Tournez à gauche, Tournez à droite? Maitai’s Scenic Detour Through France
Nov 14th, 2012, 07:09 AM
#23
Original Poster
<B>Day Three – Cheer Cheer For Old Notre Dame, Silver And Gold, Church Goers, Panthéon Sans Sperm, You Might Rue Our Description Of This Street, Sherpa Revisited, On Track For Limoges, Dinner Quandary and Didn’t I Buy One Of These At Trader Joes Last Week</B>
Overcast skies greeted us as we left the hotel a little after 9 a.m. (I can’t believe I let this crew sleep in that late). After a quick stop at the corner pâtissière (it had been quite some time since I had a pain aux raisin), the fearsome foursome took a metro ride to the Cité metro station, and we walked the short distance to Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris. At some point on one of our two Paris stops I hoped to climb to the top of Notre Dame for no other reason that I have done it virtually every decade of my life.
When we arrived, it occurred to me that I had not been inside Notre Dame for more than a decade, so we wandered into the church alongside hundreds of our closest tourist buddies and tour groups.
If anything, it seemed even bigger than what I had remembered in the past. We strolled by a large chandelier that turned out to be La Couronne de Lumiere (The Crown Of Light), made in the 1840s by goldsmith Poussieigue-Rusand during a major restoration effort.
Soon, we transferred from gold to silver, bronze and gold when we paid 4€ to enter the Tesoro (or Treasury). It was a worthwhile diversion.
Exiting Notre Dame with St. Denis holding his head, I saw the line to climb to the top was more daunting than the actual climb, so we skirted alongside the big church to the East Garden. I promised Tracy I would try and satisfy her need to see some gardens on this trip, and, although it was getting near the end of September, the East Garden still contained some pretty flowers.
Wandering across the Seine, we window-shopped on the Île Saint-Louis during a light drizzle. The gray skies made the stores pop with color as we walked down the street, but then I had a utensil faux-pas flashback.
We walked by Le Tastevin, a restaurant where in 2006 I was severely reprimanded by the hostess for turning my fork tongs right side up, something that I guess is frowned upon. We decided to leave the area in a hurry in case she remembered the dastardly international incident from six years ago.
On the left bank, we found ourselves outside La Rôtisserie du Beaujolais, where Tracy and I had made friends with a chubby cat on Christmas Eve of that same year, but he must have been taking a cat nap as he was nowhere to be seen. However, in front of the restaurant was a cool sight of an electric car getting a charge about being in Paris.
We ducked in a couple of more churches, Eglise Saint-Nicholas-du-Chardonnet (I thought I might pick up a bottle until I was reminded that it was the wrong spelling) and Eglise Saint-Etienne du Mont.
On our last trip, we had visited Saint-Etienne du Mont and the area where they have some stained glass on display, but were not allowed in the actual church due to a funeral (yes, even I have scruples on occasion). We got to do a walk-through this time, and it’s a lovely church.
The stained glass is located in a small cloister near the back of the church and dates back to the 17th century. It’s a good way to appreciate its beauty up close and at eye level without getting a stiff neck.
It was getting near the lunch hour, but on our way to find a restaurant, looming in front of us was the Panthéon. The last time Tracy and I visited, we ducked inside the Panthéon only to find a Sperm Exhibit that kind of detracted from the beauty and sense of history of the building.
This is from my 2006 report: “We walked up to the Panthéon, and when we got inside there were white nylon things hanging down from the ceiling, and they were filled with white Styrofoam. It looked like something out of Woody Allen’s “Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex.” Indeed, without too much imagination, they looked like sperm.”
I’m sure it wasn’t really a Sperm Exhibit, but that’s what it looked like to me, and I’m sticking to that story.
The Panthéon (sans sperm) is worth the 9€ entrance fee as is the detour down to the seemingly endless crypts below. From Victor Hugo to Rousseau to Voltaire to Marie Curie there were crypts for everyone.
The crypt for Louis Braille was particularly interesting because his name was nearly wiped off. We surmised that a lot of blind people who have visited here might have rubbed on his name, which has, over time, made it very hard to read. We could be wrong, but that’s our best guess.
