OK

OK then, the garden is put to bed for the winter, Eddie is home and doing well, the Christmas present shopping is all done, I have spoken to a local newspaper giving them an update on Eddie, I have been in conversation with the British Aviation Authority about my recent experiences with airport security, have celebrated our son’s birthday and I have booked a few days away at the beginning of December to go to Gloucester to see the Cathedral.  Every year I try to visit a different British Cathedral for the first Sunday in Advent.  I am not religious but love the tradition of Cathedrals and Cathedral Choirs so Gloucester is where I am going this year and hoping to connect with a treasured and old friend at the same time.

And I have been working hard on my Chinese travel diary.  But before I begin to post again about that I had a day out today which you might enjoy sharing with me: here in Sheffield we have a society called the Dickens Fellowship which is part of the world wide Dickens Fellowship.  I have loved his books since I was a child and our mother used to read us A Christmas Carol every Christmas Eve in front of our ancient inglenook fireplace by candle- and fire-light and therefore I am a member of this Fellowship.  And today was our annual day out.

This year we are visiting a local aristocratic country house/Stately Home,  Chatsworth House (a huge and famous one notably once the home of Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire and used as the model for Pemberley in Pride and Prejudice) which has been decorated with a Dickens theme.

It was a warm, still day with a blue sky and we began in the old Stable yard

 

where the coaches and many horses used to live: this is now a place to sit outside and drink a coffee, or as today, a hot chocolate, visit the restaurant and the shop in the old stables.

 

 

 

I especially love the fact that the lavatories are modelled on the old stables!!

 

 

Suitably comforted we made our way down to the Dickens decorations: the tickets were timed so that the crowds were not too  vast.

The main theme of course was, words.  Throughout his novels Dickens wrote over 4.6 million words and invented hundreds of words and phrases that have passed into everyday usage – butterfingers, slowcoach, devil-may-care, sassigassity, trumpery etc.

 

 

Decorations made from the printed word and  whole books themselves, were everywhere.

 

A Christmas Tree made of books:

 

 

There were attendants in costume of the time, and several Pearly Queens, reminiscent of the London which Dickens knew so well, and whose streets he walked for miles each night.

 

Vignettes from various books lined the corridor to the Chapel:

Tiny Tim’s Turkey,

 The window of t he Old Curiosity Shop,

There was the front door of Scrooge and Marley,

and Bill Sykes’s dog ‘Bullseye’ seemed to have got everywhere:

 

The Chapel was decorated lavishly

where the Ghost of Christmas Present was the theme: a reminder to Scrooge that those who surround themselves with friends, family, love and happiness are the richest of all.

The cloth under this throne was actually a beautiful red, not the rather shocking pink that my camera seems to have picked up!!

I thought the Chapel was cleverly lit, very understated and atmospheric:

The Anteroom to the Chapel was the interior of the Old Curiosity Shop, a modern take on curios – rare, unusual or intriguing objects – which although clever did not really impress me much.

From there we moved into a story of love and sacrifice, A Tale of Two Cities: a masterpiece of paper art in tribute to paper and the written word.

Which continued in stars, snowflakes and paperchains:

 

 

And found its apotheosis in houses built out of the very books in which they appear:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We then moved into the Painted Hall

 

which had the theme of Dickens’ experience of walking in London and writing about all the characters he met on his night time travels.  A sound track of the Dawn Chorus was playing and a rather odd representation of Dickens was shown, musing upon his encounters:

Climbing the stairs,

we came to a small hall in which were Christmas trees for one to write a wish or message on a label, to attach to the tree.  These were situated beside a rather touching sculpture of sleeping cherubs:

 

and a bird’s eye view of the Hall below past an ancient baby carriage;

We then ascended a glorious staircase,

top be met by a very sinister scene at the very top:

It was Bill Sykes who warned me to watch my purse and that Fagin would have my scarf instantly if I was not careful: and then we walked into Fagin’s Den which I thought was wonderful.

Handkerchiefs adorned everything, some drying before the fire, others on the boys’ bunk beds.  Fagin himself was performing tricks with handkerchiefs in front of amazed children:

Who would have the imagination to form a Christmas tree out of bunk beds, straw and handkerchief bunting?

 

There was a wall showing video of Dickens’ London with smoke pouring from chimneys and snow falling over the roof tops, all in all a superb room.

On next to cabinets of memorabilia: Dickens knew the 6th Duke of Devonshire and stayed at the house and put on plays there, but was not a familiar ‘friend’ as such.  However, there were playbills, letters from Dickens, the Duke’s personal copy of Martin Chuzzlewit and other objects of interest such as his signature in the Guest Book :

I love these paper chains: a friend of mine said that her daughter found an old copy of A Christmas Carol which was falling to pieces, so she took the pages and made them into paper chains to give to her mother for Christmas.  Lovely, although I do not like the idea of ever destroying the written word!

We passed on into Scrooge’s bedroom, which had boxes of cash stored by the bed, a bath ready before the fire, and a figure of himself sitting in bed, shaking and shivering with fear

at a mirror in the corner of the room on which a ghostly presence came and went.

Passing through a hall at the top of some stairs we found a wall of oil portraits with moving spirits gliding across them, rather like in Harry Potter.

Then we saw the House Library decorated for Christmas and I would LOVE a library like this: it is so inviting and cosy.

Down a flight of stairs to be met by a bower of Cherry Blossom, some boots and other lucky Wedding paraphernalia and a poignant carving on a tree trunk:

 

 

It was very clear where we were going next, into Great Expectations.  And indeed, there was the defunct Wedding Breakfast

and poor Miss Haversham greeting us all and asking plaintively whether we were happily married.

Leaving her to her querulous questioning of other ‘guests’ we passed under a magnificent gold stags’ head chandelier in celebratory decoration:

and into the Statuary Gallery which was lit a strange blue colour, with yet another magnificent, albeit rather heavy, Eagle chandelier,

 

with the final message from Dickens:

And so to the ubiquitous Gift Shop where I found a sweet little star made from manuscript paper, and some gorgeous leather handbags, which were quite out of my price range, with appliqued book spines on them.

It took nearly two hours to go round and examine everything in detail and I felt it was worth the admission fee.  Next week it will cost much more and the crowds will be huge because the Christmas Fair will be in the grounds then too.  Today was quiet and peaceful and unhurried: a delightful way to spend our yearly outing, but actually quite tiring.

So, we felt we needed a quick bite to eat, a drink, and home.

Where actually, I fell into bed and slept for the rest of the day.  Mind you, I had been up since 4.45 a.m. settling in a new goldfinch, about more another time.  Perhaps!

I hope you enjoyed this tour with us.

 

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2017 – my Chinese Odyssey. 1.

Well folks, I’m back home.

After what has turned out to be the most amazing, astonishing and over-stimulating trip of my life!!

Worth every second of the months of preparation (which really depressed me) and the brutal experiences of British Security (in my opinion).

I actually returned home last Saturday night but since then have been suffering from a bad viral chest infection which everyone else had either taken with them on the trip, or caught en route, but which I avoided when away, only to succumb once back here.   I think I know where and when i picked it up but that is for later in my narrative.  Add to that some jet-lag, a migraine and a mind so wildly over-excited that I cannot lie down to sleep without seeing China in my mind and dreaming about being overwhelmed by visual stimuli.

Seven air flights, over 12 Gb of photos, a notebook full of scrawled jottings which went everywhere with me, 5 hotels, a River Cruise and more coach trips than I could count.  Ancient temples, palaces, pagodas, giant Buddhas, cliffs of coffins, the largest dam in the world which necessitated our boat passing through a night of locks, pandas, carvings, costumes, social history, political history, tea ceremonies, dhows, sampans, gardens, tombs, archaeology, geology, natural history, rickshaw rides, hospitality in C15 Beijing Hutongs, the list goes on and on.

I am going to try to write my account of this trip, primarily for myself, so that I have a digital copy to treasure: however, I do hope that it will prove to be of interest to any of you who drop in to read it, but please bear with the parts which are boring to you and just skip them whilst making allowances for my personal memories.

As usual life will not stop to give me adequate time for this mammoth task: for instance I will be away for a while next week taking Eddie to see the Supervet.  But I will try my hardest to complete this diary.

When I departed I was 50% excited and 50% anxious: I nearly turned back at Heathrow security and as I stood there in public, humiliated, crying my eyes out, (not a nice look for a 70 year old woman whose hair is falling out) I was literally on the verge of giving up the attempt.

But I am so glad I went, I would not have missed this trip for anything, and I do so hope you get some pleasure from my account:)

 

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Day 1 France 2016

OK I am back in charge of a laptop now and can do things with photos, at last.  I’m afraid this means that my travel diary is rather out of sync with the dates, but nothing to be done about that.

With my friend, L, suffering from jet lag (she flew in from California) and I shattered by all the worry (albeit unnecessary) and discomfort of the travelling we opted for a slow start to the day.
I rested my leg until lunchtime as it was really sore while L went out to explore the local neighbourhood. This visit we are staying in a 1930s apartment near the Eiffel Tower in the 7th Arrondissement.

