THE PYRENEES CONTINUE TO BECKON

Because of rain in the forecast, we decided to spend the next day exploring nearby. Loudet is a tiny village with a church and a townhall but no shops, so we first headed to the larger town of Montrejeau to stock up on groceries at the big supermarket there. Shopping in supermarkets in France, in fact anywhere in Europe, is an adventure. The setup of the supermarkets are often similar to those we frequent at home, with grocery departments, and departments for meat, fish, and frozen foods, etc. But many of the products offered in those departments are obviously different (for the most part) from the stuff on the shelves at home. It is lots of fun to fill our cart with a variety of new products to try. Eggs are eggs, and chicken is chicken, everywhere, but somehow even they seem exotic when they are purchased from a supermarket in Europe. Of course, the best shopping is done the European way, at the local butcher shop, bakery, or patisserie, or better yet at a weekly street market. But if that is not possible, the supermarket supplies us with what we need while traveling and gives us the opportunity to try lots of new things.

After stashing our groceries and fixing lunch, we took advantage of a break in the weather to visit the remains of the Gallo-Roman villa at Montmaurin, only a short drive from Loudet. After paying the admission fee at the little office, we were given a map of the site. We were the only visitors there and could wander around at will. Begun in the first century by Roman invaders, the villa was expanded and modified over the next few centuries. Constructed of the finest materials, it covered 19 hectares, contained 200 rooms and was richly outfitted with baths, courtyards and gardens. The ruins were discovered in the nineteenth century but excavation didn't begin until 1946. Following our map, we walked up steps leading to what had been a heated bathing pool. Other rooms had heated floors. Comfort was a high priority for these aristocratic residents. Lovely marble pillars once supported the various roofs surrounding courtyards and gardens. Low walls outlined various formal rooms and more private spaces. Wouldn't it be amazing to see it all as it was, inhabited by the people who lived in those spaces. Unfortunately, thunder, then heavy rain, ended our visit before we could do any time traveling into the past.

The storm canceled our plans to walk up a nearby narrow ravine trail recommended by our hosts. Instead, we headed back to our cottage and watched a second storm come in. This time, hail preceded the rain and we watched in horror as hail stones bounced off our rental car. Fortunately, no damage was done to the car and the drifts of hailstones on the lawn soon melted away. When the sun came out , we were even able to take a pre-dinner walk along the little canal below the house. On a nicer day, it would have been pleasant to follow the canal for a few miles , as we were told it meanders along for quite a distance through the countryside. The countryside of this area, the Haute Garonne, is pretty, with rolling hills, roads lined with plane trees between old farmsteads, pastures grazed by cows and sheep, and tidy villages with tan and grey stone houses.

The next day was again grey and cloudy, but it would be the only opportunity we had to drive into the high Pyrenees so we set out early, hoping eventually the sun would make an appearance.

HIGH IN THE PYRENEES

This year's Tour de France route through the Pyrenees started in Pau and ended in Bagneres-de-Luchon. We headed out toward Bagneres-de-Luchon from Loudet knowing we could only follow pieces of the route in the high mountains due to the snow still covering some of the passes. Our main objective was the famous Col de Tourmalet, which was open as far as the ski area, La Mongie, but closed at the top. We drove through Bagneres-de- Luchon, went up the Col de Peyresourde, part of this year's race, and then up the Col de Aspen, not included in the route this year. We have driven mountain roads before, but this drive was pretty scary. Narrow twisting roads with sheer drops and no guard rails. I gasped when a car roared past us on the narrow shoulder, veering only a few feet away from the edge in order to get around our car. Sheer drops were all along the way , but there was sheer beauty as well, as we looked down from the top into deep valleys and across to more snow covered peaks beyond. Our appreciation of the athletes of the Tour grew at every turn. Scary in a car! How do the men on bikes do it? It seems death-defying. For me, it was a relief to head down from such dizzying heights, but I knew the legendary Col de Tourmelet still lay ahead.