It was now a little past noon and food beckoned. We found a nice lunch spot at Les Fontaines, 9, rue Soufflot. We all had Le Menu du Chef for 14€ apiece. The Velouté de Potimarron (Pumpkin soup) received the first “Wow” of any of our dishes on the trip, but everything was good, especially Kim’s Risotto with grilled shrimp and pesto.
Satiated, the crew was back on the road, and we just kept meandering through the St. Germain area people-watching and just soaking up the atmosphere.
Trying to set the one-day Paris church-going record, we stepped inside Saint-Sulpice, the second biggest church in Paris.
It was another beautiful church, but as we exited, we noticed the skies were turning a little bluer, and Kim asked about seeing the rue Mouffetard, a market street he had read about, and one Tracy and I visited on our walking tour with Michael Osman back in 2006.
We hopped on the metro, walked through a lovely park and shortly we were at rue Mouffetard. Now in the never-ending battle of rue Mouffetard vs. rue Steves (excuse me…Cler), most everyone prefers rue Mouffetard (yes, I know there are other more authentic Parisian market streets than these two, but we didn’t have too much time on this trip).
Most everyone, it seems, says rue Mouffetard has a “younger,” “more vibrant” feel to it. Maybe, but on this day, it had no vibe at all. It was the Kenny G of market streets…boring (but thankfully not playing his music).
While the four of us walked down the nearly empty street, Kim related to us that he had also never been to the rue Cler. I told him that since we would be dining at Le Florimond on our return in a couple of weeks, we would visit that oft-maligned street. As for comparisons…well, you’ll have to wait to read about the rue Cler vs. rue Mouffetard battle when we get there later in this report.
On rue Mouffetard, we did pass by a store whose name elicited some not-so-fond husband travel memories. If you ever read our 2005 Italy Trip Report (We Didn’t Drink All The Vino…), you might remember that I helped some attractive young ladies with their luggage as we arrived by train in Rome, unwittingly leaving my beloved wife to fend for herself.
Thanks to my chivalrous, yet in hindsight, idiotic actions helping these young women, Tracy was forced to carry ALL of OUR luggage off the train. “What am I, your Sherpa?” she asked (not in a joking manner).
Well, as we strolled down the empty rue Mouffetard, there was a store by the name of…you guessed it…Sherpa. It was a great photo op, but one I could have lived without.
The rain began pouring down again as we hit the final leg of rue Mouffetard, and it was just a short metro ride to Gare d’Austerlitz. I wanted to check out where we would catch the train early the following morning to Limoges. In Limoges, we would pick up a car and drive to Sarlat to begin a five-night stay in the Dordogne.
Of course, most people don’t need to go to the train station the day before a trip, but sadly I’m afflicted with the little known disease of Caboose-a-phobia, which I believe is the fear of reaching your track only to find that the train has departed the station seconds before you arrive.
After being assured that we would have no problem at the train station, we headed back for a little R&R back at the hotel, and after squeezing in and out of our miniscule shower, we scoped out a spot for dinner.
We didn’t have a reservation anywhere, so we started walking and looking at restaurants and their menus, and, as we have learned from past trips, sometimes every restaurant doesn’t suit everyone’s fancy. When that happens, the results can be less than satisfactory.
We finally “settled” on Winstub Au Bretzel located at 1, rue Leopold Robert, almost directly across the street from the restaurant we had dined for lunch on the previous day. Winstub Au Bretzel was a cute enough place, the server was friendly, but the menu really wasn’t “talking to us.” Although we had the opportunity to get up and leave, we reluctantly stayed.
It was an Alsatian restaurant, which would have been better had we been in the mood for Alsatian food. In any event, the meal was unmemorable (not bad, just unmemorable). The only thing I recall was that my dinner tasted quite similar to the Alsatian pizza I get from Trader Joes, and although I love Trader Joes, I expect a little more from a dinner in Paris.
We made a vow after this meal to choose more wisely, and if we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would get up and leave (which we would do much later in the trip).
