Paris in the spring. Is there anywhere more romantic? When you're with Garry, Yoni and Phil... romantic may not be the most apt word. I'm sure, however, that there is nowhere more fun, except perhaps Normandy.
Like Brown's cows coming in from pasture, we ambled in to Paris at different times. I was first, happy to have 3 hours to myself to wander around before I was to meet Yoni at the Pompidou Centre. As expected, it didn't go exactly to plan. For some unexplained reason, my cellphone decided that it didn't want to speak French and refused to recognize the fact that we were in fact out of Israel. After a few half-hearted attempts at trying to find a network it would communicate with, the bloody thing informed me that it was on strike and I'd have to find another way to get in touch with Yoni. So once our designated meeting time came and went I had no choice but to wait like a stranded tourist, running every now and then to a local internet cafe, sending Yoni an e-mail in the hope he would check his mail. Yoni, for his part, had no way of telling me that his plane was delayed and all the pre-planning that we'd done was worth about as much as an old Enron share. Not to worry. If I have to waste 2 hours waiting anywhere in the world, then outside the Pompidou Centre on a glorious spring day would be where I'd choose to do it. I wasn't bored for a second. As I waited on the patio above, 2 buskers competed for the crowd's attention. One was playing jazz guitar to the accompaniment of a looped base and drum track that played through his sound unit. The other was a rather ingenious oriental fellow who built, or rather balanced, configurations made of matchsticks, without the aid of glue, tape or any other visible adhesive. There was also a lone Nepalese guitar player, belting out atrocious, off key renditions of Lennon-McCartney classics. I don't know who got to him first, the French culture police or the Beatles' lawyers, but either way, he wasn't allowed to stay around too long. If the buskers didn't keep me amused, then the human traffic hanging out in the courtyard did. School groups, young romantic couples, sketch artists and office workers enjoying the spring sunshine made for the easiest of immersions into my first few ours of this first day in France. When Yoni and I eventually found each other, Yoni expected me to be angry at being made to burn 2 senseless hours. Au contraire. I was smiling and relaxed, soaking up the holiday vibes. Well, almost.
We decided to head in a general easterly direction towards Place de la Madeline, via the street markets of rue Montorgueil, where we could sample our first baguettes, artisanal cheeses, sausages from any number of different animals and countless other types of food that we can't get here in the holy land. Once we were well and truly convinced that we were no longer hungry, we had a thirst to quench. But really, who drinks water in Paris when the wine is so good? The sight of the "Vin Qui Danse" wine bar was too much for us to resist, not the we tried too hard. The bar-tender/owner, who spoke surprisingly good English and was even more surprisingly happy to use it, asked us if we preferred a Bordeaux or a Chinon. As if we knew!! He politely explained the difference in styles and over a very nice glass of Bordeaux we quickly settled into an earnest conversation pertaining to the differences in wine classification between the Old World and the New World. Ah, Paris.
So in the space of a little over an hour we'd partaken in 2 of the more important food groups...savory food and wine. The Godiva chocolate store (I know, not F rench, but still Godiva) beckoned. Now we'd had enough and were eager to make our way to the Madeline.
After detouring, backtracking, and happily not exactly knowing where we were, we made it to Place de la Madeline. A mustard shop here, a wine shop there and we were tired enough to catch the metro back to our hotel to meet the next straggler: Garry.
We had 24 hours in Paris before setting off to Normandy and had no intention of wasting time hanging around the hotel. We decided to explore the area around the hotel. First mission was to find the most Parisien looking cafe, plant ourselves down on chairs facing the street and order a double esspresso, playing make-believe that we were locals. That achieved, next up was the search for a suitable place for dinner. It was late afternoon already, had been at least 3 hours since we'd eaten and we didn't want to risk malnutrition. We were in the 10th arrondissement, close to Canal Saint-Martin. This is my "home turf" in Paris, being the same area in which we'd done a house swap a few years earlier. We looked at Chez Prune, La Vigne Saint Laurent and a few others but unanimously decided on La Chansonnier (http://www.lechansonnier.com/) We continued our late afternoon stroll around this charming, non touristed neibhourhood until we met up with Phil, the last of the group to arrive. Each time one of us checked in to the hotel, we were met by wry grins from the hotel staff. It appears that they were convinced that these 4 middle aged men staying in 2 rooms, who were obviously comfortable with one another, were actually very comfortable with one another, if you get my drift. Let 'em think what they want.
