<i>Question: June 24???</i>
St. John's Feast Day, which is the traditional day of picking the walnuts before the wooden shell forms.

Limoncello only takes a week according to my recipe.

June 24 - Fête de la St-Jean, also usually the beginning of the yearly music festival all over France.

Nope, that's June 21st for the music.

<B>Day Sixteen - Harboring Four Americans, Is That A Boat Or A Church, Killer Caramel Crepes, Dancing In The Street, Death Stairs 2012, What’s This Tree Doing In My Shower, Not Dine But Dash and The Perfect Way To Spend An Evening</B>

On an overcast Wednesday morning, the four of us were off to our next locale, which would just be a short one-night stand (ah, the college days..oops, excuse me) in the cute town of Honfleur, where Tracy and I had also had a one-night stand (of a different sort) in 1998.

It only took us a little more than an hour to reach Honfleur, although after we got there we thought it might take another hour to find our b&b, La cour sainte Catherine, 74 rue du puits. In a stroke of luck after circumventing the city and some construction that had Madame Bleu more screwed up than usual, not only did we find a parking place, but we found one right in front of the b&b.

We were very early, and they told us our rooms would be ready about three that afternoon, but they took our luggage and it was off to explore Honfleur. As I said, Tracy and I visited in the late 90s. We had stayed out of town, so we only really saw the harbor, a place that made me want to paint a Monet-like painting, if only I could paint. We were to find out on this trip that Honfleur was a lot more than just a pretty harbor.

Our first stop on this morning was Saint-Catherine’s Church, and when we entered the 15th century church it looked similar to an upside-down ship’s hull. It was like the Poseidon Adventure without Gene Hackman circa the 1400s. We walked outside where there was a mini-farmer’s market going on, and we walked around town for a bit, checking out some over-priced art until lunch-time.

I took a photo of Kim and Mary with two small Christmas-type trees on either side that they said they would use as their Christmas card (by the way Mary, we haven’t received it yet!).

Wandering over to the harbor, we sat outside at la Chaloupe (I believe), which we chose by a very simple method…the restaurant had outdoor heaters (it was cold). Lunch was good. For dessert (none of my pants were fitting anyway), I had a wonderful caramel crepe. Oh yeah, wine was involved, too, albeit just a small carafe.

After a long lunch, it was almost time to check in, so back to the La cour sainte Catherine we walked. Honfleur is an incredibly picturesque city, so much so it would be perfect for a wedding. I know that because on the walk back to the b&b, a couple who looked like they were taking some engagement photos were literally dancing in the street. Thankfully I was walking by them and not driving or it could have had dire consequences for their nuptials.

Back at the b&b, we were shown to our two rooms. Each was spacious and clean, and each provided a challenge, which were quite different from one another.

When we walked down the stairs from the first room we saw, a second story room, when we opened the door to the outside on the way back down, one misstep and we would have face-planted into the street. With the copious amounts of wine we drink, Kim and Mary decided that this room would be safer for them to occupy. “We don’t want to lose you this late in the trip,” Kim said. I think he meant it.

Our room didn’t present a challenge until the following morning. Getting in the tiny shower, I realized there was a piece of timber in the center of the ceiling of the shower that caused me to contort so that the knot in the wood didn’t cause a knot in my head. Other than those little quirks, we liked the place that included a beautiful courtyard and a charming breakfast room (included in the price of the room).

Contemplating going down the street to the restaurant recommended by our lovely hostess, we decided to head on down to the harbor again for dinner. The night had cleared up, so off to the harbor we walked.

We ducked inside one restaurant and after sitting down we checked out the menu, which looked ok, but the entire atmosphere of the restaurant seemed to be a downer. This was an eerie reminder of our second night in Paris, so the four of us hightailed it out of the restaurant.

Walking around for a bit, we settled down at a table at L’Hippocampe, complete with a gorgeous view of the harbor. As the moon rose in the sky, we toasted (damn, we toast a lot) our incredible fortune to have gone on this journey. On this night anyway, the view was more important than the food, which happened to be surprisingly good.

