Conditions
Air temperature: 38 degrees
Water temperature: 100 degrees
Weather: rain, sleet, snow, hail and sun, all within a 2-hour period
Robes and towels: damp to wet and you don't care
Afterwards
Body: limp
Face: rosy from the silica mud treatment
Hair: frizzy and unmanageable
Mind and body: relaxed
Sun on a cold, late winter day warms the soul even if you still need a heavy coat and scarf to warm the body.
Read about the Jardin de Luxembourg here.
It was hard not to smile as we walked past St. Eustache yesterday.
Forsythia were in bloom ...
.... and children were full of joyful energy!
We took a different route to Paris this trip, flying Icelandair (instead of Air France) with a stop in Reykjavik (instead of direct). The trip was about 3 hours longer, roughly half of that waiting at Keflavik Airport to board our flight to Paris. We didn't get to "our" apartment until 2 pm (instead of 7-9 am), but it would have been 1 pm if there had not been a delay with our ride from Charles de Gaulle Airport into Paris.
Overall, we were pleased with our experience. The service on the plane was efficient and non-intrusive without being cold. It made me feel as though I was wrapped in serenity as well as in the warm blanket we were provided.
One real bonus of flying through Reykjavik was that we entered the European Union in Iceland where the volume of passengers is modest and so did not have to wait through the long lines at Charles de Gaulle in order to go through passport control.
The cloudy weather kept us from the possibility of seeing the Northern Lights on the first leg of our trip, but shortly after we took off for Paris from Keflavik Airport, we flew into the sunrise. It was quite lovely for a few minutes before the sun was hidden by clouds.
Despite the late start to our first day in Paris, we stuck to our standard first day agenda and checked out the status of the flora in the Jardin des Plantes before eating at Les Philosophes.
The gardeners were busy at the Jardin des Plantes tidying up flower beds and grooming the grounds. Many annuals are already in the ground and a few are beginning to flower. We were delighted to find a peach tree in bloom, It may not yet be spring in Paris, but the peach blossoms promise that it will arrive soon.
By the time we finally went to bed, we felt quite settled in our home away from home.
We realized the day before our departure for Boston while we were cleaning the apartment and packing that we had not been to Notre Dame this visit. Naturally we immediately dropped everything (any excuse not to clean), and took the bus to the Ile de la Cité.
As we strolled from the bus stop towards the cathedral, we came upon an "art" display featuring a pile of silver helmets. It turned out to be one of many installations throughout Paris in honor of Asterix. It was very popular with kids as well as
parents who were busy photographing their kids enjoying the experience.
Given that it was a school vacation week in France (associated with Toussaint - All Saints' Day), we were not surprised to find that we had a wait to get into Notre Dame. Fortunately, the line was relatively short and moved quickly.
Once inside, we made our way through the crowds to what used to be a quiet place for prayer and contemplation under the eyes of a lovely statue of the Virgin and Child. Alas, it has now become a spot for tourists to buy candles (5 euros each requested), take photographs and, maybe, just maybe, pause a minute in meditation,
Ignoring the change in ambiance and the fact that we could no longer see the lovely, serene face of the Virgin because part of the area to which we used to have access is now roped off, we purchased our candles and lit them. Fortunately there were seats free and we were able to sit for a while, remembering those who have gone before us and wishing blessings upon the needy, lost and grieving among us.
While we were meditating, a woman and a teenage girl stopped by. The woman, standing ready to take pictures, told the girl to take a candle (no money was donated) then motioned her to put the candle on the rack and light it. The teenager, who looked mildly confused, needed continuous instructions to complete the task while the woman shot her pictures. Finally she succeeded in lighting the candle, the photographer was happy with what she had taken, and the two left. Not a spiritual moment for either of them. How odd for tourist's to manufacture an experience just for a photo. Funny but sad - and consistent with the Cathedral's modern day dual purposes as both a place of worship and a major tourist attraction.
Once we left our special space, we joined the crowd of tourists moving counter clockwise around the Cathedral. Meanwhile, a Mass began. Only a few people sat in the area roped off for worshipers while huge crowds of tourists wandered past taking flash photographs. What a contrast!
In tourist mode myself, I took pictures of the rose windows for the umpteenth time and the lovely little prayer space lit only by 5 euro candles and light through stained glass windows.
Once outside, we had one more task to perform. By tradition, we take a picture of me the zero kilometer spot in front of the Cathedral each time we visit Paris. This is the point to which all distances to Paris are measured. Charles did the honors and voilà!
Time to return to the realities of preparing to leave our month-long home. Charles had some last minute errands, so I grabbed the bus for a leisurely ride through Paris before resuming my packing and cleaning chores.