In any event, we went to sleep relatively early because the following morning we had to catch that 6:40 a.m. train to Limoges. I told Tracy that I would set the alarm for 4:30. She said, “OK, but if you do, you won’t make it to the train station on time because I will kill you.” Sometimes I take her threats seriously, so I set the alarm for 5:02. What, me anal?
This was also the last night of the trip that my left arm would not be bandaged, because within about 12 hours, thanks to a self-inflicted luggage malfunction (Revenge Of The Sherpa?), I would be starting my own personal blood drive at the Limoges Train station.
<B>Next: Day Four – In The Dark, Filet de Maitai, A Bloody Time In Limoges, Dr. Mary’s Bag Of Tricks, Introducing Madame Bleu, Unspeakable Crimes Against Humanity, Dueling Navigation Systems, A Sarlat Sensation, Mind Your Manoirs and A Great Name For Our New Parisian Business Venture</B>
Overcast skies greeted us as we left the hotel a little after 9 a.m. (I can’t believe I let this crew sleep in that late). After a quick stop at the corner pâtissière (it had been quite some time since I had a pain aux raisin), the fearsome foursome took a metro ride to the Cité metro station, and we walked the short distance to Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris. At some point on one of our two Paris stops I hoped to climb to the top of Notre Dame for no other reason that I have done it virtually every decade of my life.
When we arrived, it occurred to me that I had not been inside Notre Dame for more than a decade, so we wandered into the church alongside hundreds of our closest tourist buddies and tour groups.
If anything, it seemed even bigger than what I had remembered in the past. We strolled by a large chandelier that turned out to be La Couronne de Lumiere (The Crown Of Light), made in the 1840s by goldsmith Poussieigue-Rusand during a major restoration effort.
Soon, we transferred from gold to silver, bronze and gold when we paid 4€ to enter the Tesoro (or Treasury). It was a worthwhile diversion.
Exiting Notre Dame with St. Denis holding his head, I saw the line to climb to the top was more daunting than the actual climb, so we skirted alongside the big church to the East Garden. I promised Tracy I would try and satisfy her need to see some gardens on this trip, and, although it was getting near the end of September, the East Garden still contained some pretty flowers.
Wandering across the Seine, we window-shopped on the Île Saint-Louis during a light drizzle. The gray skies made the stores pop with color as we walked down the street, but then I had a utensil faux-pas flashback.
We walked by Le Tastevin, a restaurant where in 2006 I was severely reprimanded by the hostess for turning my fork tongs right side up, something that I guess is frowned upon. We decided to leave the area in a hurry in case she remembered the dastardly international incident from six years ago.
On the left bank, we found ourselves outside La Rôtisserie du Beaujolais, where Tracy and I had made friends with a chubby cat on Christmas Eve of that same year, but he must have been taking a cat nap as he was nowhere to be seen. However, in front of the restaurant was a cool sight of an electric car getting a charge about being in Paris.
We ducked in a couple of more churches, Eglise Saint-Nicholas-du-Chardonnet (I thought I might pick up a bottle until I was reminded that it was the wrong spelling) and Eglise Saint-Etienne du Mont.
On our last trip, we had visited Saint-Etienne du Mont and the area where they have some stained glass on display, but were not allowed in the actual church due to a funeral (yes, even I have scruples on occasion). We got to do a walk-through this time, and it’s a lovely church.
The stained glass is located in a small cloister near the back of the church and dates back to the 17th century. It’s a good way to appreciate its beauty up close and at eye level without getting a stiff neck.
It was getting near the lunch hour, but on our way to find a restaurant, looming in front of us was the Panthéon. The last time Tracy and I visited, we ducked inside the Panthéon only to find a Sperm Exhibit that kind of detracted from the beauty and sense of history of the building.
This is from my 2006 report: “We walked up to the Panthéon, and when we got inside there were white nylon things hanging down from the ceiling, and they were filled with white Styrofoam. It looked like something out of Woody Allen’s “Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex.” Indeed, without too much imagination, they looked like sperm.”
I’m sure it wasn’t really a Sperm Exhibit, but that’s what it looked like to me, and I’m sticking to that story.