Mary dined on some oysters and skate, Kim had a fish soup, while I had a Tartine Normandy and Tracy dined on Sea Bream (which is either a fish or the submarine in Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea) with red pepper cream sauce. I also had a fantastic chocolate tart with orange zest for dessert. Harkening back to the Dordogne, I was now beginning to resemble Domme DeLuise (poetic license).

It was a gorgeous night, so the four of us just soaked up the atmosphere (along with, surprisingly, a couple of bottles of wine), and finally took a nice stroll back to the hotel. Entering our room we heard no screams, so we figured Kim and Mary had made it safely to their room.

Sadly, this was it for the French countryside. The Dordogne, Loire and Normandy would be in our rear-view mirror as we headed for our final three days in Paris tomorrow. As it turned out, those places were not the only thing that would be in our rear-view mirror, because tomorrow I would take my three passengers on a harrowing ride through the streets of Paris, complete with zipping around the Arc de Triomphe and going where no rental car has ever gone before (or, at least, they shouldn’t have).

<B>Next: Day Seventeen – Mr. Maitai’s Wild Ride, Lane Violation, Where The Hell Did They Put Our Rental Car Agency, Dining In The Rain, The Good Samaritan, Service With A Smile, The Rue You-Know-What, Fancy Meeting You Here and A Return To Ray Romano’s Restaurant</B>

loving this, Mait

One thing I forgot to add, I know that some people just want to get from Paris to Bayeux and all the D-Day sights, but if you can swing it, a day and night in Honfleur is well worth your time.

A very lovely report MTT.

I agree: Honfleur is not to be missed.

TR

<B>Day Seventeen – Mr. Maitai’s Wild Ride, Lane Violation, Where The Hell Did They Put Our Rental Car Agency, Dining In The Rain, The Good Samaritan, Service With A Smile, The Rue You-Know-What, Fancy Meeting You Here and A Return To Ray Romano’s Restaurant</B>

As a noisy, cute chat noir rambled around the lovely breakfast room at La cour sainte Catherine, we all sat down at a table thankful that no one had fallen into the street or conked their head. There was a nice spread that included yogurt, cereal, croissants with boysenberry jam, apple cider along with lemon meringue and apple Galettes. We were ready for the relaxing two hour drive into Paris, of which the first hour and forty five minutes was relaxing.

Our first stop in Paris was going to be the Hotel Bastille de Launay, 42 rue Amelot, in the 11th arrondissement. We would drop off our luggage, and then go find our rental car drop-off spot, which I had stupidly made in Montparnasse and forgot to change after I booked our hotel. Never drink martinis while making reservations.

I joked with the gang as we headed into Paris, “I sure hope we don’t have to drive around the Arc du Triomphe.” I had done that once in 1986 and nearly scared my traveling companion half to death with my erratic driving.

“I’ve got some interesting information for you,” Kim said. I quickly gave him a glance, and he had a sly smile on his face. “Madame Bleu has us going around the Arc,” he reported. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Mary and Tracy already bracing for what was sure to be a horrific accident. Kim seemed resigned to his ultimate fate.

Careening in and out of traffic, the Arc loomed in the distance. “The Arc is dead ahead,” I said, which was probably a poor choice of words looking back on it. Soon we were whizzing around the monument with about 100 other cars, motorcycles and trucks. It was like a legal Demolition Derby. Since there are really no lanes, it is every driver for his or her self, and being a rather aggressive person behind the wheel, I was able to navigate that bad boy Audi around the Arc with no difficulty. “Phew,” I said, and then I opened my eyes.

Shortly, I was zipping along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées (well not really zipping because of the traffic) and through the streets of Paris we traveled, amazed pedestrians looking on in awe of this American speed demon. I must admit it gave me a cool adrenaline rush to drive in this city. I can’t say my passengers felt the same way. About ten minutes later, we arrived at the hotel, dumped the luggage, and it was on to Montparnasse.

Similarly to when we drove into Bayeux, we were lacking one small (yet important) piece of information; we had no address, and it was not on the rental agreement. We figured it had to be at or near the railway station so away we went.

Madame Bleu had done pretty well on this day so far, but soon she made a mistake that I might be paying for in the future. She instructed me to turn à droite at the signal. “Hey this is cool,” I said. “This is just one lane and we’re the only people in it.” Then came the words I have heard so often on our vacations.

