Visiting Old Haunts in Paris (Day 1)

It is funny how in recent years I find myself passing through Paris with increasing frequency. This time I am with Jacob as he does a week long course for his EMBA. While some things have changed, like we are staying in a conference hotel in the 14th, some things stay the same. This time, I am completely on my own. I’ve already seen the major sights but have no need to play tour guide to anyone. It is an awkward feeling to not have even a slow itinerary. I didn’t pack anything more than my food dictionary and a book on Paris gardens lent by my mother. No DK Eyewitness, Rough Guides, what have you. Just me, my iPhone with its Zuti Paris ‘09 app, my pocket map of Paris, and a Moleskin notebook with hastily scribbled notes from day to day.

Tuesday was my first free day. When we arrived Monday, we crashed and burned for the day with only a lingering walk through the 13th that evening. Mornings go slow. Jacob does not have class until 9 A.M. and we eat breakfast together in the hotel since it was included with our room. We’re staying at the Marriott Rive Gauche and I am suitably pleased with the comfort and quality of the hotel. I like the mood and style of the 13th & 14th Arr. It’s residential but it has wonderful and vibrant places like Place d’Italie and charming corners like Butte-aux-Cailles.

When I finally extracted myself from the hotel, I decided that I had two goals for the day. The first, I was determined to actually step inside Notre Dame on my fourth trip to Paris and, the second, I was going to get myself a Navigo Pass Decouverte to make using the Metro and bus a no brainer. The Navigo Pass was easy enough. There are quite a few photo booths in the larger stations. I got a sheet with five head shots on it and made sure I could cut them down a bit. Then, I went to a booth and requested the Navigo Pass Decouverte with an Carte Orange hebdo. No problem!

Notre Dame was slightly different. Since it’s October, there were no lines to get in and while crowded, it wasn’t stifling. Just a bit noisy and irreverent. Granted, I’m no longer Christian, but it’s still an active church, right? I titled my camera up to the stained glass windows, boggled at the ornate seats of the choir, then dashed off to see how bad the line was to hike to the top of the towers. Too long in time! While the line physically went no further than the gates into the grounds, I stood in the same spot for nearly 45 minutes without moving an inch. I considered ways to better spend my time and happily hopped out of line and made my way to BHV to see what was a la mode. Big chunky knits, if you’re wondering. Lots of stitch definition, bulky yarns, simple designs, oversized cowls. My knitting dream! And everything is in eggplant purple this year which sounds so much more appealing if you call it aubergine.

After exiting BHV, I headed back towards Ile St. Louis. My stomach was growling but I did not want to spoil dinner, so I grabbed an apple from the grocer and started licking windows, so to speak. Cacoa et Chocolat lost its appeal for me somewhere. Their chocolates looked dated and worn, the same when I was there three years ago. You expect a little change and novelty, it doesn’t have to be much, but something worthwhile to dream about! I think they added a red pepper flavored cocoa powder, but that’s about it. Heading east, I walked down to the far end of the island where it was quieter. I love that about Ile St. Louis. While the western side gets spill over from Notre Dame, once you pass the church, heading east, it all dies down into quiet and peacefulness.

I took a few more photos before heading into the 5th and stopping by The Rouvray, a quilt shop just off the quai on Rue Boucherie. I always forget they have few to no patterns which is a shame. But, they did have some new border fabrics from Provence and there was a 9 patch quilted top in muted shades that reminded me of the ochre surrounding Roussillon. Not being much of a quilter myself, I was off again along Boucherie towards Shakespeare & Company to see if I could find a copy of E.M. Forester’s A Room With a View. It is perhaps my favorite book to read while traveling and my copy is well worn with love. It epitomizes the idea of slow traveling and immersing oneself in the minute and local. Plus it’s a fantastic love story. Not to mention, the version of the movie with Helena Bonham Carter is fantastic and well-acted all around. But, I digress and to the point, Shakespeare failed me miserably by not having the book in any way shape or form.

Leaving Shakespeare & Company, I decided that my bruised heart need a passable citron crepe. I wandered about the edges of the 6th and was reminded how much of it I was not interested in expect perhaps the museums, d’Orsay and Cluny. I grabbed a crepe from a vendor in the oddest and cramped stall I’d seen yet. There were two people inside, back to back. I’m not even sure where the Coca’s came from beneath the counter, but it was like a magician’s box in there. One person handled all of the sandwiches and paninis while the other slaved over two crepe plates. Ushering myself quickly out of the 6th with sweet and acidic delight in hand, it was time to head back to the hotel and regroup for the evening.

In the evening, we dined at what has become an old favorite, Le Coude Fou (“The Crazy Elbow” for my English readers), a wine bar just on the lower edge of the Marais. It is a hole in the wall with maybe 15-20 tables at most and I think I’m being generous in my estimate. We learned last time that a reservation at 8:30 meant the last table and that was across from the kitchen. This time we reserved for 8:00 and had one of the few tables in the side room near the window. The food is standard and at the same time eclectic. The wine list is respectable and suitable for all palates. I started with a chevre chaud which was large enough for four people and Jacob not wanting to eat any at all. I decimated the bread basket and let Jacob nibble on my salad of greens that came along with it. The owner provides monthly special selections by the glass from his cellar. I requested the Bourgogne selection and Jacob went for the Cote du Rhone. After trading sips, I reluctantly handed back the Cote du Rhone which Jacob hid from me across the table. For the main course, Jacob had the tuna and I had the entrecote (“ribeye steak”). I was envious of what I saw of Jacob’s dinner and only made off with a taste as he protected it closely as well. The tuna was a bit overdone for my liking but he said it was tender all the same in a ginger and citron cream sauce. Still envious of the Cote du Rhone pinot noir at Jacob’s hand, I ordered a glass of my own. My entrecote was cut uneven so ranged from well to medium when what I had wanted to order was rare but I’d forgotten the word completely so defaulted to a point (“medium”). Certainly not the kitchen’s fault! There was a delicious sculpted pile of pureed potatoes that were that wonderful balance between cream and potatoes that just melts in your mouth. For dessert, the choices were more traditional. I had a creme caramel and I can’t even remember if Jacob had dessert.

Uneventfully, we walked back across the bridges and onto the RER B along the left bank, zipping back to Denfert Rocherau and a sound night’s sleep.