We stopped for lunch in Arreau, a lovely town with a little river rushing through it. Lunch was a picnic we had packed before we left our cottage and we ate it in the car, parked by the river. I would have liked to spend more time in Arreau but it was already mid afternoon and the Col de Tourmelet still lay ahead. Fog settled around us as we headed up toward the Col. We knew the roadside probably dropped off precipitously to the right, but as the fog thickened, we could barely see the road ahead. This was frightening. We talked about turning around and going back down but unfortunately that would be easier said than done. So we continued to creep up the mountain, knowing the ski area, La Mongie, should be ahead somewhere. Finally, the first buildings of the resort appeared through the clouds, and then the parking lots in the center of the complex of hotels and condos. There was not much activity around, but we did see evidence that the area was still open for skiing. A few people walked by in ski boots, so we assumed lifts were operating somewhere nearby. We decided there was not much to see in the fog, so I looked around for a restroom, unhappily contemplating the drive back down the mountain. As I emerged from the Welcome Center, Steve motioned for me to follow him through a brick archway and then to look up. Wow! A snow covered mountain peak was right there, in our face, above the parking lot. It loomed over us like a big bully schoolboy threatening the schoolyard, or maybe more like an avenging archangel descending on a sinful congregation. Whatever, it was imposing, so big and majestic where there had been only foggy blankness before. I think my jaw dropped. Then, almost as suddenly as the mountain peak appeared, it vanished into the fog and was totally gone. I have to say, we will never forget the sight of it. It was totally worth the white knuckle drive up the Col de Tourmelet.

The sun reappeared on our last morning in Loudet. We hated to leave the lovely little cottage with its view of the distant Pyrenees again revealed. But we said goodbye to our kind hosts, Brian and Marianne, and drove off toward our next stop, the apartment Ciel Bleu in Ceret.

Candace, I was pretty unnerved driving up and over Mont Ventoux, which is sometimes also used for the Tour de France. I don't think I would have liked that fog! And we're pretty accustomed to mountains, but we usually have railings along the edge of the mountain roads here where I live.

Your trip through the high Pyrenees to the ski resort sounds beautiful but also terrifying at the same time. During our trip to Barcelona, we visited Cadaques and Girona. My husband drove over the mountains to Cadaques, a beautiful white fishing village on the Mediterranean, and that ride was a white-knuckled drive, too, with about 2 dozen (or more) switchbacks. I would never be able to drive over roads like that. At least we didn't encounter any fog. Your husband must have nerves of steel!

Where is your next stop on this fascinating trip?

This is (unfortunately) reminding me of the time we decided against all better judgment to go up on a mountain pass during the transhumance to get to Ste-Enimie as quickly as possible from ourbase in Florac. Do NOT take roads on Michelin maps that are designated with a red dotted line. It means they're dangerous....and they are. First thing that happened as we ascended what was essentially no more than a goat track was another car barreling toward us. Absolutely no way for us to pass each other, so someone had to give. We did, and that meant backing down the switchbacks of the goat track for what seemed like forever. Once past that hurdle, we ascended again to a wide plâteau, which was easy enough to navigate....except for the shepherds with their massive herds of sheep, all over the road. We finally made it to the main road along the gorge to Ste-Enimie and were breathing a hug sigh of relief when around the corner came a convoie exceptionelle. We had to pull over so close to the rocky overhang on the right of the car that I could have opened the window and licked it. I don't know how that convoie ever got past us (it took several men jumping out of the convoie and its lead car and yelling and gesturing for a good 15 minutes, with of course a backup in the works behind both us and the convoie).

I also don't do well driving in heavy fog and almost died on the outskirts of Strasbourg one night in February, but that's another story.

Yes, sundriedtopepo, that fog was pretty bad. Aren't those Tour riders amazing? I was just reading about Mt. Ventoux and the memorial there to the British rider who died of heart failure on one of the hottest day ever recorded in the race. Supposedly, his last words were "Put me back on the bloody bike".

Karen, I guess my husband does have nerves of steel but even he was unnerved by that drive. Our next stop on this trip was Ceret in southeastern France, not that far from Cadaques. Cadaques looks like a lovely place to visit. I wish we had taken a day trip there. Maybe next time.

Oh my gosh, St. Cirq, your trip over that mountain pass sounds absolutely terrifying. We were amazed by how fast some other drivers were traveling on those treacherous roads. We encountered the car that had passed us on the Col de Aspen again when we parked in a pull-off at a trailhead higher up on the mountain. The driver had a toddler by the hand and his wife was carrying a baby as they prepared to start a hike. I can't imagine taking the risk he took passing us, with children in his car. To him, I guess, it must not have seemed risky.