“Tom, you idiot (I believe it was all said in unison), you’re driving in the taxi lane.” Sure enough, this was the lane reserved for taxis and busses, and although I was making great time, there were two fairly large problems. One, I was headed now in the wrong direction and (2) there were signs along the way saying that cameras were monitoring any “idiots” illegally driving in this lane. Thankfully we have no children to put through college, because we saw a few of those signs as I hopelessly tried to find some way to exit this lane of horror.

After about five minutes (although it seemed like an hour), I was finally able to exit the lane, and we were headed back toward Montparnasse. We neared the station and saw signs for rental car agencies, lots of them. Of course, none of them were Europcar, which happened to be ours. Somehow, Tracy and Mary finally saw a miniscule sign pointing us down into a parking garage.

After passing signs to about 100 other car rental companies, Kim finally jumped out at a competitor’s kiosk, and we were directed to Europcar. We gave them our paperwork and were on our way for our last days in Paris.

We took the metro back to the Bastille metro station, walking out near the Opera Bastille. It was pouring down rain. We hadn’t eaten since our breakfast feast and our hotel would not let us check in until after 3 p.m., but there across the street loomed a restaurant, La Bastille, 8 place de la Bastille. The food, contrary to TA reviews that I read when I returned home, was quite good.

The guy who greeted us at the door of La Bastille was charming with a smile a mile wide, and we asked to be seated outside (under cover, of course) to enjoy a meal in the rain in Paris.

Kim had a Caesar salad with chicken; Mary some French Onion soup; Tracy a penne pasta with green veggies and I had a really good Croque Monsieur.

It was also rather magical to have the rain pouring down, sitting in a Paris café and watching hundreds of people with colorful umbrellas stroll by like it was a sunny day. These are the memories of Paris I always cherish.

Upon exiting, we really did not know what direction to head (shocking, eh), although we had driven in this location only about an hour before. A lovely, middle-aged French woman (from Lyon it turned out) saw four drenched Americans holding a map and looking like, well, tourists. She asked if she could help, and sure enough she pointed us in the right direction.

Since it was not quite 3 p.m., we did what we always do when we have a few minutes to kill…we stopped and each had a glass of wine. The rain was letting up, so a little after 3 we were back at the Hotel Bastille de Launay.

This hotel turned out have perhaps the nicest, most informative front desk people I have encountered on either pleasure or business trips anywhere I have traveled in the world. For three days they were helpful with directions, restaurant reservations or anything else our crew needed.

We all freshened up, and since we had 7:30 reservations at Le Florimond (our hotel in Bayeux made these for us), we hopped on the metro to go see a part of Paris that Kim had only read and heard about, that dreaded Fodor’s Bermuda Triangle of controversy, the rue Cler.

First of all, amazingly for all you rue Cler haters, Rick Steves and his entourage were nowhere to be found. Secondly, this supposedly dead street only occupied by a few Americans in dorky clothes sporting blue travel books, was actually quite vibrant on this drizzly Thursday afternoon…and I have the photos to prove it. Finally, Mon Dieu, the most prevalent accent I heard while we walked on the street was French. Perhaps Thursday is “French Day” on the rue Cler, a day when they let locals shop and eat without hordes of tourists saying, “Happy traveling.”

As we walked along this “tourist trap” of a street, Kim said to me, “You know, I have never had a Grand Marnier crepe.” In an orange liqueur-laden minute, we were standing at a crepe stand ordering the Grand Marnier crepe. Obviously our “Crepe guy” had not made one of those since 2010, because it took about 15 minutes for him to find the Grand Marnier in between tending to his patrons. It was no problem, however, because the rest of us explored some more of the shops.

Once Kim got the crepe, I told our group we should leave, because if I wrote in the trip report that we had spent this much time on the rue Cler, I would probably be shunned from writing anything else on the Fodor’s Board and my credibility (what little I have) would be gone forever.

We hustled over to the Eiffel Tower and took the requisite photos that would assure our friends back home that we were really in France. As we walked back from the Eiffel Tower, there in the distance was a familiar looking couple. Sure enough, it was our Seattle friends from the Overlord Tour in Bayeux. We were happy to see they were still healthy and had not caught whatever deadly disease our guide had going on.