I won't go into the entire menu but suffice to say that it was the perfect opening meal to our trip. Even though we'd all seen each other at Phil's 50th celebration in Israel a few days earlier, there was a real excitement at once again being on a trip together, especially after the great memories we had from our Umbria trip a few years earlier.
Phil and Garry didn't have very much experience with Paris as tourists so Yoni and I decided to take them on one of the many classic night tours of the city of lights... Metro to Pont Neuf, with views down the Seine as far as the Eiffel Tower. After a short walk up the Seine to Notre Dame we continued up to Ile Saint Louise where we searched for the original glace de Berthilon, which was of course closed at 10.30 at night. Still looking for a late night ice cream we circled back onto the right bank around Hotel D'Ville and into the Marais. If the hotel staff had seen us walking past many of the bars here in the Marais, their misguided assumptions would have been even further strengthened. Around midnight we caught the Metro back to the hotel. Wanting to extract every last moment of our day in Paris we decided on a nightcap in the bar across from the hotel. This was my 4th or 5th glass of wine for the day and the good people at AA were starting to rub their hands with anticipation of another upcoming member. No matter. This was the perfect finish for a perfect day.
We had 24 hours in Paris before setting off to Normandy and had no intention of wasting time hanging around the hotel. We decided to explore the area around the hotel. First mission was to find the most Parisien looking cafe, plant ourselves down on chairs facing the street and order a double esspresso, playing make-believe that we were locals. That achieved, next up was the search for a suitable place for dinner. It was late afternoon already, had been at least 3 hours since we'd eaten and we didn't want to risk malnutrition. We were in the 10th arrondissement, close to Canal Saint-Martin. This is my "home turf" in Paris, being the same area in which we'd done a house swap a few years earlier. We looked at Chez Prune, La Vigne Saint Laurent and a few others but unanimously decided on La Chansonnier (http://www.lechansonnier.com/) We continued our late afternoon stroll around this charming, non touristed neibhourhood until we met up with Phil, the last of the group to arrive. Each time one of us checked in to the hotel, we were met by wry grins from the hotel staff. It appears that they were convinced that these 4 middle aged men staying in 2 rooms, who were obviously comfortable with one another, were actually very comfortable with one another, if you get my drift. Let 'em think what they want.
I won't go into the entire menu but suffice to say that it was the perfect opening meal to our trip. Even though we'd all seen each other at Phil's 50th celebration in Israel a few days earlier, there was a real excitement at once again being on a trip together, especially after the great memories we had from our Umbria trip a few years earlier.
Phil and Garry didn't have very much experience with Paris as tourists so Yoni and I decided to take them on one of the many classic night tours of the city of lights... Metro to Pont Neuf, with views down the Seine as far as the Eiffel Tower. After a short walk up the Seine to Notre Dame we continued up to Ile Saint Louise where we searched for the original glace de Berthilon, which was of course closed at 10.30 at night. Still looking for a late night ice cream we circled back onto the right bank around Hotel D'Ville and into the Marais. If the hotel staff had seen us walking past many of the bars here in the Marais, their misguided assumptions would have been even further strengthened. Around midnight we caught the Metro back to the hotel. Wanting to extract every last moment of our day in Paris we decided on a nightcap in the bar across from the hotel. This was my 4th or 5th glass of wine for the day and the good people at AA were starting to rub their hands with anticipation of another upcoming member. No matter. This was the perfect finish for a perfect day.
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