Took the
train back to Gare de Lyon and a cab to the Hotel Bellevue. It seems that
Sunday is pedestrian mall day and half the side streets are blocked off. The driver
tried a few ways to from the boulevard to Rue d’Orsel, and finally bypassed a
no-entry sign and ran up the block.
We arrived a
little after one. The room wasn’t ready. We could leave our bags, but not
anything containing computers, because the hotel wouldn’t take responsibility
for them. We had to sign a waiver and put our bags in the breakfast room along
with a dozen others. We had to lug our carry-ons.
We went for
a walk. The neighborhood is colorful as hell. We’re a block down from the park
at the foot of the Sacre Coeur hill. The funicular is a short stroll from the
Bellevue. One of those blocked-off streets was so crowded that I didn’t want to
attempt it with the bags.
I asked Joanna
what she’d like to do. “I need to eat something right away,” she said.We headed
for a couple of cafes up the street. On the way we passed a confusing store
with high-heeled shoes and weird-looking toys in the window. Maybe they couldn’t
decide what line of business to be in.
We went to L’Anvers
du Decor. You can tell it’s a decent cafe because it has an awning. Joanna had
soupe l’oignon. I’m really working hard to get that out in French. I had
cassolette de pocreau (maybe) chevre. On the English-language menu that’s leek
and goat cheese bake. It was a baked omelette with goat cheese and leek. Very
good.
The
ripped-up street isn’t the hotel’s fault, but the dysfunctional bathroom, on
the other hand, is. The hinges on the toilet seat are broken. The seat slides
off.
The
receptionist tells me that she was unaware of the problem and will call someone
on Monday to fix it. There is no guarantee that it can be fixed on Monday. One
red flag.
We can
change rooms. OK. Let me see if there is a room open.
A half hour
later the phone rings. There is no open room today, we can change tomorrow. Two
red flags.
We have to
be out by noon, so the hotel can have the room free. Six red flags.
I was
starting to get suspicious. Maybe the room has been this way for months and
they keep giving people the same runaround. You move in; you put up with it or
you move the next day. Like they say in “Star Wars,” I have a bad feeling about
this, Luke.
We hung
around the hotel late in the afternoon. Joanna’s nephew Thomas, who was
transferred to Paris by his company two months ago, was planning to meet us at
the hotel. So Joanna phoned him to warn about the disrupted traffic and the
obstruction at the entrance. She put me on the line to make arrangements
because she believes I have a better picture of the area than she does.
Well, I did
in fact know the name of the nearest Metro station, Anvers. Thomas knew it too.
He said he and Barrett would be at the hotel sometime shortly before six.
I was hoping
Thomas might suggest we meet somewhere else because I was mildly embarrassed
that I had brought Joanna to this hotel.
I finished
the previous e-mail message and sent it, then headed out for an ATM. After
that, I decided to look for the Anvers station.
This must be
the Anvers neighborhood because everything along Boulevard Rochechouart seems
to be called Anvers. The station is on the island in the middle of the
boulevard not far from the hotel. We may try a trip underground. It is a
straight run to L’Etoile and one transfer to the Louvre, where we hope to go at
least once more this trip.
When I got
back to the hotel Thomas and Barrett were in the lobby, but hadn’t called
Joanna yet.
The hotel
has a list of six or seven restaurants that it recommends. We decided to head
in the direction of the first one on the list, La Villa des Abbesses, on the
Rue Des Abbesses.
But first we
went up the tourist street to see the chocolate museum. Not a museum in the
conventional sense, it’s a chocolate store with extremely fancy products and
some extraordinary specimens under glass, like a chocolate rigged ship and an
entire replica of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. I didn’t see a chocolate
Quasimodo, but maybe he was grabbing a rope in the other tower.
We passed a
display of elaborate chocolate figures, some with a Halloween theme, and also
chocolate high-heeled shoes that you could fill with chocolate bon-bons. The
window we passed earlier suddenly made sense. If you’re making stuff out of
chocolate, you can do any damned thing you want.
We checked
menus at this place and that, and actually wound up after all at La Villa des
Abbesses. We all had snails and entrecote with frites.
Entrecote is
a tough, fatty, and therefore very satisfying cut of beef. Don’t know what part
of the beef, but very good.
For some
reason—maybe because she doesn’t drink—Joanna never orders wine. So in my usual
role of bad influence, I ordered a Saint Emilion for her. I had a decent
Bordeaux, followed by a Cotes du Rhone. (Forgot to take notes and so didn’t get
the origin.)
Thomas and
Barrett are great guys, full of fun, smart, and downright good company. I had
met them briefly at their wedding reception in New York summer before last.
Joanna and a guest were invited.
We talked
about that. I don’t know how many people were there, but like all events of
that sort, the hosts didn’t get a chance to do anything but talk to the guests.
They fed us, but didn’t get to have any dinner.
On
reflection, I am amazed that Thomas recognized me when I came into the hotel
and saw him.
After
dinner, when we strolled back to the hotel, I had the sudden urge to buy wine.
I ducked into a store that was a real surprise. I bought one bottle that was
less than 4 euro: Le Petit Pont, reserve 2012, a Pays D’Oc, “mise en bouteille
a F34450 par les domaines Robert Vic - Vias- France.” The other wine is more
upscale, about 5.70 euro. The label says Barathym 2012, de la Garrigue d’Aumelas,
from Langue d’Oc.
I’m putting
all this detail in because I have no idea what it signifies, but if I poison
myself, Larry may suggest an antidote.
Bon soir,
tout.
Oct.
14
Dear Grasshopper.
The wine sounds safe enough—both are
estate bottled and from the Languedoc in southwest France, a mixed bag source
of sometimes interesting wines at value prices. My My guess is, unless they are
varietal bottlings, they're probably made from local grapes in blends similar
to what you were drinking in the Rhone.
And, just in case you're curious, St.
Emilion is also a Bordeaux.
I'm more concerned about what kind of
parasites you might pick up at that hotel! Perhaps a haz-mat suit for when
you're in the bathroom? Have you put the health department on speed dial yet?
Have fun!
Larry
Oct. 15
To my great relief and unbelief, the
hotel is very clean.
The city is going to cut the
electricity tomorrow from 8:30 to 12:30, so I'm clearing out early tomorrow.
perhaps I'll go back to the Louvre for the day.
Harry
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