 

This is the Rue Dominique (in the C16 was the Chemin des Vaches – Road of the Cows: reading the history of the area I see that this was a very rural area full of woods, fields, marshes and farms until various religious and military institutions began to move in from the C17 onwards. Ravaged by the 30 years war many religious houses born out of the counter reformation came to find sanctuary here. At the same time Noblemen wished to leave the crowded and noisy Marais and discovered the charms of the Left Bank. The river provided easy access to Versailles to where the Court moved in 1672. The building of Les Invalides and the Ecole Militaire followed and then the University and the National Assembly. Later the area was to to be the site of no fewer than five Great  Exhibitions, from 1878 to 1937, each of which included further redevelopment, including of course the Eiffel Tower) and we are staying on a small side road off it.

Redevelopment in the C19 and C20 means that this area does not have the elegance of our beloved Marais but is much cheaper whilst still being central and bustling. Since we hoped to take a few side trips this time we did not want to feel we were ‘wasting’ an expensive rental. The familiar buses go from either the end of the road or from just over the Seine which is only two blocks away.

On her wandering L found some small supermarkets just round the corner which will prove invaluable and a mobile phone shop at the end of our road; as we had decided before coming that we would both get French SIM cards for our phones for while we were here, this is the first thing we did in the afternoon.  Knowing us, we will probably do some things separately so being able to phone/text each other cheaply would be helpful. Despite a few misunderstandings, my French is hardly up to tech standards, all was safely sorted. To celebrate we treated ourselves to tea in a sweet cake shop nearby, also conveniently at the end of our road.  It is called the Moulin de la Vierge

and has the prettiest tiling on the walls and ceiling and lots of fairy lights festooned everywhere.

 

L had a raspberry millefeuille and coffee, I had a raspberry macaroon which tasted blissfully of almonds and rapberries, and tea.

As we ate I heard one customer telling another that this bakery sold the best cakes in Paris.  We only ate half our cakes and brought the rest home for another day: we were given sweet little boxes in which to bring home the remnants.

Apparently there are several outlets for this baker/cake maker and reading the history of the Patisserie I came upon the following on their website: the oldest outlet at Vercingétorix in the heart of Montparnasse dates as far back as 1356, it is the location of the original le Moulin de la Vierge, and the whereabouts of the legend that became our history.

This little jewel houses the oldest wood burning oven still active in Paris. Inside the tiny boutique, the signature styles of the Art Nouveau period are revealed in the bucolic landscapes mirrored in the ivory ceramic tiles and flowered frescoes, gazed upon from a sky of wheat bearing angels. Under the bakery, the original wood burning oven (Lefort 1907) continues its role of baking the baguettes and special country breads available in the Moulins de la Vierge boulangeries around Paris, while the storefront windows honor the French pastry artists. The combination of the original architecture, the ambiance and the epicurean delights inside create a typically Parisian atmosphere, sought out by many seeking to delight in it’s historical beauty.

 

Certainly this became our ‘go-to’ baker of choice and barely a day went past without a baguette, some croissants or a petit patisserie finding their way home chez nous!!

And this is how it got its name, again from their website:

Legend

For lovers of history and tales of lore… We present you the official legend of le Moulin de la Vierge (the Windmill of the Virgin). Our story begins in 1356, at the original location where the windmill stood, that became the home of our very first boulangerie.

In September of 1365, Edward of Woodstock, known as the Dark Prince, defeated the French in Potiers. He captured King Jean II and many of his chevaliers, forcing their withdrawal to the suburbs of Paris. Nearby, on rue Vercingitorix, lived a poor miller whose windmill had fallen to abandon. With no wind to turn its sails, he fell deeper and deeper into destitution.

Day after day collectors came to his door presenting him with debts he could neither read nor pay.  Until one day, when he ventured into a nearby convent and fell to his knees before the statue of the Virgin Mary. He confessed to her of his pitiable situation and pleaded for salvation.

But as the days passed, convinced that she had not heard his pleas, he began to wonder if he had confided in the wrong person. Perhaps he would have had more sympathy from the Devil, who might have taken pity on his situation.

As he spoke aloud such horrific thoughts, out of nowhere appeared a strange little man with a malicious sparkle in his eyes. He came towards the miller and removed his velour hat, twisting it in his fingers, and politely introduced himself to the distressed man. “ Miller, you have called upon me. Here I am, Lucifer himself. ”

“ Is it really you, Lucifer? ” retorted the miller, taken aback at what had just happened… “ How funny it is to see you here.  I always imagined you as more of a strapping man, with broad shoulders and big hands and feet…  As someone that would swallow me whole, like an ogre or a werewolf.  How funny are the notions we conceive in our minds ”.

To which Lucifer replied, “ It is not my size that is of concern, it is what I can offer you that only you can behold.  I heard your complaints and have come as you desired… to bring you riches and happiness! ”

“ Oh but sir, ” explained the miller, “ riches and happiness are merely characters in children’s tales.  For years I have awaited their arrival, yet I no longer believe they will come”.

“ Believe you me, my dear friend.  Nothing is impossible where the Devil is concerned.  What exactly do you desire of me? ” asked Lucifer.

“ Simply to hear the rustling of the wind that may turn the sails of my windmill ”, muttered the miller.

“ And so it shall be… Behold its wings! ” cried the Devil.

As the miller raised his head he cried out, “ I do not believe my eyes.  It’s true it turns… But how did it come to pass?  I didn’t feel the slightest of breeze pass by.  If so the leaves on the trees would be dancing as well.  It is quite the miracle… Your powers are great indeed! ”

“ And now what more do you wish for? ” asked the Devil.

“ Ah, but sacs of wheat!  What meaning is it that my windmill turns if I possess not a grain to feed the mill…? ” he replied.

“ Look over there, down the road, ” replied Lucifer. “ Do you see the donkeys coming this way?  They’re coming with sacs filled with the finest of wheat, with which you may make the finest of flour to sell and become rich! ”

“ It is true, I see them coming this way. This time I have been saved.  Thank you Mr. Lucifer… I don’t know how I could ever repay you! ” cried the miller.

“ But it is not as complicated as you might think, ” quickly replied the Devil.  “ To kindly prove your gratitude, you can simply sign on the bottom of this page. ”

“ Oh but not another contract, ” retorted the miller.

“ No collectors this time! Don’t worry my friend, I am yet an accommodating Devil, who understands the trials and tribulations of men, ” he proclaimed. “ Later when you are no longer of this world, many years from now, you can pay me back… in another world. ”

“ But how is this possible? Can we bring money to another world? How will I be able to pay you in this other world? ” asked the miller.

“ The money is not important, ” replied the Devil. “ I ask simply for recognition in the form of a small gift. ”

“ How can I refuse such an offer, ” said the miller. “ But what type of gift do you ask of me? ”

“ A gift of little value, ” said Lucifer, “that will cost you next to nothing.”

“ If money is not an issue, then we are in agreement. What exactly must I offer you? ” asked the miller.

“ Just your soul, ” said the Devil. “ It’s of little significance, the soul of a man… it weighs less than a grain of wheat! ”

“ But if it is something so insignificant, why do you ask of this as a gift? ”

“ It’s just a simple fantasy of mine, ” replied the Devil.

“ Well if it’s merely just a fantasy of yours, then why not, ” agreed the miller. “ I will give you my soul. But before I sign, ” he hesitated, “ let me think things over. Give me five minutes and I will return to sign your contract. And we shall have a deal. ”

And with this, the miller, an honorable man who represented all that was good to those who knew him, thought to be prudent in his decision… and perhaps not engage in a deal for all of eternity.

He quickly returned to the convent to seek the advice of the Mother Superior. As he ran through the church he passed the statue of the Virgin Mary and stopped dead in his tracks. Having seen no one in church at this hour, he was startled by the voice that seemed to come from the statue. As he stood there, rather frightened, he witnessed as it came to life. Rolling her eyes, with the disapproving look of an angry mother, she scolded the miller for being so naïve.

“ Stupid man, who told you to call upon Lucifer! You should have come to me first before committing such a grave mistake. You did not have enough faith in me… and now you have given your word and your promise must be kept, ” she explained.

“ You will sign the contract, as an uneducated person would, but listen carefully.  With your index finger, make a cross at the bottom of the page.  Not in ink, but in holy water.  And with this you will see the true face of the Devil! ”

Ever grateful to the Virgin Mother, the miller followed her instructions and dipped his finger in the holy water. As he touched the Devil’s contract with the holy water there was an eruption of light and the parchment paper burst into flames. And with that the Devil vanished, leaving behind the faint scent of sulfur.

From that day on the windmill continued to turn… and the exquisite white flour poured from the sieves. There were no more collectors, in this world or any other.

Years later, in memory of the miraculous story of the miller and his windmill, the name was given to the street that later became the inspiration for the bakery that is today Le Moulin de la Vierge.

Aren’t we lucky to have such a find just a few doors away?

The rest of the day was spent quietly planning and booking our trips. My knee was hurting a lot so I decided to make some changes round the flat and use the crutches all day, every day, instead of the walking stick and see how it goes.

 

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Postcard from Paris 18. 2015. Saturday: Last morning and travelling home.

When I arrived at the flat at the beginning of this trip, one of the things I did was to buy a white azalea in a pot to decorate L’s room:

later on it had looked gorgeous in the sitting room.

With our imminent departure I was wondering how to find it a good home since it was still in full glory:  I had been watching out for the concierge who waters the plants in the courtyard in case he might like to have it, but I kept missing him.