SETTLING INTO CERET

The apartment, Ceil Bleu, in Ceret, was the first place I booked on this trip. When the whole idea of a trip to the Pyrenees was forming, I happened upon a description of this rental and was immediately sure we wanted to stay here. An artists' colony in the early 20th century, Ceret had attracted the likes of Picasso and Matisse with its soft light and pretty squares lined with plane trees, but it had never become especially touristy and still seemed authentic. The apartment had a balcony overlooking the small square which, on Saturday, became the site of the town's weekly market. It all sounded ideal for us, although it was out of the way of the original route we were considering. But after days on what could be the cold, blustery Atlantic coast, and the even colder high mountains of the central Pyrenees, perhaps being so close to the milder Mediterranean for awhile would be a good idea. Turned out, it was, although we got off to a rather uneven start.

We left Loudet at bit later that we meant to, but the drive was almost entirely on highways and the GPS was spot on. We were right on schedule for our 3:00 pm arrival until we encountered the exit for Ceret, which was off at the far corner of a long line of multiple exits. Very confused, we missed it. Next thing we knew, we were on a highway headed for Spain, with no exits until we crossed the border. This mistake cost us 30 minutes, so we were going to be late meeting with the person who would greet us at the apartment. I called the contact person, and lo and behold, she had never gotten our message regarding arrival time. She was miles away in Perpignan and could not meet us, but assured us someone would be there to let us in. After finally finding the apartment location, we settled down outside the building to wait. We waited 45 minutes, then called again. Paul, we were told, was on his way.

In the meantime, we had a nice chat with a lady who lived in the building. She was returning home with her shopping bags over her arm and greeted us with a friendly "Bonjour" as we scrambled to get out of her way, slumped as we were in front of her doorway. Although she spoke no English and we speak very limited French, we had quite a conversation. She was 83, she told us, and her husband was 86. She asked where we were from, and seemed happy to meet Americans. We chatted for quite awhile before she bid us "au revoir". The people in Ceret, we discovered, were all very friendly and kind to strangers. From the elderly neighbors who gathered every afternoon on sidewalk benches near our apartment to enjoy the sun and, I suppose, share gossip, to the various shopkeepers and the women at the Travel Information office, people inevitably greeted us with smiles. From the pharmacist who helped us find the antibacterial ointment I needed for what turned out to be shingles (thank heavens I had been vaccinated a few years before so didn't suffer too badly) to the lovely little lady in the pretty dress shop who wrapped a gift I purchased for my daughter so beautifully, no one could have been more helpful. Once we settled into our apartment, which we did quickly after the second phone call brought Paul to the rescue, we started exploring the town. It didn't take long before we began to feel very much at home in Ceret.

Love Ceret. And just IMO, you didn't miss all that much by not getting to Cadaques.

St. Cirq, I'm glad to hear that you share our opinion of Ceret. Wish we could move there like you did to your part of France.

OUR DAY AT THE MUSEUM, ETC.

The morning of our first full day in Ceret was rainy, so we used the time to shop, stocking up on food and drink, visiting the bakery, the patisserie, the butcher shop and the supermarket. These establishments were to become very familiar to us and part of our daily routine through the 5 days we spent here. We set aside the afternoon on our first day to visit the Musee d' Art Moderne, located in the center of town and an easy walk from our apartment. Ceret had its share of early 20th century artists who arrived to find inspiration in the golden stone of its buildings, the tall green hills above the town, and the soft and special quality of the light that settled over it all. Picasso spent a few years in a house just around the corner from our apartment and some of his work, notably a collection of decorated pottery, is displayed in the museum. Also represented are Henri Matisse, Salvadore Dali, Marc Chagall, among others. We looked forward to viewing these works. We are not modern art aficionados but we enjoy it none the less.

Works by Maria-Helena Vieira da Silva comprised a special exhibit at the museum when we visited. The artist, we learned, was born in Lisbon but moved to Paris in her early twenties to study art. Her paintings show the influences of geometric abstraction and cubism, among other trends, with subject matter that often dealt with architectural elements and cityscapes. Entering the special exhibit area, we first went into a small auditorium where a film highlighting the artist's career was showing. Here occurred the first incident which helped make our trip to the museum less than a success. Someone must have had a huge lunch comprised of beans and cabbage because suddenly the room filled with an intense odor of intestinal gas. It was awful. We had to leave.