Even the bus ride was a little adventure. I sat next to a woman holding a small, squirmy puppy. My fellow passenger talked non-stop to whomever would listen about the lunch she had just enjoyed, ski areas in the southeast of France and purebred dogs. I'm afraid I put on my blank, "je ne comprends pas" face. With her chatter in the background, I watched Paris pass by me and experienced a physical sense that I was leaving it behind and on my way home.
Well rested from an extra hour of sleep on our last Sunday in Paris (the time "fell back" here one week ahead of the US), we assessed the sunny skies outside our window and decided that it would be an excellent day to take the train to Chantilly to visit one of the more beautiful chateaux near Paris.
A short métro ride took us to the Gare du Nord where we caught the train to Chantilly. The chateau is a 1.3 miles from the train station following a path through the forest. It is a walk we have made 4 times in the past, so it was with confidence (and without a map) that we set ourselves on a path that would take us to our destination.
We walked and walked and walked and walked. The path (used for horses, runners and folk like us) was strewn with yellow and brown leaves. A bower of tree branches provided cover while letting light from the midday sun dapple the forest floor. The rains of recent days had left puddles and mud here and there. Occasionally, there was physical evidence that a horse had passed by. It was all pleasantly bracing - as we walked and walked and walked.
After a while, when we continued to see nothing but light at the end of the tunnel, we began to wonder if we were on the right path. Had we made a wrong turn? Had we not made a right turn? Had we not made the left turn we should have made? Of course, the answer turned out to be all of the above.
We finally got ourselves found, backtracked and arrived at the Chateau, having walked double the distance we had anticipated. Still, the first views of Chantilly reminded us of how striking it is and our frustration vanished.
The first order of business was to have lunch. All of the walking and fresh air had made us hungry and it was already 1:30.
Our destination was a restaurant we have enjoyed in the past located at the chateau's Hameau. The small hamlet dates from 1775 and predates (and is a good bit more modest than) the more famous Hameau de la Reine at Versailles. On our way, we paused to enjoy the characteristic lines and symmetry of the formal gardens designed by André Le Notre.
Looking at this picture,, it is hard to believe that there were a loads of people visiting the Chateau and parks along with us. The people in the photo give a sense of the immense scale of the park.
We arrived at last at the little restaurant and chose to eat inside a tent structure that provides a comfortable venue in cool weather. Many people had chosen to eat outdoors, but, seeing that most had kept their coats on, we decided that inside the tent was probably the better course for us. The ambiance, inside or out, is definitely rustic.
Our excellent lunch ended with a tarte au poire topped with crème chantilly. The thick whipped cream was first created by Chef Francois Vatel to be served at a banquet for Louis XIV and 2000 or so of his closest friends held at the Chantilly. Unfortunately, Monsieur Vatel did not live to enjoy the popularity of his delectable desert. His despair over a problem with the fish course led him to commit suicide the night of the banquet. All I can say is that the whipped cream served at Chantilly today (and I understand throughout the Oise area) is like no whipped cream I have ever tasted elsewhere. It is to die for. The fish? I think not.
When it came time to pay the bill, we asked our overworked waitress
about Roger, a duck with loads of personality who used to entertain the outdoor diners. She looked solemn and said that he was no more. We immediately
assumed that old age that had claimed him, but her next word disabused
us. "Renard," she said, nodding her head sadly. Roger the
friendly duck had become fox food.
Heading back to the Chateau, we wandered through the "savage" part of the gardens, stopping to watch an adult and three adolescent swans gobble bright green algae. Their beaks made a persistent clicking noise as they practically inhaled their feast and they occasionally made high pitched whistling sounds, presumably indicating pleasure at the feast.
Charles climbed onto a "folie" of fake volcanic rock to pose for a the camera.
The transition from the bucolic to the elegant interior of the Chateau provided quite a contrast.
The last private owner of le Chateau de Chantilly was the Duc d'Aumale, the fifth son of France's last King, Louis-Philippe I . The Duke left an exquisite art collection when he died in 1897. As a condition of the Chateau and its collections being given to France, the Duke stipulated that the paintings must continue to hang on the walls just as it was organized at the time of his death.
The special photography exhibit that we went to see included approximately three dozen 19th century photographs, all from the very earliest days of photography. It contained a wonderful collection showing not only members of the royal family (mostly in exile) and the Chateau before and after its reconstruction circa 1870, but some extraordinary photographs taken during the Crimean War and the War Between the States, aka the Civil War.
