Postcard from Paris 3. Friday, March 2015.

OK back to the original order of events.

On the morning after L arrived, Friday, we went out as she needed to buy several things and wanted, like I had done, to re-acquaint herself with the area.

It was grey and overcast but dry.  As we walked the familiar streets L said, as I had felt, that it was so welcoming and familiar that she hardly felt she had been away.

I particularly like going through a small door in the corner of the Place des Vosges (if you did not know about the door you would never think of going through):

and being met with this:

the grounds of the Hotel de Sully, (Hotel was just a large house)

If you walk across the garden you find yourself outside one of my favourite bookshops which is situated in a room on one side of the passage leading straight through to a courtyard.  Its ceiling looks like this and it specialises in History:

On and through the next courtyard and you are out onto the main shopping street of Saint Antoine.  The Hotel de Sully from the street (again, unless you knew you could go through, you would not think to enter):

On the other side of the Place des Vosges, in the corner to the left of the tree in leaf, is Victor Hugo’s house, he of Les Miserables (NOT the musical!  Well, yes I suppose the Musical, at least the basic story), an author I really enjoy.  I always feel he was the Dickens of France.  The house is open to visitors for a small fee and well worth the visit.

In between the little door leading into the garden of the Hotel de Sully and Victor Hugo’s house, is an archway leading to a side street:

with greengrocers, wine shops and bistros, as well as the obligatory shops for buying nick-knacks to take home.

We were expecting a friend, M, who is also L’s daughter-in-law,  to come and stay with us in the afternoon so L was anxious to buy some nibbles, and especially some good wine, to greet her.  M is Dutch, and was travelling down from the Netherlands to Paris this morning and decided to attend to a Hot Yoga Session run by a friend of hers since she was in Paris, before coming on to us.  M has been into Hot Yoga for four years now, but personally I don’t see the attraction!

After she arrived, all pink and fresh from her exercise and shower, we offered refreshment and sat and chatted all afternoon.  L managed her jetlag really wonderfully well, by taking a sleeping pill the night before and not allowing herself any sleep during the new day.  I did wonder if we were going to lose her at about three in the afternoon when she looked as if she might just fall asleep at the table, but she pushed through.

L had made a booking for the evening at a Bistro we used to love in our street, so we finally wandered down there at about 7.15 p.m.  Two doors down on the opposite side of the street from our flat is a Synagogue.  Nothing remarkable in that and we never gave it a second thought.  But tonight as we walked down to the Bistro we were met by the sight of six fully armed soldiers, with sub machine guns at the ready, on guard.  It was a shocking and sobering sight.

I never thought to see such a thing.

Our meal was OK but not wonderful and the dessert which L had been looking forward to, which I had had last time, was different.  On  that previous occasion, some years ago now, I had had an apple, baked and served hot in puff pastry with a glass of iced calvedos on the side.  It had been sublime.  This time a baked apple in filo pastry which was raw on the bottom appeared, but admittedly with the iced calvedos. L sent it back.  It appeared that the management had changed:  our first course of lamb with sweet potato was really shepherds pie with sweet potato mash.  Nothing to write home about and not as good as home made.  I was luckier with my dessert which was a dark chocolate shell containing mixed red berries.

But we had a lovely evening of chat and catching up with family news.

Walking back home last thing, the soldiers were still  there.  A shocking reflection of recent events.

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Postcard from Paris 4. Saturday, March 2015.

This morning M and L decided that they would like to go to the Museum of Modern Art.  M is a Graphic Artist and particularly wanted to see some artists’ work there.

I was very tired for some reason, but also wanted them to be able to spend some time just the two of them, perhaps talking about family matters or what not, so I stayed back at the apartment for a lazy morning.   We agreed to meet for lunch back in the Marais at Chez Marianne which serves excellent Mezes.

When it came time to leave I had a lovely walk deep into the Marais, not bothering with a map hoping to remember my way, which I almost did!  Only one street wrong at the end.  However, walking down our road from the flat I saw more armed soldiers again outside the Synagogue.  They do not stand with their guns at rest, but in their arms, ready for action.  This is so disturbing on so many levels.  In all the years I have been coming to Paris I have never seen anything like this.

Further along, past the Place des Vosges, and across Rue de Turenne, I saw a couple of police cars speeding along with their sirens blaring.  Now, for the last few years I have been watching a series on BBC 4 TV, a French series called, ‘Engrenages’ in French, or ‘Spiral’ in English.  It is shown here in French but with English sub-titles and although it is rather bloody at times, I really enjoy the relationships within the Police Department, the portrayal of the French justice system and the action, a lot of which is shot around the 4th, 3rd and 10th Arrondisements, which I know well.  I have had great fun recognising places in the series.   So as these police cars shot past me I looked inside carefully to check whether any of the actors from the series were inside, just in case they were shooting an episode.  I know, very unlikely, given that there were no cameras etc. but I did not think of that at the time, only how exciting it was!!

When I reached the Bistro L and M were there , keeping a place in the queue as it was very busy, being a Saturday lunchtime.  After ten minutes or so we were seated and ordered a plate to share, with fizzy water to drink.  I had read some Trip Advisor reviews which said that the staff were surly and impolite:  now I have been here at least four times in the last few years and never found this to be the case.  Yes they are very busy, and yes their English  is not brilliant, but they are efficient and fast and the food is excellent, and they want you to have a good meal.

So this plate contains, going clockwise from the Jalepeno pepper sitting upright: thick yoghourt with garlic and cucumber;  Aubergine; Humous; artichoke hearts in orange sauce; a very large meaty beef meatball; a filo pastry triangle containing minced lamb and onions; a thick red pepper, olive and tomato salsa; Taramasalata; and in the middle six falafels sitting on a bed of bulghur with chopped veg.  And of course it came with a plate of flat bread.

A good time was had by all, and this is before we have even begun to eat:)

The food was fantastic, the service was excellent, and we had a lovely, lovely time.

After lunch we walked slowly home, window shopping through the oldest part of the Marais, passing queues of Jewish people waiting by outlets in the walls for the famed falafels served in that area, and popping in now and then to look at clothes which we fancied.  But we were restrained and only looked.

We finally meandered back home late afternoon, where of course we had tea, and chatted some more.  In the early evening M took the train back home to Haarlam.  What fun to have three women, one from Holland, one from England and one from California, meeting in Paris to eat lunch.

L and I had an evening planning what we would like to do during our stay in Paris, which involved a lot of time on computers, checking websites and reviews, then after a very light supper, we decided to have an early night.  Given her jetlag I thought that L was doing wonderfully well!

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