Charmes et Invalides

October 9

Breakfast yesterday consisted of yogurt, figs, a peach, and plums from a shop next door, croissants from a boulangerie around the bend. Very local, maybe even moderately—dare I suggest it?—French.

Coffee, however, was a large Americano from Starbuck’s on the corner.  It’s the only place I can get coffee to go with a lid.

We decided to visit the Galeries Lafayette store in Montparnasse to buy Joanna a Paris charm for her bracelet. It’s a reasonable distance, and we decided to walk.

From the hotel you go to the fountain by St. Medard’s church (where Life photographed the bride) and take Rue Pascal, which is a charming little alley, to the overpass where Boulevard de Port Royal goes overhead. You climb the narrow steps and then you come out onto the wet pavement of a broad avenue. The city has a truck out to wash the dog turds off the sidewalk.

I’ve been only to a few neighborhoods of Paris, but from what I can tell it is the second-dirtiest city that I have seen. I’m talking world-class cities. Newark doesn’t count.

Paris is not as dirty as New York by any means. The sidewalks here, for instance, are not decorated with the black dots where people have spit out their chewing gum. But even in the Louvre somebody left candy wrappers in front of a bust of Emperor Marcus Aurelius’s wife.

There was a site for a produce market along the boulevard, and vendors had left all kinds of debris behind—spoiled plums, corn husks, empty boxes. If that happened at a neighborhood fair even in New York, let alone the Saturday morning farmer’s market in Montclair, that market would never reopen.

The Blvd. de Port Royal eventually becomes the Boulevard du Montparnasse and we had to walk as far as Blvd. Raspail. The city has lots of boulevards, which is good, because they are hard to miss, even when you are distracted by the scenery. and there is plenty of that.

There are Belle Epoque apartment blocks, and streets lined with plane trees. In some parks, like the one behind the Eiffel Tower, the planes in rows are pruned into cubes, and that is downright fantastic. It is so clever and strange that you want to laugh out loud.

Turns out that right on the point where we wanted to turn lies Le Dome. It used to be a cheap place where hungry writers and artists hung out. So I took Joanna in for a glass of wine at the bar. The bar, we were told, is just a decoration. They serve drinks in a glassed-in patio, which was even better because we got to sit at a table, eat olives, and watch the traffic outside.

Maybe it’s here where you’re supposed to be able to sit and see everybody you ever met. I think I saw my second grade teacher, but I’m not sure.

We shared a glass of a house red listed as “Ballon Bordeaux.” It was tasty enough and went well with the dish of olives that came with it.

From here we walked down Rue Delambre, another narrow street, which had a few adult video stores in the mix. The store we were looking for on Avenue Maine was gone, so we went to Galeries Lafayette, which had what we were looking for.

The lady who sold Joanna the charms was named Tamea. She asked where we were from. We said, “New Jersey.” Where in New Jersey? Montclair.

“My sister opened a bakery in Montclair. It’s called Petit Paris.”

It’s near the library and Joanna had lunch there one day. We’ll stop by when we get back and say hi to Rimi.

Paris shopping malls are surprisingly similar to the ones at home, so we didn’t browse long. There was nothing as interesting as we found in Montreal, for instance, at Hudson’s Bay Co. No canoes, no tomahawks, no fur hats with ear flaps.

From there it is a straight walk to Les Invalides. This time, the gate was still open so we were able to sit in the formal garden. It has flowering plants in circular plots anchored by conical evergreens.

We took a cab back to the hotel because we had walked several miles, our feet hurt, and I have no clue how to use the Metro. Seems that to get to Les Invalides, for example, I take the local metro to one station, leave the system and walk to another station, take a train to a fourth station, get out again and walk to yet another station, where I can get a train to Les Invalides. It’s supposed to take 40 minutes, but I’m not sure I can do that all in one day.

Joanna went up for a nap and I went out for a drink. I had three and read the French papers at Cafe Lea, a couple of blocks from the hotel. There was a discussion of charges that Sarkozy misused public funds, a story about Islamists yielding power in Tunisia, and an essay about the U.S. as policeman of the world.

Of course, these were all in French, so I’m not absolutely sure what they were about.

We went to the St. Medard for dinner. We shared a salad that included gizzards, smoked duck breast, and foie gras. It was wonderful. We had chicken skewers for the entree, because we weren’t in the mood for steak or salmon, which were the other options.

Wine notes: Langue d’Oc merlot van de Pays d’Oc—smooth and easy.

Sud Ouest Gaillac AOC 2010 Chateau des Saurs—sharp and spicy, acidic in a good way.

We had dessert at a small place on Rue Mouffetard, the narrow commercial street above St. Medard. There are lots of cafes and creperies, but also stores that sell fish, meat, and bread. It feels a lot like the old city of Prague. The streets are blocked off part of the time, but not all the time, so pedestrians are everywhere. Many seem to be local people.

We ordered crepe and marrons. The crepe was covered with chocolate syrup, vanilla ice cream, and whipped cream. The marron is a chestnut flavored pudding also served under whipped cream.

I ordered a glass of Bordeaux in French and wound up getting a small bottle, but that was all right. It didn’t go to waste.

I, however, did. And so, wasted again, Harry made it back to Point A and slept the sleep of the just. The just made it, that is.

Actually, it wasn’t all that bad. You can ask Joanna. She will have a better memory of the walk home.

Love to all.

October 9

Harry

You are in Paris and I am on my way to Philadelphia. Life is unfair.

Have a nice glass of wine and don't gloat too much.

Charlie

October 10

What part of Philadelphia?

I was at a Best Western on Chestnut near Liberty Hall. Belgian beer at one bar, craft brews and billiards  at another, the City Tavern around the corner, a short walk to Little Italy. It was a fantastic weekend.

Harry

October 12

I'll say!

I'm hoping to get back to Provence this spring. Want to meet me there, Charlie?

Larry

October 15

Right across from the  new Convention Center, which is either the world's newest, biggest boondoggle or a far-sighted business catalyst for a second-tier city.

Couldn't get out much, but did find a nice restaurant with good food, beer, and wine near Rittenhouse Square neighborhood—Pennsylvania 6. A touch of class in a city that desperately needs it.

Charlie