After exchanging pleasantries, I jokingly said, “Hey, see you tomorrow.” It was still only about 7 p.m., so we walked along Avenue de la Motte-Picquet, a street I only remember because I call it Mott The Hoople, a 1970s band that was popular back when I was one of all the young dudes.

Standing in front of a beautiful florist shop, the skies burst open with a downpour of biblical proportions (we’re from California, a drizzle is biblical to us). So about 7:20, we arrived at the front door of Le Florimond, 19 Avenue de la Mott the Hoople (I mean Motte-Picquet), and there to greet us was our main man from four years ago, Mr. Ray Romano.

OK, it wasn’t really Ray, but I’ll be damned if the owner of this place doesn’t look just like him. He lead us to our table, and with his Foghorn Leghorn tie given to him by a patron of his restaurant, took our order of four Le Florimond cocktails to start off the evening. The cocktail consisted of sparkling wine with black cherries (really good black cherries). We were also served an amuse-bouche to start.

The menu was pretty similar to what it had been at Christmas 2008.

Tracy started with Ravioles de homard, brunoise de legumes (lobster raviolis with some veggies) and then had Couscous de legumes for her Plat.

Kim dined on the Sea Bass, while Mary opted for the Split Pea soup and duck with eggplant, figs and apricots.

I started with a Terrine of Veal Shank with a citron confit. For dinner, I ordered the confit de canard (I was confit to be tied I guess) with roasted garlic potatoes. Everything was really good, and by the time we ordered dessert, mostly older Americans packed the place. Since we were all older Americans, too, we didn’t complain.

Tracy had been dreaming of her dessert for the past four years, the Tierce de sorbets ou glaces, compote de pommes au coquelicot (although she had been dreaming about it in English since she doesn’t speak French).

Roughly translated, Tracy had a serving of three ice creams: vanilla bean, pistachio cream caramel and a dark chocolate with chocolate bits.

I was not disappointed with my dessert choice. I had a Tartelette sablée de cacao à la clémentine, which to me translated into a really good chocolate and orange thing. With wine and our cocktails, the bill came to 194€. It was another nice meal at Le Florimond. If you want to hang out with only French people, this is probably not your spot. But if you want a good dinner with an Everybody Loves Raymond look-alike as your main server, you can’t do much better than this.

Back at the hotel, I told Tracy I hoped I would be able to climb to the top of Notre Dame the following morning, because the weather was supposed to be pretty good. Although that task never came to fruition, we did get to go to some places I had never visited on any of our trips to Paris, including one where we ran into some musical greats from the past couple of centuries.

<B>Next: Day Eighteen - No Room At The Top, Sac It To Me, Break On Through To The Other Side, Finally Some Beef Bourguignon, Fancy Meeting You Here...Again, Organ Concert, My Favorite View Of Paris, Damn We Should Have Gone Here Today and Getting Ready For Our Final Day</B>

I have to ask, what's in the compote de pommes au coquelicot? I understand the apple part, but I can't figure out what the edible stand-in is for red poppies.

Your meals all sound delicious. That's one of my favorite things about France, and when we come home to the restaurant desert where we live, it's such a letdown.

"I have to ask, what's in the compote de pommes au coquelicot? I understand the apple part, but I can't figure out what the edible stand-in is for red poppies."

I will ask Tracy if she knows and remembers.

"Your meals all sound delicious."

Wait until our last day and night in Paris. I believe it was my best and most fun day of eating in my entire life. It was like being in restaurant heaven both for food and atmosphere.

This continues to be a great report in the old MaiTai tradition. Keep going, I wNt to get to the photos. No pressure, tho'

Le Florimond is one of my favorite restaurants in Paris. And, if you want to dine there with a room full of French people, make a 9pm reservation...we were the only English speakers in the place at that time! ;-)

Personally, I don't care what language is spoken at a restaurant if the meal is decent. Le Florimond has been good on both occasions we have gone, although I wish they'd change up the menu a little more.

