meet up with fakefrenchie and her S.O Joël. FF is delightful, and Joël is a patient soul, putting up wit the massive bursts of conversation between translation and my no doubt pitiful attempts at speaking French directly. I presented FF with the bottle of Zinfandel I had brought her (silly Frenchmen, not stocking zins in your precious wine stores!), and we went off for a leisurely (seriously!) lunch – good food, interesting wines, and the aforementioned conversations.



I hereby apologize for not clearing my plate at each course – it was all tasty but I was worried art how rich my diet was becoming. I wasn’t going to not indulge, but caution was the byword. We sat there for hours, chatting, but the staff of the restaurant assured us that they didn’t close until 2am, so we were fine. *snerks* After, we hit a wine store so that FF could replace my bottle with one of French origin, and I sent them off to meet up with the friends they were staying with that night. I did a little more shopping of my own (there was a fois gras specialty store on the same street that was calling my name), then I dropped my ill-gotten gains off at the hotel and went off to Au Conde fou, a wine bar that had been recommended to me. Another kir (I am content) and a Morgon – I think I have had enough wines from that region now (Beaujolais) to say that no, I do not like the style.

(the changing of the guard -- all polished up and ready to be served out)

It was here that I continued my streak of meeting Australians, although she now lives, in all places, Atlanta (Georgia). The men to my left were vocal and sociable, and…speaking Spanish. No, no, don’t want to eavesdrop on Spanish, that will really mess with my language center…. It’s a nice enough bar, but there aren’t enough locals, and the carte (menu) does not tempt, so I move on.

(although I did manage to rework a poem to my satisfaction while sitting there, so I can join the ranks of clichéd ‘poets in Paris.’ If I sell the poem, do I have to give up the ranking?)

I didn’t actually get far, after leaving – just down the street there is a store which just opened where you can blend your own perfume. How could I resist? The final product was rather obviously influenced by the colognes two of the most important men in my life wear, which makes it less of a girly "wear when dressed up" perfume and more of a "comfort me when I’m at home" scent. Which is good, too. And I got to name it, and the formula is on record, so I can reorder it when I run out. So now I have two perfumes from Paris, each with very different uses. Indulgence, thy name is Meerkat. (actually, its name is Barefoot Girl. The perfume, that is)

After, I decided against having a sit-down dinner – not hungry enough – so I grabbed a quiche at a boulangerie that had a line out the door. Yummmmm. I ate it as I strolled down the street, ending up in a bar I had read about but not actively been looking for, filled with smoke and stools and walls lined with books, and table sin the back for hanging out, and people talking and reading and writing. I told the woman behind the counter that I wanted to pack the entire place up and bring it home with me. I think she hears that a lot. There were tourists and locals pretty evenly mixed – a good place to sit and observe. Very comfortable.

But eventually I moved on and ended up across the street at Au Petit Fer à Cheval, which was jam packed and very busy (but no Australians!). The bartender chatted at me in French and I was almost able to follow what he said (either he was complimenting my wine choice, or he has some very strange fetishes...) Ended up talking for a bit with a pair of Brits –she was here for a few months to – wait for it – write her book(!), and he was visiting her. When they heard I was an actual published author… well, I suspect I may become material for their stories. Scary thought, that.

(you may have surmised from these reports that I am not shy about striking up conversations with strangers, given half an opening. You would be right. It does not negate my natural shyness – I’m awkward with new people but also naturally curious. And I like to pick the brains of talk to people, especially people who will then disappear, leaving behind only their conversation (and my memories of them).

Back to the hotel before 1 am this time, ready for some BBC (yay for BBC in foreign countries) and sleeeeeeeep


Next: Sunday is for the Arts. And the Soul. And one last evening in Paris.