This morning at about 7.30 am I heard him in the courtyard watering the plants so dashed out to catch him: I was actually still in my PJs which are more than decent, however, I don’t think that is what the fashion conscious Parisian woman would do!  On my way down the stairs with the plant I encountered a very distinguished grey-haired man coming up them with his morning baguette and a bag of croissants – incidentally smelling wonderful: on impulse I asked him if he lived here, and looking rather surprised (whether at the question, my clothing, or both I don’t know) he answered, “Yes”.  I explained that I was going home today and asked whether he would like the plant: he looked delighted, readily agreed and wished me a good journey:)  So that is one thing sorted at the beginning of a very ‘sorting-out’ kind of day.  Job done: but I wish I had not been in my PJs.

Looking out of the front window I saw the soldiers still on guard outside the Synagogue.  They had the plain-clothes policemen with them again: sad, but we have got used to their presence.

L and I have done most of our packing and since she does not leave until the early hours of tomorrow, 3.30 am to be precise, and I leave at 3.0 pm this afternoon, we had decided that we would try to do something this morning.  You remember me mentioning that French detective series Engrenages?  Well on one of our bus routes we had passed the Bistro L’Engrenage over on the other side of the third arrondissement,

very close to the Police Headquarters there.

Therefore I rather fancied going over there for lunch, to scope out the area and see if it was named with reference to the Series.

We caught the 29 bus over to the Bistro only to find it closed until the early afternoon: I had not read the website correctly.

So I took a few photographs

and then we caught the bus going back the way we had come.  We got off on the Rue de Turenne and walked over to the Italian Bistro in the St. Paul’s district where we had such a good meal a while ago, remember I had the aubergine dessert?  Well, we were the first there and the Proprietess who had been very friendly was not there and we were met by a surly chap who actually made us feel very unwelcome.  We tried to be pleasant and thaw the icy reception: I ordered bream with fresh orange segments, pistachio nuts, new potatoes and broad beans, and it was really wonderful.  The broad beans had been shelled and then had their skins removed so they were soft and delicious.  I have never had broad beans that tasted like that.  L had a pasta dish and this time the pasta was well cooked: clearly the chef was on form but we managed no improvement in relations with the patron and we felt most uncomfortable.  I hasten to say he was Italian and not French!!!   It was such a shame as it made it hard to enjoy our meal and we left as soon as we could, refusing coffee or dessert.

Not the most marvellous way to pass our last morning:)  Anyway, unwilling to give up we walked over to the super ice cream shop by the Place des Vosges, Amorino,

and bought one small tub each.

and spent a happy time sitting on a bench in the Place in the sun eating our ice creams, soaking it all up.

At 2.0 pm we reluctantly decided we had to drag ourselves away and go back to the flat.  We walked back past one of my favourite shops which contains bronze sculptures covered in some kind of enamel or resin and others set in glass/acrylic.

I have never dared to even go into the shop let alone ask for any prices

but I would love to have this one to take home

We returned to the flat for me to pop the last few things in my case and make sure all was organised for the taxi.  This came promptly and by 3.45 pm I was at the Gare du Nord, through Security and waiting for my train.  The place was packed with Brits returning home after their Easter holidays, and a few French going over for a trip:  a kind woman budged up to make space to allow me to sit down beside her and wait for my train.

Eurostar left late and then waited for a further 15 mins outside the station, so we were over half an hour late into St. Pancras.  I was extremely pleased that I had not booked any particular train home as I would have missed the one I had been thinking of.  So I had time to buy something to eat on the last leg of my journey and I went into M&S to buy some gluten free brownies: normally I can buy quite a lot of gluten free things in M&S but this outlet did not have them.  A very kind Indian lady came out from behind the till and walked round the shop with me to show me the one thing they did have but it was a shock after Paris where there was always something, and it was always lovely.  It was strange being surrounded by the English language and suddenly, lots of fat people, and I felt rather ill at ease for a little while.  A quick coffee upstairs near my platform and then 8.0 pm found me on my next train bound for the North.  I eventually arrived home at 10.40 pm.

I have had the most wonderful trip: Paris just gets under your skin and it will always have a part of my heart.  I am so lucky just to be a couple of train journeys away, but however much I love going, I find it is never as pleasurable by oneself as it is if one can share it with somebody else.  And no-one in my family or circle of friends in England shares my love of France.  Thanks to the generosity and kindness of my friend L, I have had the opportunity for both the pleasure of her company and her equal appreciation of things French.

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Postcard from Paris 16. 2015. Chantilly.

Today is our planned-for trip to the Château de Chantilly

(front of the Château – taken at midday)

located, rather obviously, in the town of Chantilly, 60 km (37.5 miles) due North of Paris.  Apparently it takes about one hour eleven minutes by road, but only 25 minutes by train.

We read about it before coming to France and gathered that, after the Louvre, the Château’s art gallery, the Musée Condé, houses one of the finest collections of paintings in France specialising in French paintings and book illuminations of the 15th and 16th centuries:  also after Versailles it has the finest gardens and grounds.

All in all it comprises: a French formal garden, featuring extensive parterres and water features, including a cascade, laid out principally by André Le Nôtre who designed the gardens at Versailles: a large park containing pavilions and a rustic ersatz village –  the Hamlet (Hameau) de Chantilly, which inspired Marie Antoinette to have her little Farm built in the Gardens of Versailles: Chantilly racecourse  and the Great Stables: and lastly, an ‘exhibition spectacular’ of horse dressage.  Wow!!  Somehow I don’t think we’ll be able to visit everything.  But we read that there is a small road ‘train’ which tours the grounds, so our initial planning is that we will eat at the famous Hameau, watch the Dressage Spectacular, visit the Great Stables and take a tour of the grounds on this train.  If there is any time or energy left over we will visit the inside of the Château and the paintings.

We gathered that it is far less well known to tourists and consequently not as crowded as Versailles, so  all in all, we thought it might make a ‘grand day out’.

After careful planning we chose a day forecast for good weather which also had the dressage exhibition (this does not take place every day) and booked tickets for this as well as a table in the Restaurant in the Hamlet which had much better reviews than the one in the Château (although even these were luke-warm to say the least).  Booking tickets was a nightmare since we have no printer and have to get everything booked to our mobile phones.  Sounds simple but it had taken us hours negotiating websites on our phones and speaking to people who seemed busy, not bothered, and refusing to speak anything but French.  This  was not a problem for me but L got the brush-off.  Finally we got all our bookings made but have to collect our tickets in person on arrival at  the box office in the Great Stables.

So, after the first great write-up we set off with a few misgivings, I have to say.

We rose early expecting to have to react to all kinds of fall out from the national strike, and set off on our adventure.  However, our bus came promptly much to our surprise, taking us direct to Gare du Nord.  In fact all the buses we could see appeared to be running normally.

Once at the Gare du Nord we wondered whether there would be any trains running but nothing appeared to be out of the usual.  In fact, apart from crowds and posters in the Place de la Republique on our way over, we saw nothing that would suggest any kind of a strike.  So we were far too early and had to sit at a horrid fast food outlet, drinking dreadful powdered drinking-chocolate and coffee at exhorbitant prices, noticing too that the woman handling the food was not very hygenic. We thanked our lucky stars that we had not bought any food.  It was chilly, draughty, noisy, and we were persecuted by people begging for money.  In fact it epitomisied everything bad about travel, and not what we have come to love about Paris.

However, the train was prompt, clean, fast and efficient.  We easily got seats upstairs in a vacant coach and settled in for a pleasant ride looking out at the countryside.  Blue skies and bright sunshine greeted us wherever we looked.  The Château is situated in the Parc Naturel Régional Oise pays de France so the last part of our journey took us through a lovely area. (Picardie region this time).

The station for Chantilly is called Chantilly Gouvieux and is a little outside town so we went to find a bus to take us there: we found the Bus Station which was  right beside the Train Station, through a small passageway, and asked a bus driver for directions.  He told us that there was a free bus into town and where to catch it.  A kind lady also waiting at the bus stop told us which stop to get off at in town for the Château: it was only a ten minute drive and once alighted we walked for 20 minutes from town to the Gates.  Immediately inside we found the Great Stables, went inside and retrieved our tickets without problem: everyone was pleasant and helpful but we needed our French.  Actually I rather like this because I do not go to another country and expect them to speak my native language: it is fun to try to communicate with people in their own (except for emergencies of course!)  And L manages perfectly well with her slightly more limited French skills but with her lovely personality.

By this time we only had twenty minutes  before our Lunch reservation: we asked how far it was to the Hamlet and were told “15 minutes” walking through the wood beside the Château .  Well I don’t know what kind of speed they walk at, but we almost ran and then we were five minutes late.  We saw the road train standing idle, clearly it is not in use today which is a blow, but there were golf carts for hire: it may be silly, but all the people hiring them looked middle aged or old, and I did not feel I wanted to join their ranks.  How stupid is that?  Actually on a more practical level, since we were going to be sitting eating, and then sitting watching the dressage, it would have been a waste of money to hire one, they are not cheap.

(I found this map on Wikipedia, and it shows the distance we had to walk.)  We came in on the left hand side, in the middle, by the Jeu de Paume.  Then we had to walk down to the bottom of the image where you can see the bridge over the water, leading to the Château.  Then straight up the middle of the picture on the cream area to the large lake/pond.  There we had to turn at right angles following along one of the water course in the middle of the map leading directly to the right hand side of the picture.  You can see the caption of Le Hameau on the top of the map pointing towards the Hamlet.  This might not look far to you, but after walking a mile already in town in the heat of noon, and it being so hot with the sun beating down on the limestone all round us and being reflected back up again, this was a very hard and fast 25 minute trek.  Gasp!