Well, then, looking forward to your last day in Paris. For the food part that is.

That came out wrong... Looking forward to the rest of your report, but especially the last day in Paris, for the food.

The same thing happened to my husband, i.e. he ended up driving around the Arch. That was May of 2006, and he proudly tells the story (over and over and...) that he did it without hurting anyone, including our traveling companions. It was harrowing, though!

"Confit to be tied." Really? LOL, just kidding - love your sense of humor and writing style. Thanks again for posting.

.." and he proudly tells the story (over and over and...)..."

I'm sure in ten years our stories will be embellished to show our adeptness at navigating around the Arc without a sweat in a souped-up Porsche convertible while waving to astounded Parisians.

LOL, Rue Cler-loving tourist banned from Fodors!

Hate to see this one coming to an end!

One of my friends tells about being in France with her family in the fifties. Her family was of French descent, had relatives there, and is bilingual. At the end of their stay, her father was going to return the rental car and, as he was going to have to pay for a full tank of gas, decided he wanted to return it with just a few drops. Anyway, she and one of her brothers went with him. To use up gas, he deliberately drove round and round the Arc, but misjudged and wound up running out of gas on one of his circuits.

Her brother spilled the beans to her mother about the whole adventure. She was only five but does remember that her mother was not amused. However, fifty years later the mother was able tell the story with a chuckle.

<B>Day Eighteen - No Room At The Top, Sac It To Me, Break On Through To The Other Side, Finally Some Beef Bourguignon, Organ Concert, My Favorite View Of Paris, Damn We Should Have Gone Here Today and Getting Ready For Our Final Day</B>

While Kim and Mary slept in a bit, Tracy and I hit the pavement in search of, well in Paris “in search of” means whatever comes next. As I have said, I really wanted to climb to the top of Notre Dame since it was something I had done nearly every decade of my life.

On our stroll toward the Seine, we ducked into Eglise Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis, which was constructed in the 17th century. We arrived at Notre Dame in time to see that there was an hour’s wait to climb to the top. “No thanks, “ I said, “we’ll just have to come back to Paris again this decade (I’m pretty sure we can accomplish that goal).”

Instead, as the skies cleared up, we hopped on the metro and after a couple of changes, we arrived at a Paris landmark that, for some reason, we had never ventured inside (or if we had, neither of us remember doing it).

Sacré-Couer Basillica lay ahead after we got off the metro, and although we could have taken the funicular to reach it, Tracy and I climbed the 220 or so stairs (have to walk off some of those dinners somewhere). The views back toward Paris were beautiful, and inside we walked.

The first things we saw at Sacré-Couer stirred amazement in both Tracy and me. Entering the church and standing only a few yards away stood two figures I recognized immediately…Kim and Mary. Great minds think alike, I guess. Sacré-Couer was jammed with people both inside and out. It was quite impressive, so I can’t believe we would have forgotten going there, however French wine does sometimes provide that amnesiac effect.

Our official art connoisseurs, Kim and Mary, decided they were going to hang out in Montmartre for a while, so Tracy and I rode the metro to our next destination, which would be another first-time spot for us to visit. This is a place where the stars hang out, albeit for the last time.

About all I knew about Père Lachaise Cemetery was that Jim Morrison was buried inside its walls. Once we bought the map, we realized that a lot of famous and not-so-famous people have made this their last place of residency.

The cemetery was gorgeous (kind of a weird word to use for a cemetery) on this late morning excursion. The fallen leaves blowing on the ground juxtaposed against some of the incredibly cool tombs made for a very interesting walk.

“This is where I want to hang out after I die,” I told Tracy. “Just build one of these mini-house tombs, and we can do some pretty fancy après-death entertaining of the spirits.” I think Tracy believed I had already been hitting the spirits when I said that.

With our map, we found some of the more famed musicians buried here. Wandering through these tombs with a view, our first overture to its musical guests was Italian composer Gioachino Rossini, which was just a prelude to Polish composer Frédéric Chopin.

We broke on through to the other side of the cemetery to see the somewhat inglorious grave (at least compared to most of the others here) of Jim Morrison, which was literally The End of the line for the Doors’ lead singer. We even ran into some rather bizarre looking people wearing Doors t-shirts, but as we all know, People Are Strange.