So on we went, through the galleries featuring Maria Vieira da Silva's works, often interesting, often dark. It was here that the next of the less than pleasant incidents occurred: the irritation of that museum goer who has no sense of anyone's space but her own. The galleries were not crowded by any means, but I was practically pushed out of the way if I was looking at a painting she wanted to see. After this happened a few times, I tried to go in a different direction in order to avoid her but before I knew it she was back. For a moment, I wondered if she was trying to get close enough to riffle my pockets, but then I didn't think so. She just had no clue how irritating she was.

It was after we moved from the special exhibit galleries to the main body of works in the museum that we encountered the "Hacker" family. Two of this family's kids were obviously sick, sprawled on a viewing bench together with bright red cheeks and feverish eyes. Another child was wandering around the room coughing into his hands. The parents were coughing more discreetly, but had no tissues in sight. You could almost see the germs wafting through the air. Now, I am sympathetic if someone is not feeling well. I especially hate to see sick children. But please, keep them home (or back in the hotel room) and feed them chicken soup and hot tea so they can get better. Not wishing to catch whatever it was they had, we quickly left that gallery, powered through the rest of the museum and exited, thankfully, to sunshine.

All was not lost. We decided a good way to experience art in Ceret was to have a glass of wine and a beer at a sidewalk cafe in "Pablo's Square". Probably many of the artists whose works we saw in the museum enjoyed many hours in just this spot. We were sorry we didn't enjoy the museum more but this end to our visit was pretty nice.

WALKS AND DRIVES NEAR CERET

The lovely ladies at the Ceret Tourist Information Office gave us descriptions of two walks we could take from our apartment. One was to the Devils Bridge via the river Tech. The second was up to the "viewing" table above the town. We started off on our first walk after breakfast. It was a beautiful day and we had no trouble finding the farm road that eventually followed the river toward the Devils Bridge. We walked past cherry orchards which appeared to have recently been in bloom. Bright red poppies and blue iris colored the roadside here and there. A quaint cottage behind a wrought iron gate invited photos, especially when the resident donkey showed up and stuck his nose through the fence. The river, when we came upon it, was bright and swift with banks of flat rocks. After awhile and a short steep uphill stretch, we made it to the bridge, which when it was built in the fourteenth century had the longest single arch ever constructed, with a span of 149 feet. We walked halfway across, took pictures and headed back to our apartment through town, ready for lunch.

After our favorite noon meal of ham and cheese on a baguette, we started out on the second walk of the day, up the hill out of town to the overlook. The climb was never too strenuous, as we followed a paved road all the way. The stone "table" at the overlook had a sort of map etched into it, labeling the views lying before us, the mountains in the distance and the town just below. It was fun to see the town from above and pick out our apartment building. And later, from our apartment, we could pick out the overlook high above.

After heading down from the overlook, we made our way back to the TI Office to gather information on Collioure, a town on the Mediterranean close to the Spanish border. Our plan was to drive there the next day. I guess I absolutely mutilated the pronunciation of Collioure, because the very pleasant ladies manning the information desk had no idea where I wanted to go. When I finally spelled it out, they laughed and laughed (in a nice way). They then tried to teach me the correct way to pronounce Collioure but I just couldn't seem to get my tongue around it.

Driving to Collioure didn't take long, as I remember. Parking was easy, near the Chateau Royal, although it took some time wandering around the walls to find the entry to the Chateau. The most memorable part of our visit to the Chateau were the views of the harbor, the town, and the beaches, so picturesque in every direction. While gazing out over the harbor, we noticed a boat speeding across the water. As it approached the harbor, at least a dozen people could be seen leaping off the back of the boat into the waves. As they swam toward shore, the boat circled back and docked at the pier across from the castle. Eventually, we figured out that we were watching some sort of military maneuver, as a new group of young men and women started gearing up for their turn. Later, as we exited the Chateau, we saw some moored military style pontoon boats and a sign explaining that Collioure is the training site for French commandos. We thought of our grandson who loves to play with his army men. Wouldn't he be excited to see real commandos in training?

We walked from the Chateau toward the church tower and by the beach in front of the old town, past some open air restaurants with tables set up close to the beach. It was a lovely spot on a lovely afternoon and I was tempted to pick one of these places for lunch. But Steve, glancing at some of the posted menus, wasn't impressed and we kept on going. We were glad we did because, after wandering through the little streets of the old town for awhile, we happened upon a busy cafe whose specialty was moules and frites. Other restaurants we had passed by were half empty but this place was packing them in. As soon as a table was free it was occupied but we were lucky and were almost immediately seated. All around us, steaming aluminum foil packets full of moules were set in front of diners, along with plates piled high with thick french fries. Steve followed suit and was soon digging into one of his favorite meals, which he pronounced to be delicious. My little pizza with olives was good too.