However once under the trees and beside yet more water, it was cooler and fresher and smelled wonderful.

The Hamlet is sweet,

The Hamlet Restaurant( from http://www.domainedechantilly.com/en/accueil/prepare-your-visite/)

and the Restaurant is out of doors under the trees – basically in the garden of one of the cottages.

It was a wonderful setting:

we were met by a cheerful and very friendly young waitress who left us to choose our table, then came back and took our order.  The food is dispensed to the waitress from a hatch in the end of the cottage and it all felt very medieval.

We both had salads with different meats and mine had some hot potato chunks in it too. Since we were at Le Hameau at Chantilly where the french Chantilly Cream was invented (see below) we decided to have a dessert and it had to contain the famous cream of course!   L had hers with pain aux epices (gingerbread) and I had a strawberry tart with mine. I was worried about the pastry and decided I would just have to leave  that part but it turned out to be made from ground almonds not flour, how lovely.  The cream was not just plain whipped cream: it had an aromatic quality, perhaps rose water, I’m not sure, and tasted – not sour exacty – but sweet with some kind of yoghourty/mild soft cheese undertones.  I cannot place the flavours but they were gorgeous.

So we sat under the trees surrounded by about six tables of people, with nothing to hear but dishes clattering quietly in the kitchen, people murmuring over their lunch and insects and birds going about their business above and around us. So peaceful and domestic.  It could only be described as blissful.  Another ‘Giverny day’.  The food was delicious and the only draw back was no decaff. coffee, but no problem, I just went without.  We ate in a leisurely fashion because we had left ourselves two and a half hours to order, eat, and then get back to the Great Stables for the dressage performance in the afternoon: we had read on Trip Advisor of other people finding they were short of time to make the long walk back.

From Wikipedia:

“Crème Chantilly is another name for whipped cream. Whipped cream, often sweetened and aromatised, was popular in the 16th century.  It was called milk snow (neve di latte, neige de lait). A 1545 English recipe, “A Dyschefull of Snow”, includes whipped egg whites as well, and is flavored with rosewater and sugar. In these recipes, and until the end of the 19th century, naturally separated cream is whipped, typically with willow or rush branches, and the resulting foam on the surface would from time to time be skimmed off and drained, a process taking an hour or more. By the end of the 19th century, centrifuge-separated, high-fat cream made it much faster and easier to make whipped cream. The French name crème fouettée ‘whipped cream’ is attested in 1629, and the English name “whipped cream” in 1673. The name “snow cream” continued to be used in the 17th century. 

The invention of crème Chantilly is often credited incorrectly, and without evidence, to François Vatel, maître d’hôtel at the Château de Chantilly in the mid-17th century. But the name Chantilly is first connected with whipped cream in the mid-18th century, around the time that the Baronne d’Oberkirch praised the “cream” served at a lunch at the Hameau de Chantilly — but did not say what exactly it was, or call it Chantilly cream.  The names “crème Chantilly”, “crème de Chantilly”, “crème à la Chantilly”, or “crème fouettée à la Chantilly” only become common in the 19th century. In 1806, the first edition of Viard’s Cuisinier Impérial mentions neither “whipped” nor “Chantilly” cream, but the 1820 edition mentions both. The name Chantilly was probably used because the château had become a symbol of refined food. ”

After lunch we decided it was time to leave for the Dressage performance, since we wanted to stop and take photographs on the way.

The footpath from the Hamlet, through the woods

We crossed a small bridge over one of the grand water channels leading back to the Château

and noticed that the water was full of very large trout

As we came out of the trees and approached the back of the Château

the heat just beat over us: we had to walk back through with both the reflected heat from the the buildings and the stone on the ground and then up a limestone path up a hill to the Great Stables.  I began to struggle despite the glorious view in front of us.

We had noticed on the plan of the grounds that there was a path parallel to where we needed to go, through some more trees and out of an opening right opposite the Stables:  so I headed off in that direction for shade while L  went back the  way we had come to take photographs.  This was my view:

When I got to the  top of the hill I discovered that the ‘opening’ was in fact a gate, which was at that moment being closed by a young woman in a hurry, who said as she went past me that  there was no exit that way.  She would not stop and open it for me.  so I was faced with going all the way back down the hill, round the back of the chateau and retracing our steps back to the Stables.  At  this point L met me looking for more photos and I said she should go on ahead and get our seats and I would join her if I could make it, but time was now getting short and I was just exhausted.

With some apprehension she left me and went back and I found a place to sit and try to recover.  Sometimes I just curse my M.E. although I know that I manage to do a lot of things that others cannot.

Anyway, to cut a long and difficult story short, I did finally struggle back and got to the Great Stables and the Dome (which is the wonderful domed school [for horses] built in 1755 by the Prince de Conde) where the dressage event was being held, in time.

A word of history now from Wikipedia and the guide book:

The site of the Château comprises two attached buildings: the Petit Château built around 1560 for Anne de Montmorency, and the Grand Château, which was destroyed during the French Revolution and rebuilt in the 1870s by Henri d’Orléans, duc d’Aumale, who bequeathed the property to the Institut de France upon his death in 1897..  However, the Stables and associated buildings survived.
The estate’s connection with the Montmorency family began in 1484. The first mansion (no longer in existence, now replaced by the Grand Château) was built in 1528–1531 for the Constable Anne de Montmorency. The Petit Château was also built for him, around 1560. In 1632, after the death of Henri II, it passed to the Grand Condé who inherited it through his mother, Charlotte Marguerite de Montmorency. A couple of interesting pieces of history are associated with the château during the 17th century: firstly, Molière’s play, Les Précieuses Ridicules, received its first performance here in 1659 and secondly, Madame de Sévigné relates in her memoirs that when Louis XIV visited in 1671, François Vatel, the maître d’hôtel to the Grand Condé, committed suicide when he feared the fish would be served late.

It was the descendant to the Grand Condé, Louis Henri, Duc de Bourbon, the Prince de Condé, who was so passionate about horses and in 1719, he asked the architect, Jean Aubert to build stables suitable to his rank: and along with the stables was built, the Dome. According to legend he believed that he would be reincarnated as a horse after his death!

This is my attempt at a panoramic view of the Great Stable yard, the entry to the Dome is through the double doors at the bottom left.

Inside the Dome school (from http://theequestriannews.com)

We were not  allowed to take photographs while the performance was taking place, but I managed to take one or two when it was finished – the windows had been covered and coloured lights were switched on so I  could not any photos by natural light.

The ‘Spektacular’ as it was promoted, lasted for an hour.  I am not quite sure how to describe it.  The performance was accompanied throughout by a trio of close harmony Italian singers who sang folk  songs from Italy.  Unfortunately, although I think they probably described some kind of story, but as we could neither understand them or the story, the interaction with the riders and animals they were trying to put together was quite incomprehensible!

Also, sorry to sound so philistine, but the songs all sounded more or less the same  too, rather gutteral, rough and droning.  So from that point of view we did not enjoy ourselves. But it was so good to be sitting down out of the sun, in the magnificent cool arena.

The horses were glorious: there was a huge Percheron and a man on his back who conducted extremely athletic circus antics; a troupe of Shetlands who were remarkably well behaved for Shetlands; and at one point, a troupe of horned goats who looked rather like Soay sheep, and behaved impeccably.  The main emphasis was on the Thoroughbreds though who were spectacularly magnificent and unbelievably well trained.  They and their riders performed with grace and agility and were a joy to watch. One movement disturbed us both though: a couple of horse were required to cross their front legs and then pirouette on one front ankle,  so all the weight of the horse was just on that one fine ankle.  It looked very dangerous to us and made us uncomfortable.

When it finished we were led back out into the stable yard: we decided to visit the Great Stables at this point:

(I  found this photograph on Google images attributed to various sources amongst which were CNN and http://www.francaisdeletranger.org so I am not sure whose copyright it actually is, but it isn’t mine.)

and found that we were beside some of the animals being led back to their stalls:

the goats came rushing past

and joined an equine friend

We wandered around the stables for a while

speaking to the horses and making friends, then had a quick look at the Museum of the Horse but it was geared to racing, not unnaturally, and our interest in that was slight, although it looked very comprehensive.

By now a cup of tea was more than calling, it was shouting, so we hastened to the Stable Cafe where we were just about the last people around, most having left by now.

We thought it would be pleasant to walk back to the station through the woods as the plan we looked at suggested it was not a huge distance, but when we asked the attendants about that they looked quite horrified and said that it was a very long walk and not to try it.  I must say that everyone we met was very friendly and helpful and not at all like some of the reviews on Trip Advisor: perhaps it helped that we were early in the season.

So taking a last look back we left the Château and its environs:

The Great Stables and Chantilly Racecourse

(from http://theequestriannews.com)

and retraced our steps back into town. It has been such a day of contrasts and impressions: we were so sorry to miss the inside of the Château and the famous art therein, but we had done as much as we possibly could. We did find that our original timings were not quite accurate: but the area of the gounds was actually much, much larger than we had suspected from looking at the plan on the website and we must have walked at least four miles, often very fast.