A couple of other notables who “reside” here include French singer Édith Piaf and American dancer Isadora Duncan, who is the person responsible for me having an aversion to wearing scarves.

After spending about 90 minutes wandering Père Lachaise, Tracy and I hopped back on the metro and exited at Saint-Michel. The combination of extreme hunger and a sudden rainstorm forced our hand, and we stopped in at the restaurant, Chez Clément. I had been yearning for some beef bourguignon, and, since it was Friday, Chez Clément had it on the menu. It was good, but nothing like the beef bourguignon I would dine on the following day.

Tracy’s lunch was also tasty; roasted beets with mustard and fleur de sel along with a ravioli with wilted leeks. As we sat at a window table, Tracy exclaimed, “Look, there are our friends from Seattle.” Ok, friends might have been a little much, since we don’t even know their names.

In any event, I hopped up from the table, ran out and yelled, “Hey, fancy seeing you guys again.” Unfortunately, I had passed right by the Seattle couple who we had met on our Normandy D-Day Tour, so by the time I blurted out the sentence, it was directed at someone else, who immediately turned around and looked at me like I was a crazy person (don’t go there). I then turned to the real Seattle couple who were either (1) happy to say “hello” again or (2) fearful I was some kind of a bizarre vacation stalker.

Once again, the skies had turned blue after that brief shower, so when we left the restaurant, Tracy and I did what we love to do best in Paris…walk around aimlessly and just enjoy the city. We strolled around Saint Germain over to the Seine where we saw that bridge that has all those locks (yet no bagels) and then over to Saint-Louis and back to Notre Dame, where the wait to climb to the top rivaled Space Mountain at Disneyland. Since they have no Fast Passes at Notre Dame, I was finally resigned to the fact that I would not be going up on this trip.

Minutes later, we were back on the metro headed to La Madeleine. This was the first time I remember seeing the colorful flowers on the stairs in front of the church. Inside there was a gentleman playing the organ, and the music resonated throughout the church. It was beautiful.

Suddenly, a tourist (not me) who was sitting in one of the chairs listening to the music, got up and walked right up to the organist and started taking his picture. I was concerned he might request In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, but the guy finally went back to his seat.

We then meandered back cross the street to our favorite French store, Hediard, just to check it out since we would be back tomorrow to buy some items we just can’t live without.

Since the day was so lovely, including those stupendous Paris clouds, Tracy and I took the metro to Printemps and took the 75 different escalators (slight exaggeration) to the top. We had gone here in 2006 on Michael Osmans’s walking tour of Paris, and we loved the views then, and on this day they were equally stunning.

Kim and Mary were also taking advantage of the day, walking various parts of Paris. Together, the four of us stayed relatively out of trouble.

When we arrived back at the hotel, we were all pooped. As we started to take a short nap, I thought, “Damn, there’s a place I want to visit that I forgot all about.” The Promenade planteé had been on my radar, but I guess my radar had shut down for a while.

I went downstairs, and the clerk at the desk printed me out a little Google map of where it was located. The Promenade planteé was nearby, so we decided to go there the following morning, because we knew that Kim and Mary would enjoy it, too.

Since the four of us had walked all over Paris, we decided to find a nearby café for dinner in the Marais. We came across a little brassiere whose name escapes me. The meal was fine, if not memorable (as is the name of the restaurant), and the waiter was a crack-up. Whatever the meal (almost), you can’t beat dining outside in Paris under an awning on a drizzly Friday evening while sipping wine, can you? I think not.

Saturday would be our last day in Paris, and as unmemorable as our dinner was on this night, tomorrow’s meals would more than compensate, both in taste and ambiance. As a matter of fact, tomorrow would turn out to be, perhaps, my favorite complete dining day experiences…ever!

<B>Next: Days Nineteen and Twenty – Planteé Lovely, Free Musée, The Butt Heard Round The World, Your Table Has Waited For You, One Last Look At History, This Sure Beats The Water Lilies, Shop Till We Drop, I See Dead People, Dinner With An Attitude and Au Revoir Beautiful Paris/Bonjour LAX Hell</B>