After lunch, we walked back around the wall of the Chateau to the quieter beach on the other side. Piano music was playing somewhere nearby, sailboats bobbed out on the water, and children played in a little playground by the walkway. It was a charming moment and we sat for awhile to take it all in, glad we had driven to Collioure.

Then, we were off to the Perpignan airport to try to sort out a problem with our rental car drop off early on a Sunday morning. The problem was resolved, we hoped, and we returned to Ceret late in the afternoon. Because it was Friday, we had to park in a more distant parking lot than our normal spot near the entry to our building. The square in front of our apartment was required to be car free early Saturday morning so that vendors could begin setting up their booths for the famous Saturday market, which we were really looking forward to the next day.

Funny, every time I've been in Collioure they've been doing those military meneuvers in the water, too. Interesting. Pretty town, and excellent anchovies, though a madhouse in July and August. If I remember from our last trip to that neck of the woods, Porte-Vente is the next town over, and we always found excellent food there at cheaper prices than in Collioure.

Collioure: roughly Col-yoor, 2 syllables.

Candace, I want to take your trip! It sounds great! I think a trip to Collioure will work for us as an add-on some day when we visit our daughter who lives in southern France. St. Cirq, do you know approximately how far it is from Marseilles?

Thanks, St. Cirq, for the phonetic pronounciation of Collioure. Helps someone with a tin ear like me to see the phonetics.

Karen, I hope you can make it to Collioure, and also Ceret, someday.

KarenWoo: It's 350 kms, at least a 3.5-hour trip (and in mid-summer the roads are jammed, so longer).

MARKET DAY IN CERET AND A DRIVE TO PRATS-DE-MOLLO

Early Saturday morning, we heard trucks and vans arriving in the square below our windows. As dawn broke, we watched the busy vendors setting up their spaces for market day. Tables were unfolded and van doors slid open. Special trucks became portable kitchens. Crates of fruits and vegetables were unloaded and deftly arranged in perfect order. Bunches of flowers filled pails of varying sizes, displayed in pyramids of color. Bright arrangements of pottery pieces covered tables draped in colorful cloths. Cheeses in baskets nestled among sausages. Stacked jars of jams and jellies sparkled when rays of sun angled through them. Down the street, we could see huge pans of paella being assembled. Nearby, the chicken rotisserie started turning. Breads and cakes were piled high on the baker's counter. And that was just the beginning. The market stretched up the street from our little square and wound around the corner into the main square, then spread down another side street. Once it was in full swing, we wandered through. I was astonished at the variety of goods for sale. Vendors selling seafood were set up next to vendors selling bras and panties. Shoes and purses were displayed next to stacks of carrots. I think there were five different goat cheese farms represented. Steve bought some asparagus for our dinner but unfortunately we were leaving for Paris the next day so we couldn't stock up on food at this point. After Steve went back to the apartment, I continued wandering through the market , taking pictures of the artful displays all around. A stage had been set up in the main square and local singing groups took turns performing for the crowd. Little girls danced happily to their music as everyone applauded. On this beautiful Saturday morning in Ceret, I certainly could appreciate how the age old tradition of market day endures throughout Europe.

It was a beautiful morning, but rain was in the forecast for the afternoon, and the sun disappeared before the market stalls were packed away. But even with the rain, we decided to go ahead with our plans to take the D115 road toward the Spanish border and the town of Prats-de-Mollo. It was a good decision. The drive followed the River Tech and once we passed through the rather nondescript town of Amelie-les-Baines, the scenery was an interesting mix of hills, curves, and rocky ledges. In the sun, it would have been really pretty, but distant rain and low clouds dampened it down.