I must admit that by now I was absolutely done in: however, there were no means of transport from the Château (the last having left an hour before), so it was a question of just putting  one foot in front of the other as we walked the mile back into town.  At the bus stop we were prevented from getting on the wrong bus by some pleasant teenage girls whom L had befriended: they were horrified and said we would have to pay on that one, but the next would be free!!  It was, but it was also a school bus, absolutely full of lively kids all about 11 or 12 years old, and we had to stand all the way.  Clearly on  a school bus and with few adults around they did not feel it incumbent on them to give up seats.  Or perhaps it would not have been cool to be the first to offer!  So we made the journey back to the station, waited for about 20 minutes to catch a train,  and thence back to Paris uneventfully, all buses and trains running to time.

On alighting from our bus at the Bastille at about 6.30 pm we could not resist a cold beer at an outside cafe after all the heat, dust and walking of the day.  At least that is what L had, I just had a shandy and even that made my legs go numb:)  It was great just sitting there being part of the hustle and bustle of people stopping on their way home

as the city, and we,  began to unwind from the  day.

Tomorrow will be our last full day in Paris, so we are imbibing all we can, while we can.

Esoteric facts about Chantilly:

1.  The château and the Great Stables were featured in the 1985 James Bond movie A View to a Kill, as the home of villainous Max Zorin who had already aroused the suspicions of MI6 with various business activities. It was being infiltrated by Bond (Roger Moore) in his quest to find out more about Zorin, and ultimately eliminate him.

2.  Every two years, in June, the “Nuits de Feu” international fireworks competition is held in the château’s garden.
3.  Every May, a rowing regatta, the Trophee des Rois, is held in the grounds. French university crews compete in the 750m race for a trophy.

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Postcard from Paris 15. 2015.

We decided to visit the Orangerie today, then walk up through the Tuileries and over to Rivoli for a hot chocolate at Angelina’s. Since we have another long day out tomorrow I suggested that we have a reasonably easy day today.

Our passes to the Musee d’Orsay include a free pass to the Orangerie and I really want to see the huge Monet paintings for which it was altered and adapted, to compare with what we saw in his gardens yesterday.  Even though it was early Spring in his gardens when we were there, the colours of the willows and reflections on the water in the shade should be similar.

As I am sure many of you know (if I have any readers that is!) the Tuileries Gardens run parallel to the Seine from the Louvre down to the Place de la Concorde: Rue de Rivoli also follows the same route, just outside the Tuileries.

So, we took the Metro to the Place de la Concorde

and walked up to the Orangerie.

According to the museum’s website, the Orangerie was originally built in 1852 to shelter the orange trees of the garden of the Tuileries which belonged to the Palace of the Louvre.  Citrus trees grown in tubs and wintered under cover were a feature of Renaissance gardens, once glass-making technology enabled sufficient expanses of clear glass to be produced.

During a span of 25 years between the 1890s and 1920s, Monet had been busy painting diverse renditions of the Nymphéas (Water Lilies) in the pond of his gardens at Giverny. The feverish pace of his work produced nearly 250 canvases on this subject.

“Suddenly I had the revelation of how magical my pond is. I took up my palette. Since that time I have scarcely had any other model.”

Claude Monet.

At the end of the First World War he offered to donate eight giant (2x6m) panels of Nymphéas to the French state, as a monument to the end of the war, if a suitable venue could be found for their display.

” Dear and close friend,
I am on the eve of finishing two decorative panels which I wish to sign on the day of Victory, and am asking you to offer them to the State… It’s not much, but it’s the only way I have of taking part in the victory.”

Claude Monet to Georges Clemenceau, November 12th, 1918

Working according to Monet’s exacting specifications  –  ” Imagine a circular room, the dado below the wall molding entirely filled with a plane of water scattered with these plants, transparent screens sometimes green, sometimes mauve. The calm, silent, still waters reflecting the scattered flowers, the colors evanescent, with delicious nuances of a dream-like delicacy.”  –  Clemenceau suggested that Monet install the paintings at the newly-available Orangerie.

the architect Camille Lefèvre created a space for the works in the form of an oval gallery, whose curved walls would hold the huge paintings, incorporating natural light, plain walls, and sparse interior decoration. The eight paintings are displayed in two oval rooms all along the walls

(From wikipedia    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mus%C3%A9e_de_l%27Orangerie)

 The Musée de l’Orangerie had been born, although Monet’s paintings were not installed until 1927, a year after the artist’s death, as unwilling to relinquish his final works of art, these water lilies paintings stayed with Monet until his death on December 5, 1926.

The Second World War saw damage to the Orangerie as, in August 1944 during the battle for the Liberation of Paris, five shells fell on the rooms of the “Nymphéas”; two panels were slightly damaged and immediately restored. In 1984, this restoration work was renewed and a general cleaning was effected.  In January 2000, the museum was closed for renovation work, completely reviewed and restructured, and re-opened to the public in May 2006.

This morning there were long queues waiting to visit the Orangerie but with our passes we were allowed to walk straight past them and go in at once.

I just sat for ages looking at parts of the paintings trying to work out the colours and exactly why he had used some of the brush strokes he did. I cropped parts of the photos I took yesterday to compare with parts of his paintings, and when I did so I began to see some of  the colours he had seen.  I could not see them when I was there, or when I looked at the whole photo.  Very interesting!  You will see that I have interspersed some of these cropped photos amongst photos of his paintings to show what I mean.

I also tried out the panoramic view on my new camera.  Sometimes it worked quite well,

and others very badly, but I am so new to this, I hope I will improve.

Other artists’ work is also hung in the Orangerie but after looking at the Monet paintings we had no more mental room for other pictures, so after an hour or so we left, and walked up through the Tuileries,  (Photo looking up towards the Louvre)

leaving behind us the large pond at the bottom of the Tuileries where people were enjoying the sunshine:

turned left past a small cafe and a children’s Merry-go-Round which seem to be a feature of public places in Paris

and exited onto Rue de Rivoli.

We saw lots of police cars and police motor bikes parked along the street,

and as we walked under the arches up towards the Louvre and Angelinas we saw more police herding people off the pavement.

Finally, they placed a cordon across and we all had to stand and wait.  I asked a policeman who was coming and he appeared to say, ‘President aux Etats Unis’.  Then a lady beside me in the crowd said how lovely his wife was.  So I got really excited thinking it was President Obama. But then the policeman began speaking to someone else and I realised he had actually said, the ‘President of La Tunisie’. Such a let down.

Apparently we had exited the Tuileries almost exactly apposite the Hotel Meurice which an extremely up-market hotel: well it would be overlooking the gardens wouldn’t it?  And that is where the President was staying for his two days.  His visit began the day before and he would be going home the next day.

(from the website: http://www.dorchestercollection.com/en/paris/le-meurice?gclid=CPj01_zOkcUCFSzMtAod0xQABg)

A tourist who was desperate to get to her tour bus and to find her hotel was unable to understand that the policeman on duty keeping us back did not have the authority to let her past: she could not speak French and he could not speak any other languages and he asked me to translate for her!

We waited for a while but then everyone dispersed saying that the plans had changed and that the President was not now coming out: turning round we found that we had been standing just beside Angelina’s so all we had to do was walk straight in, and there was no queue at all, so we were seated immediately.

By now we felt more like lunch than hot chocolate so I ordered an omelette with truffles and salad and L had a Croque Monsieur.  Hers was delicious she said, but I thought my omelette was rather leathery and not at all light or puffy or fresh. However we were enjoying sitting in such splendid surroundings:

We decided to splash out on dessert and ordered the specialite de la maison, which was ‘Mont Blanc’, a confection of meringue with firstly whipped cream and then chestnut puree piled on top. I also had a de-caff espresso which is something I have developed a taste for while here.  I like the bitterness after a good meal:

My mother was always very fond of chestnut puree so we have grown up with it, but L had not had it before and was not sure she liked the taste.

The people at the table beside us were an American couple who began to talk to us about the proposed strike starting tomorrow.  We had heard nothing of any strike and became concerned: apparently it is the Air Traffic Controllers who are initiating the strike, but it is becoming a National Transport Strike, including of course all the trains: we are booked to go to the Chateau of Chantilly tomorrow – Thursday, I go on Eurostar on Saturday and L flies out of Charles de Gaule on Sunday.  We decided to leave Angelinas and make our way home to then look up any information we could find out about the strike.

We caught the metro back to St. Paul and wandered down St. Antoine as we both wished to buy a couple of things at the hardware shop.  I wanted a couple of their small paring knives which are so good: in choosing I managed to cut myself and bled all over the place.  How stupid.  Luckily I usually carry tape in my handbag so several strips of that were hastily wound in place just to get me home.

L then went off to Monoprix and I took myself back via the Hotel de Sully, Place des Vosges, and home.

We spent the rest of the afternoon anxiously looking up alternatives in case of transport problems tomorrow and at the weekend.  Finally, we gave up, since we gathered that nothing we read could be relied upon –  SCNF itself suggested that their own website could not be depended on for up to date information!  One thing we did do was to book a taxi each for the day we are meant to be leaving, just in case.  It would make little difference if no planes or Eurostar were running but we felt better having done something.

Having worked out all possible contingencies we finally gave up trying to plan any further.  So we decided to submit to the inevitable, whatever happened, cooked supper and had an early night, to be ready for anything the morrow might bring us.

.

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Postcard from Paris 8. Wed 1st April 2015.

April Fool’s Day today in the UK.  But here in France it is April Fish day!!