Once we had finished with the exhibit and checked out the gift shop, it was time to decide how we would return to the train station. We had about 20 minutes until the next train and there was no way we could make the walk and get the train. Calling a cab was the only alternative
We decided to take the wimpy way out. We had already walked over 3 miles (including our wanderings around the Chateau grounds) and adding another 1 1/2 miles to that by walking back through the woods (assuming we didn't go astray again) just didn't appeal.
There are no taxi stands and no local buses handy near the Chateau (at least on a Sunday), but Charles was able to obtain a phone number of a local taxi service. A chipper woman answered and said someone would be there toute suite. Indeed, the driver (the woman to whom Charles had spoken on the phone) was there in no time and cheerfully whisked us to the station with minutes to spare before our train to Paris pulled into the station.
It was a very nice Sunday.
We were first introduced to Balzar, a restaurant located on the left bank near the Sorbonne, many years ago by our very good friends, Marie and Gérard. It was a classic brasserie with male waiters in black vests and white aprons, crisp service and very good food at a reasonable price.
About 6 years ago, Balzar and a number of other well known Paris brasseries were acquired by a restaurant conglomerate, La Groupe Flo. The upheaval and resistance to the takeover of Balzar was chronicled in a chapter in Adam Gopnik's book, Paris to the Moon.
Despite the concerns, however, the character of the restaurant didn't change. We have continued to make it a point to visit the restaurant at least once each time we are in Paris. We usually try to arrive just as the lunch crowd is thinning.
The other day, after a busy morning in our neighborhood, we decided to go to Balzar for one of our late lunches and from there to the nearby Shakespeare & Company, a wonderful English language bookstore.
Charles ordered one of his favorite first courses, escargots à la Bourguignonne. This is usually served on a metal plate designed for snail shells. In all of the years that Charles has ordered this dish in restaurants modest and grand, the snails have arrived with garlic flavored butter and bright green parsley pooling in the bottom of the indentations beneath sizzling snails tucked in their shells. The smell of garlic reaches across the table making me wish I liked snails.
This time, when the dish arrived, we looked at it and knew right away something wasn't right. There was no bubbling butter. There was no scent of garlic. There was no bright green parsley. There were only six dark shells with six dark, dry objects peeking out.
Being a fair man, Charles tasted one of the snails and found it totally dried out and tasteless.
Mon Dieu!! Sacré bleu! Back to the kitchen went the poor abused snails for what I trust was a quick burial.
Happily, the second set delivered to our table was perfect, as one would expect at Balzar.
I do have to wonder why they even served the first set of snails. One is tempted to be insulted that they thought Charles wouldn't know any better. A certain trust in the professionalism of the establishment has been lost. Will we continue to go to Balzar from time to time? Of course. But if we have another experience like this one, the restaurant will be crossed off of our list. There are too many other options available in the City of Light.
We are back at 27 rue des Bluets feeling, as we always do,as though we had never left. We found "our" apartment in nice shape and it was easy to settle in. In many ways, it is as though we never left.
The neighborhood is continuing to change, but it has a positive vibe.The streets are cleaner than they were in April. People have a bounce in their steps and smiles on their faces. Maybe it is the autumn weather. Whatever the reason, it is pleasant to be strolling through the neighborhood.
Our favorite local café, Le Factory Saint Amour (formerly Le Saint Amour), is growing nicely into its renovations. We miss the old homey menu (I particularly miss the stuffed cabbage avec son aligot) and Aniek, a manager who has been there for many years (she is home in Normandy recuperating from hip surgery). Céline, a lively young waitress with beautiful eyes, is a familiar, friendly face, however, and we continue to feel relaxed and welcome the minute we walk in the door.
Construction around the Ménilmontant métro stop is a major disruptionn in the neighborhood. (See panorama above.) The route of the 96 bus has been altered because of it and it will shortly displace the newspaper kiosk where Charles buys papers early each morning. The owner (seen here last April with Charles) will take a month and a half off beginning in mid-October then reopen his business with a new and larger facility. He seems quite cheerful about the changes.
Monsieur and Madame Ventura continue to sell their cheeses at the Ménilmontant Friday open air market. We had a chance to visit with them briefly yesterday when we stopped by to stock up on milk and cheese.
Madame Z, the boulangère from whom we buy yummy croissants each morning, is, as ever, all smiles and sparkling eyes. She and her family took their annual vacation in the mountains of Tunisia this summer. I always walk out of her shop feeling happier than when I went in.
We have reasonably reliable intelligence that two of our favorite restaurants in years past that had fallen on hard times have again become wonderful places to eat. We look forward to trying out the new Astier and Chardenoux.
It is good to be back, even though things are constantly changing. As the French say, plus ça change. plus c'est la même chose.
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