When we arrived in Prats-de-Mollo, the air was chilly, but at least it wasn't raining. We easily found a parking spot in the main square and walked up toward the church and the fort on the hill above it. Climbing all the way to the fort seemed like more than we wanted to attempt, but when we found that the way up was a long tunnel-like stone enclosure with no steps and just a rope for a hand rail, we had to try it. After several minutes of climbing, we saw the light at the end of the tunnel, as they say, and emerged to find ourselves halfway up to the fort. A blockhouse type structure allowed no admittance, but we could look over the wall at the view and the town below us. To proceed further, we had to enter another tunnel, steeper and longer than the first. We traveled up it part way, but the increased incline, along with the slippery wet stone footing, helped us to decide not to risk a fall, so we turned around. Back down at the church, we followed a path around the town wall, then crossed through a portal and a small bridge into the upper part of the old village. Narrow alleys with broad stone steps led every which way. Later, we learned that these passageways were designed for donkeys to maneuver. We didn't see any donkeys. In fact, we hadn't encountered many people on our walk up towards the fort or through this part of town. It almost felt deserted. But we eventually came to the main street and a few restaurants and shops were open for business. I bought my daughter a pretty Basque tablerunner which I thought she would like. Then we climbed into our car for the drive back to Ceret.

Our last night in Ceret, we put together a dinner using up our leftover food. The next day we needed to leave early to drop off the rental car catch the train to Paris.

Mmmm markets inspire picnics...must have been difficult thinking of leaving there.

Yes, sundriedtopepo, it was difficult. The Saturday market in Ceret was one of the best we've ever experienced. Reason enough to go back someday.

GOODBY CERET - HELLO PARIS

Waking early, we were feeling a little stressed about the rental car drop-off but looking forward to our two nights in Paris. We had done some packing the night before so we were in good shape there. The apartment looked good after a final sweep through and wipe down. Trash was emptied and we finished our entry into the guestbook. Paul showed up right on time to pick up the keys and we set the trusty GPS for the Perpignan train station. Off we went.

We had plenty of time, or so we thought, to drop off the car and catch the train to Paris. Plenty of time, that is, until a directional misunderstanding between us and the GPS resulted in a wrong turn. Thank heaven it was Sunday morning, so traffic was fairly light. But still, by the time we found the underground parking garage at the station, and figured out exactly where we needed to leave the car and the keys, it was a rush to the platform to board the train with little time to spare.

But we made it, and soon relaxed, looking forward to seeing our favorite city, Paris, one more time. Although the train ride took five hours, it was a pleasant journey, with comfortable seats and only a few stops. We generally love traveling by train in Europe, using the time to read up on our next location and write in our journal. On this trip, a lovely Parisian family was sitting right ahead of us in a four seat unit with a table between. Two little girls, maybe four and six years old, were traveling with their young parents. The four year old, with her pretty big eyes and light brown hair, reminded me so much of our granddaughter, who is a year or so younger. She occasionally popped into our view and it was fun to watch her. My husband was amazed at how she and her sister entertained themselves without a fuss throughout the entire five hour journey.

The weather in Paris wasn't great when we arrived, overcast and cool, but we took a cab to our hotel, Hotel Saint-Louis en I'Isle on the Isle St. Louis. We had stayed on the Isle St. Louis once before, and we liked the village-like atmosphere and the good location. However, the Hotel Saint-Louis en I'Isle was new to us. So, when we walked into the lobby and the receptionist, a distinguished looking gentleman, greeted us by name it was surprising, and a nice touch. Our room was very small, as all our Paris hotel rooms have usually been, but it was attractive and had a window that looked out onto the street which I always like. The bathroom was tiny, also, but had a wonderful large shower with great water pressure.

So happy to be back in Paris, we decided to take a walk and headed over the bridge to the Isle de la Cite, past the Cathedral of Notre Dame and back across the Seine to the Hotel de Ville. Our last time in Paris, we had rented a great little apartment for a week on the Ile de la Cite. The apartment had views of the river and the Hotel de Ville and I could never get enough of looking out the windows. We walked everywhere when we were there, and the neighborhood came to seem like home. So it was great to revisit it again. We wished we could stay there for another week.

But this time, we only had two nights, and the mission of the first night was to figure out where we should go to dinner. After walking up and down the Rue St. Louis and perusing the posted menus at the various restaurants, we settled on Le Caveau de Lisle. During our very first trip to Paris almost twenty years ago, we had dined at a restaurant that was very near to this location and we had a memorable meal. That restaurant no longer exists but sentimentally we were drawn to this nearby place, hoping for a similar experience. At Le Cave de L'isle, I ordered a pate for starters and then confit of duck. It was good, but not outstanding. I love confit of duck and this version was not as flavorful as it could have been. Steve had a salad and lamb chops, which he enjoyed. The service was attentive and the atmosphere was pleasant with soft lighting and artwork featuring movie stars, as I remember. It was raining when we left the restaurant and we were tired so we headed right back to the hotel for the night. Tomorrow would be our last day in Paris.