The following comes from: http://www.frenchmoments.eu/april-fools-day-traditions-in-france-le-1er-avril/ and is her copyright and a really good site:)

“Here in France there is a tradition of “Poisson d’Avril” is followed by all French children on 1 April. Paper fish are used to play an April Fools trick, involving sticking a paper fish onto the back of as many adults as possible, then running away yelling “Poisson d’Avril” (April Fish!)

On the 1st of April, everyone has to pay attention to avoid being the victim of practical jokes and general foolishness. It is the ideal day for children (and grown-ups alike!) to tell funny jokes to those around them, including family members, friends, teachers, neighbours, colleagues at work, etc.

In France, April Fools’ Day is known for the “poisson d’avril” (April Fish) which dates back to 1564. The origin of the April Fish in France is quite obscure, maybe it was reminescent of the ichtus used by Christians in the Roman era.

According to popular beliefs, the New Year used to start on the 1st April up to the mid-sixteenth century. But as King of France, Charles IX wanted the year to start on the 1st January, he made a swift change to the French calendar and made it official on the Edict of Roussillon.

Legend has it that some people were not at all happy with this enforced law for many reasons, and continued to celebrate the new year in their own way around the 1st April. The people who embraced the new calendar started to mock the reluctant ones and gave them false presents and played tricks on them.

During that time, the 1st April coincided with the end of Lent when the Church forbade Christians to eat meat. Fish was tolerated and was often used in the offering of gifts for the New Year.

When the jokes started to become more common, false fish were often used to trick the victim. There lies the legendary origin of April Fish, stuck on the back of the fools, those who did not accept the changing times or who saw the world through their own eyes only.”

Today was a really early start so that we could get to the Musee D’Orsay before the crowds.  We arrived at 9.10 a.m. to find a queue of enthusiastic Spanish teenagers standing waiting, despite the cold wind they seemed eager and full of energy!  Although the museum opened at 9.30 they only let a few people in and then there seemed to be some kind of problem because the rest of us were kept waiting for another half hour.  Eventually, frozen through, we got in and bought our passes.  After that our first thought was ‘hot chocolate’ so we made our way up to the cafe on the top floor.  It is near the Impressionist galleries and therefore is often very crowded but today we were early enough that we were the only ones there.

It is also situated behind the Old Station clock:

It is quite dramatic to stand there and look up and see and hear the hands clicking on for each minute passing: makes me think of Big Ben.

And one can stand there and look out over Paris, way over to Sacre Coeur,

and of course to the Seine and the Tuileries just outside.

We spent a happy time re-acquainting ourselves with some of our favourite pictures.  I got a shock when I went to look again at the Monets: stupidly I had become rather blase about them, thinking they were so popular, and therefore not necessarily of the first rank.  But of course when you are actually faced with the actual paint, the brightness and vivacity blasts you into kingdom come.  No reproduction can do justice to the life coming off the real thing.  We left, feeling very envigorated and with the creative juices running over, full of colour and movement.

Our plan was to go to the St. Martin canal area, over past Republique: L had read about a gluten free bakery and patisserie over there and we thought we would give it the once over.  So a bus to Bastille and a change of bus to Republique, then a ten minute walk to the canal.  One of the scenes in ‘Engrenages’ was set right beside this bridge:

By this stage we were ravenous. Breakfast had been at 7. 0 am and it was now 1.0 pm: we found a small, bustling, organic, Cambodian Bistro (opposite an old plague hospital I had visited on another trip) and ordered, the same for us both.  Plain rice with lemon beef and loads and loads of veggies.  It was wonderful:)

They were doing a roaring trade with a young student clientele, with take-aways flying out through the doors as cars pulled up outside to collect orders.  There was far too much to eat, so we both had a ‘doggy-bag’ which did L for her supper and me for my supper and breakfast the next day!

A few doors down the road and we found the gluten free bakery: it is called Helmut Newcake, a very odd name.

But, to be able to walk into a shop and be faced with a choice of the most wonderfully delicious looking patisserie was a thing to dream of.  It took quite a while to make a selection to carry home in the box.  The whole shop was dedicated to nothing except gluten free baking.  I had gone to heaven:)  The shop had been packed and things were selling fast, even so, the top of the counter was full of bread, rolls and large cakes, and the cabinet still had some smaller ones in.

I chose three rolls:

and four cakes:

Then I took L to see the old hospital which has lovely grounds and was built when plague victims were being hurried out of Paris.  But the gates were closed and padlocked and so no visitors could just walk in and look around now.  Such a shame.  So we wandered up and down the canal instead: it is definitely an up-and-coming part of Paris.

There is just the faintest tinge of green developing on some of the trees.  When we had walked our fill we retraced our steps back to home: I must admit to being rather chuffed when a French lady asked me for directions and I could help her:)

So home, where we picked up our travel plans and headed off to the SCNF offices to book our rail tickets.  However, it was late in the day and people had come out of work and were piling in to make their own travel plans.  After waiting for a few minutes we realised we were going to be hours so left, deciding to return during work hours when it might be less crowded.   L went to do some souvenir shopping and I went off to take photos of Easter decorations and chocolate in various windows and to buy some things to make our Easter Branch for the flat.

I had one of my rolls with supper but it was most disappointing: not a yeast bake but a cake type texture, tasting of bicarbonate of soda.  Such a shame, because they look so good.  Nothing like the loaf I bought at the market on Sunday.  But I ate half of one of the cakes for dessert, and that was heavenly!  Over the next week I gradually ate my way through them all, and without exception they were divine.  Ah well, live and learn.

As the day progressed I was feeling more and more ill and getting quite embarrassed about my cough, with a banging headache, so finally I gave in and took more anti-migraine pills and went to bed early.

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Postcard from Paris 7: Tuesday March 2015.

After our exertions yesterday we had a relaxed beginning to the day today.  Over breakfast we decided to go over to the Musee d’Orsay to buy passes.  We both like to have annual passes, not because we expect to be back again soon, but because it means that we can pop in often, for an hour or so each time, to look at one or two pictures without having to spend hours at a time getting value out of our one day ticket!  It also means that one can walk straight in past the queues which is also a big plus factor.  Getting a joint pass is much cheaper than two singles, and if one visits at least  three times, you have already paid for the annual pass.

When we arrived we were aghast at the queues: people were standing for three hours to get in.  We asked one of the attendants what the problem was and he said that it was a combination of the Louvre and other museums being closed today and it being Easter week.  Even to just buy a pass and not visit today, we would have to stand in the queue along with everyone else.  He suggested coming back tomorrow at nine in the morning to avoid the queue.

So we left, ticket- and pass- less and very shocked by the numbers of people around.  When L booked her plane tickets she had not taken into account that it was Easter and that Paris gets really full during that time.

On the way to the bus I passed this building with magnificent wrought iron work:

We took the bus home but got off at St. Gervais to go in to the shop in case they have any Easter  things, and also to check out the church: we have heard glorious singing here in the past.  However, the shop had very little seasonal and the church was silent, being the week before Easter.

A walk along Saint Antoine to buy some de-caff coffee for L in Starbucks: a very entertaining comedy ensued whilst she tried to mime grinding coffee to the staff:)  I bought a lovely, huge, breakfast cup for my morning tea as the flat only has small mugs in the kitchen department, and then we split up, L to go home for a bit, me to visit the book shop in the Hotel de Sully, and to meet up again for lunch at Ma Bourgogne in the Place des Vosges, a Bistro recommended by David Liebowitz on his blog.

As we walked down the main street we passed six armed, and ready-for-action soldiers, marching down the pavement, with sub-machine guns in their arms and fingers on the trigger: it sends shudders down the spine, that it should be necessary.  But as I said to L when planning this trip, after the terrible Charlie Hebdo massacre, Paris would be at its safest at the moment, with every possible precaution being taken.  Incidentally, although I have not mentioned it, as I have been going round Paris, I have seen posters and banners still hanging in different places saying ‘Je suis Charlie’: and Place de la Republique is full of graffiti and stuff left over from the earlier demonstrations in support of Charlie.  Their offices are only 700 metres (less than half a mile) away from our apartment.

Anyway, to more pleasant subjects.  I found the Bistro and sat down at a little table with thick, pink linen knapery, and a friendly waiter served me while I waited for L.  No English spoken but we got on fine.  I chose a hot sausage in Beaujolais sauce, hoping against hope that there would not be rusk or wheat in the sausage, used as I am to UK sausages.  L chose a fish mousse. When they came they were lovely: L’s was rather more solid and substantial than she she was expecting, delicious but a ‘meal to go to work on’: mine was more modest, a few new potatoes cooked to perfection and sprinkled with a light mustard vinaigrette and chopped chives, and a few slices of sausage in the most divine Beaujolais sauce!!  And of course, the sausage was just pure, solid meat.  None of this rubbishy  stuff padded out with fillers.

A small plate, but just perfect.  I could not eat all of the potatoes as the sausage was so filling.  Neither of us bothered with dessert, L bought an ice cream from a lovely shop round the corner on our way home.  The table next to ours had three courses plus wine and I cannot imagine how they managed to eat so much!  When the waiter came, he presented us with a bill over five times more than we had eaten: just as I was beginning to protest, he whipped the correct bill from his apron pocket laughing like a drain at his little joke:)  He may not have been able to speak any English but that was not going to stop him from having a laugh with Les Mesdames Anglaises.

We got home mid afternoon after our late, lazy lunch and went to bed for a rest.  For some reason I seem to have caught a horrible chest infection and am feeling really rough.  Given that I am scrupulous about washing my hands when I come in after using public transport I can only think I caught it from handling money at some point in the flat and forgetting to wash my hands immediately afterwards.  Anyway, whatever it is, it is giving me a hard time and a splitting headache.  Poor L is worried she may catch it so I have changed all the towels in the kitchen and am only using certain plates and utensils in order to spare her.

The evening was spent planning our transport for next week’s trips: we decided on train times, found out where the stations were and how to get to them, and are going to buy our tickets from a RATP shop on St. Antoine tomorrow so that we will not have to stand in a queue worrying about getting the right ones at the various stations.

We are going to Giverny on Tuesday which means a bus or the metro to St. Lazare, then a TGV  train to Vernon and a bus from Vernon to Giverny.  Then Thursday will be our trip to Chantilly which means getting to Gare du Nord, a TGV train to Chantilly Gouvieux and a bus from the station to the Chateau.  So we have looked up all bus and metro routes, and decided on a plan of action.

After supper we went out for a walk, marvelling at some of the shop windows as they began stocking special things for Easter.  There are several famous Chocolatieres and Patisseries near us, but their wares are way out of our range.  In Le Notre they began at 35 euros (£25.20) going up to over 50 euros (£36.00).  Most of them serve from six to seven people!!

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Postcard from Paris 6. Monday March 2015.

Flush with our newly loaded travel cards we decided that today was a good time for a self-guided bus tour.  It was a lovely day with a blue sky and sun, but still quite a chill in the air.  L had found a suggested route on-line which involved several changes and took in quite a few parts that it would be fun to watch from on high.  We did not fancy a tourist or open-top bus, we thought it would be more fun to travel with the ‘locals’, listening to their conversations and soaking up the atmosphere!

Incidentally, we both feel that Paris bus drivers are the best in the world: they always watch out for their passengers, wait until you are seated before starting off, will stop the bus in between stops both for you to mount and dismount and generally take a pride in their work:)

So we began by taking Bus 69 from Bastille, round the corner from our flat,  to the end of the line at Champs de Mars.  This route goes past Rue de Rivoli, Hotel de Ville, Palais Royale, through the narrow gateway into the Louvre, crosses the Seine on the Pont Royale

goes along beside the Seine,

past the Musee d’Orsay, through the Place des Invalides,

and into the Champ de Mars.

There we got off the bus and walked past the Eiffel Tower,

back to the Seine, to catch the next bus which was going towards Neuilly-Hopital, getting off  at Porte Maillot.

However, after a  few stops we realised that we had got on one going the wrong way, to the Luxembourg gardens in fact.  Just as we  decided to get off the bus and go back to the beginning of this new line to get the correct bus, I saw an interesting looking restaurant out of the window at Montparnasse:

so we decided to  get off here to eat and decide our strategy over lunch – whether to change our plans and go to the Luxembourg gardens rather than finish our bus tour or to stay with our original plan.

There was the external covered area where smokers and people who only wanted a coffee or drink sat: then, as  we walked in we were blown away by the main restaurant:

we had walked back 116 years in time: silver, crystal, damask cloths and knapkins, waiters in morning suits etc.  This was a lovely Art  Nouveau restaurant.

We had an extremely friendly welcome and were offered our choice of seating: we decided on the lighter, brighter ante-chamber

which was full of people sitting on the benches  (I took these photos later after they had left).

                              (This photo of Le Montparnasse 1900 is courtesy of TripAdvisor)

How to describe the experience?

Well, it was one of those unexpected, golden moments that serendipity sometimes throws at one.

Everyone around us was French and not much English was  spoken, but we were made to feel  so very welcome:) Friendly waiters.  Friendly people eating around us.  They chatted to us, we chatted to them.  Sitting around a corner all on bench seats probably helped the interactions!   One man was Swedish, married to a French woman who wanted him to show off his English and to practice it while he had an opportunity.  They spend all of their holidays at his summer house back in the South of Sweden, but live here in Paris.  I mentioned that my mother was part Swedish and that we had lived in France for a while when I was very young.  At the end of the meal they got up to leave, so we got up too to shake their hands: the wife kissed me affectionately several times, and said that we are all one world, one people. At another table there were people who I asked for advice on tipping in restaurants in Paris: I apologised for disturbing them and they charmingly said that it was no disturbance and that they were delighted to be able to help.  I know that most people are like this, but I never will understand why so many people I meet in the UK seem to think that French people are surly and unhelpful

L had duck for her lunch,  but I ate a simply cooked piece of beef with some new potatoes and a superb gravy.  We both tried the dessert on which the Restaurant prides itself, the Isles Flotantes.

According to wikipedia:” this is a European dessert of French origin, a dessert consisting of poached meringue floating on crème anglaise which is prepared with the egg yolks, vanilla, and hot milk, often flavoured with vanilla and briefly cooked.  It  is a light pouring custard used as a dessert cream or sauce.  It is thought to have origins evolving from ancient Romans who used eggs as thickeners to create custards and creams. Its name may derive from the prevalence of sweet custards in English desserts.“) Photo from Wikipedia.

On discussion we decided that the weather was cool enough, and by then becoming rather overcast, that we would continue on with our bus tour rather than spend the afternoon in the Luxembourg gardens.  So, feeling rather full, we left to catch the bus back to the Eiffel Tower and then get on a bus going in  the right direction.  This we did, and set off once more for Porte Maillot where the directions told us to disembark.  We found this to be a very busy interchange on the Paris Ring Road, and we sat in a bus shelter for some time waiting for our next bus. It was not really a pedestrian type of place: the roads were four lanes in each direction, and we felt uncomfortable.  We did get rather a searching and odd look from two policemen on motor bikes as they zoomed past, but no other reaction.  Finally our bus came and we set off on the next leg of the journey.

This bus went round the Arc de Triomphe and all down the Champs Elysees which is a street that has no appeal for me at all.  L mentioned how she drove a car full of people round the Arc de Triomphe some years ago and how frightening it had been: I mentioned that my mother used to tell me how she rode her bicycle round it with me sitting in a child seat on the back!

Following instructions, we got off at the bottom at Rond Point Champs Elysees, where there is a sizable roundabout, and walked round and round trying to find our next bus stop.  We have found in the past that getting off a bus in one direction is no guarantee whatsoever that the return bus going in the other direction will have a stop nearby.  Returning to our original bus stop to look at a map we were stopped by a very large, concerned man who tried to turn me round: L immediately expected some kind of scam or pick pocket attempt so she grabbed me by the other arm and hurried me away!! However it turned out that all he had been trying to do was alert me to the fact that a very large and incontinent bird had shat all over one shoulder, down the shoulder blade and onto the skirt of my coat.  Bright yellowy-green and dripping:(

We tried to mop me up as much as possible and then set off once again to look for our bus stop: L’s reading of the map differed completely from mine, so after yet another circle of the roundabout, we decided to follow my understanding!  However, at this point we saw the number of the bus we wanted, and followed it to a stop, nowhere near where either of us would have gone!!  Of course it had gone by then, but we waited and finally caught the correct one, going in the correct direction.  On boarding the bus I was aware of concerned stares from other passengers, and a lady who came to sit next to me suddenly veered away from me in horror: I tried to explain what had happened and then there were smiles and sympathetic grins from all around me, although I took care to keep well away from the back of the seat and to warn any other passengers who came to sit near me about what had happened to my coat.  It was fascinating how much consternation this caused people.

This route took us past the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais, through the Place de la Concorde, up Rue Royale to the Madeleine and on to Opera.  We were feeling tired by now and rather shaken up by all the bumping over cobbled roads, often at speed.  At the Opera we  got off to change yet again by walking down the Ave de l’Opera and crossing over onto the Rue de Quatre Septembre where we took the 29 bus in the direction Gare du Lyons (different from our directions) which passed the Bourse, Place des Victoires, Centre Pompidou and back into the Marais.  Here we drove along some very narrow streets passing along Rue Etienne Marcel where I saw both a Bistro Engrenage and the headquarters of the 3rd Arrondisement Police, close together.  Now, was this accidental, or did it have something to do with the series I mentioned before, ‘Engrenages’?  It was very exciting. Two plain clothes detectives were standing smoking and talking outside the police headquarters. Just like on the TV!

It was comforting to pass the Musees Cognacq Jay, Picasso and Carnavalet and to feel so at home once more.  We decided to get off at the Place des Vosges and walk home to stretch our legs after all that sitting: we fell, shattered, into our flat at 5.0 pm having left at 10.30 am.  But we had had a good look at Paris, a wonderful experience at lunch time, and an all round adventure!

I cleaned up my coat in the shower: thank goodness it was wool, which behaved perfectly.  After some tea we confirmed how we wanted to spend Easter Sunday and which outings we felt we wanted to go on.  We booked Easter lunch, tickets for Chantilly Chateau and the Equestrian Performance with a tour of the Grand Stables and both fell on our respective beds to write emails, surf the web, and catch up on note writing. (NB booking those tickets took a couple of hours trying to book online but get the tickets sent to our phones because we had no way of printing.  We did it, but it took both of us, using different pieces of equipment.  We had other days trying to do the same later.)

Whilst lying there in the early evening I heard  the sounds of a string trio playing in one of the other apartments.  The notes echoed round the courtyard in the evening light as the traffic hum dimmed, and floated through my bedroom window.  Quite magical.

What a day of contrasts.

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Postcard from Paris 17. 2015. Friday, last full day.

Oh dear!  Stomach upset all night, the details of which I will spare you, but these things usually happen to me when suffering from exhaustion and not enough to drink.  Took the necessary medications which helped but did not cure and which proceeded to give me a migraine.  This often happens, my body just does not like any kind of medication.  So took anti-migraine meds too which worked thank goodness – but felt rather fragile!

So I set out today with some trepidation.  Over a week ago we booked a table for lunch today at Au Bon Coin, since we had had such a wonderful meal there at Easter, and we wanted another special one for our last full day together in Paris.

We had planned to spend a fascinating day with the morning exploring the old Rue Mouffetard  which originates from Neolithic times and is closed to traffic for most of the week. I had thought that a bus up to the Panthéon (details of the Panthéon below) and a leisurely walk down the hill along Rue Mouffetard visiting the historical market area would be great fun, as it ends just beside the Bistro.  Then a leisurely lunch at our favourite place, walking home along the canal and stopping for tea at the cafe on the canal basin by the Bastille.

Rue Mouffetard was adopted by the Romans who used it as a road running from the Roman Left Bank of Paris, south to Italy and then, in the Middle Ages, a church along this section of roadway became the centre for a village called ‘Saint-Médard’.  This was the church we went to on Easter Sunday morning! This area was outside the city walls at this time but was integrated into Paris as the main artery of the “Faubourg Saint Médard” in 1724.  Luckily the area remained relatively unchanged because of its location on a steep hillside, (basically, as I mentioned above, running down one side of the steep hill from the Panthéon which stands on top) which protected it from Baron Haussmann’s redevelopment during the reign of Napoleon III.

The idea was to walk from the Panthéon along Place de Panthéon which becomes Rue Clovis, turn right and go down  to Place de la Contrescarpe where Rue Mouffetard begins and then walk all the way down to Square Saint Médard.

The area around the Panthéon

 photo from  (“Panthéon, Paris 25 March 2012” by Camille Gévaudan – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.)

is full of University Departments so the upper parts of the Rue de Mouffetard (it has a different name up there – Rue Descartes) and its environs is a bustling, studenty area.  Hemingway described it in ‘A Moveable Feast’ thus – this “wonderful, narrow crowded market street”.  In the lower cobbled areas, part of which I illustrated on my post on Easter Sunday,

its atmospheric buildings makes it one of the city’s loveliest street markets with busy, bright stalls of fruit and veg.   Many grocers – who sell charcuterie, patés, seafood, cheeses and sticky patisseries – only select organic and fair-trade goods.

Historically, it was always a busy, working-class area, the kind that springs up over the centuries around really good road connections: the origins of the name are various, but I don’t believe the suggestions on Wikipedia about bastardised latin.  Instead, consider the following: the French word mouffette means skunk, or in old French ‘stink’.  Same thing really!  The French word ‘mofette’ means tanning: at the foot of the hill by the bottom of Rue Mouffetard was the river Bièvre which literally stank from the effluent of the skinners, tanners, and tripe butchers who plied their pungent trades there until the city paved it over at the end of the nineteenth century.  I and others think that the Rue Mouffetard was so-called because of the smell!!

This long, steep road and its side streets has long been a haven for outsiders, real and fictional. Rabelais, Balzac, Victor Hugo, Hemingway, James Joyce, Verlaine, George Orwell, and more, all frequented this area and/or lived here.  Jean Valjean from Les Miserables was depicted as visiting the Church of Saint Médard frequently and various characters lived, or should I say, existed, in the area around this road.  For much more detailed information I can do no better than refer you to the blog at:

http://www.writersinparis.com/formwritersinparis.php

which is superb in my opinion.

Some historical notes from me if you are interested:

[The Panthéon is named after the Greek ‘Pantheon’ meaning ‘Every god’. Originally, here on the Montagne Sainte- Geneviève in the Latin Quarter, there was a church dedicated, naturally enough, to St. Genevieve. Over time this church became damaged and, under the orders of Louis XV the church was replaced with the new building of the Panthéon, erected as monument to express his gratitude to God after he had recovered from illness. It is an early example of Neoclassicism, with a facade modelled after the Pantheon in Rome surmounted by a dome that apparently ‘owes some of its character to Bramante’s Tempietto’ and from where one can see all of Paris from the external colonnade of the dome.
Shortly after the Panthéon was built the French Revolution occurred. The Revolutionist government changed the church into a mausoleum, a place to bury exceptional Frenchmen who had sacrificed their lives for their country or who had done something great for France. Thereafter, the concept of the Panthéon flipped back and forth to and from a church but eventually assumed its lasting role as a burial place for martyrs and brilliant French citizens.
The Panthéon crypt is the final resting place for many well known (and some historically famous) French writers, poets and scientists. These important people include: Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo, Marat, Emile Zola, Jean Moulin, Soufflot (its architect), Louis Braille, Marie Curie (the only woman to be so honoured).]

So, great plans for our last full day in Paris at the end of our wonderful trip!

But it was not to be.  I was just not up to it. This is my one, real regret of our trip, and I am so annoyed at myself.  L was very understanding and did not make me feel at all bad about spoiling our plans, to my great gratitude.

We had to keep the day simple and physically undemanding.  So, instead of our original plans, we paid one last visit to the Musee d’Orsay to see some of our favourites; we could not get close to all of them, but we managed a few photos:

Caillebotte’s rooftop picture of Paris in the snow – a favourite of L.

A long term love of mine:

The Gare St. Lazare by Monet, from where we caught the train to Giverny.

once you have ‘your eye in’ you can see the tall buildings in the background on the left behind the first locomotive: these are the same as those in the photo I took leaving the station in the post on Giverny!!

No explanation necessary for the next one, I assume:)

after which we had a drink (pear juice for me for the potassium, coffee for L)

and had a final look through the clock

and then went to the place on the top floor where one used to be able to exit onto the roof: however, this is now shut but through the French Windows we had this spectacular last look over Paris:

and then took ourselves, via two buses, to the Bistro.  This turned out to be a bit more complicated that it looked on paper with the change half way through. The journeys took a while and when changing buses we spent a time looking for the next bus stop: these are not always in obvious places in Paris so be warned.  Finally L noticed it on an island in the road beside a newspaper kiosk!  On the second bus there were no seats and none given up so we were strap-hanging for 15 mins: the young chap next to me spoke excellent English and talked throughout and knew England well having friends in various places.  I think he would have liked me to invite him to visit us, because he said that he would like to visit Sheffield but, unusually for me, I did not rise to the bait.  It was probably because I was feeling so fragile and ill today and just did not feel I could cope with anything else.  I know that L was surprised that I did not.  Now I feel rather bad about that:(

So back to our favourite eating spot: it was lovely walking in again and being recognised by the the female waitress (standing just behind the male waiter):  on the table to the right was a table full of men out for lunch from work to celebrate the birthday of one of their number.  They all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him quite unselfconsciously which was lovely to see.  No reticence in showing restrained but happy emotions.

We were shown to the same table as last time, perused the menu and ordered.  A couple of girls next to us were eating a HUGE  meal, bigger than anything we had seen before in Paris, and they were quite large themselves: but perhaps this was their main meal of the day.

L ordered spicy swordfish with black and white quinoa which she said was really good.

I decided I had better play very safe today so I ordered lightly smoked chicken on a bed of mashed potato with spring onions, spinach sprouts and a light gravy, which was also excellent.

We remembered seeing desserts that other diners had at Easter and had been looking forward to trying them: so L ordered an almond Brioche filled with praline cream and although it really appealed, since I could not eat the Brioche anyway, I ordered a Bergamot cream.  This turned out to be a cold caramel-custard-mould flavoured with orange and Bergamot – really delicate and delicious.  A wonderful meal for someone whose system is disordered!!

We took our time enjoying it all as the Bistro emptied around us, with people going back to work.

As I was keeling over by now we decided to take the Metro straight home rather than walking, as we had planned to do, through the Botanical Gardens and along the Canal.  Back in our area we split up for me to go home and fall into bed and L to do some shopping and exploring.  On her route L saw some police horses which must have come through to my road because I saw them too.  Very serious young police riders.

I slept for a couple of hours and got up at 5.0 pm when we decided to wander over to La Gare Bleu – the cafe on the canal basin at La Bastille – where previously we had planned to stop on our way home.  We found a table in the sun and had a drink. All the world and his dog, literally, seemed to be there

– relaxing after the week at work, by the boats, and plants and trees.  Young men making plans for the weekend, older women catching up on the news, younger women on their mobile phones:

although it was rather too hot at first, the sun soon moved round and it became very pleasurable.  We sat for a couple of hours soaking up the Paris atmosphere as the sun went down behind the buildings opposite us and twilight descended.

We are not sure when, if ever, we will both be back in Paris together: L has domestic concerns and may not travel across the Atlantic again for some years.

Reluctantly we tore ourselves away as we both have to pack tonight, me for the Eurostar back to the UK and L for Charles de Gaulle airport and her flights home to California.  As we made our way back into our building

we noticed that the little Waving Einstein in the hallway had gone, as mysteriously as he had appeared two weeks previously.

He was solar-powered and he has been seeing us out and back each day with a cheerful wave.

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