The Panthéon (sans sperm) is worth the 9€ entrance fee as is the detour down to the seemingly endless crypts below. From Victor Hugo to Rousseau to Voltaire to Marie Curie there were crypts for everyone.
The crypt for Louis Braille was particularly interesting because his name was nearly wiped off. We surmised that a lot of blind people who have visited here might have rubbed on his name, which has, over time, made it very hard to read. We could be wrong, but that’s our best guess.
It was now a little past noon and food beckoned. We found a nice lunch spot at Les Fontaines, 9, rue Soufflot. We all had Le Menu du Chef for 14€ apiece. The Velouté de Potimarron (Pumpkin soup) received the first “Wow” of any of our dishes on the trip, but everything was good, especially Kim’s Risotto with grilled shrimp and pesto.
Satiated, the crew was back on the road, and we just kept meandering through the St. Germain area people-watching and just soaking up the atmosphere.
Trying to set the one-day Paris church-going record, we stepped inside Saint-Sulpice, the second biggest church in Paris.
It was another beautiful church, but as we exited, we noticed the skies were turning a little bluer, and Kim asked about seeing the rue Mouffetard, a market street he had read about, and one Tracy and I visited on our walking tour with Michael Osman back in 2006.
We hopped on the metro, walked through a lovely park and shortly we were at rue Mouffetard. Now in the never-ending battle of rue Mouffetard vs. rue Steves (excuse me…Cler), most everyone prefers rue Mouffetard (yes, I know there are other more authentic Parisian market streets than these two, but we didn’t have too much time on this trip).
Most everyone, it seems, says rue Mouffetard has a “younger,” “more vibrant” feel to it. Maybe, but on this day, it had no vibe at all. It was the Kenny G of market streets…boring (but thankfully not playing his music).
While the four of us walked down the nearly empty street, Kim related to us that he had also never been to the rue Cler. I told him that since we would be dining at Le Florimond on our return in a couple of weeks, we would visit that oft-maligned street. As for comparisons…well, you’ll have to wait to read about the rue Cler vs. rue Mouffetard battle when we get there later in this report.
On rue Mouffetard, we did pass by a store whose name elicited some not-so-fond husband travel memories. If you ever read our 2005 Italy Trip Report (We Didn’t Drink All The Vino…), you might remember that I helped some attractive young ladies with their luggage as we arrived by train in Rome, unwittingly leaving my beloved wife to fend for herself.
Thanks to my chivalrous, yet in hindsight, idiotic actions helping these young women, Tracy was forced to carry ALL of OUR luggage off the train. “What am I, your Sherpa?” she asked (not in a joking manner).
Well, as we strolled down the empty rue Mouffetard, there was a store by the name of…you guessed it…Sherpa. It was a great photo op, but one I could have lived without.
The rain began pouring down again as we hit the final leg of rue Mouffetard, and it was just a short metro ride to Gare d’Austerlitz. I wanted to check out where we would catch the train early the following morning to Limoges. In Limoges, we would pick up a car and drive to Sarlat to begin a five-night stay in the Dordogne.
Of course, most people don’t need to go to the train station the day before a trip, but sadly I’m afflicted with the little known disease of Caboose-a-phobia, which I believe is the fear of reaching your track only to find that the train has departed the station seconds before you arrive.
After being assured that we would have no problem at the train station, we headed back for a little R&R back at the hotel, and after squeezing in and out of our miniscule shower, we scoped out a spot for dinner.
We didn’t have a reservation anywhere, so we started walking and looking at restaurants and their menus, and, as we have learned from past trips, sometimes every restaurant doesn’t suit everyone’s fancy. When that happens, the results can be less than satisfactory.
We finally “settled” on Winstub Au Bretzel located at 1, rue Leopold Robert, almost directly across the street from the restaurant we had dined for lunch on the previous day. Winstub Au Bretzel was a cute enough place, the server was friendly, but the menu really wasn’t “talking to us.” Although we had the opportunity to get up and leave, we reluctantly stayed.
It was an Alsatian restaurant, which would have been better had we been in the mood for Alsatian food. In any event, the meal was unmemorable (not bad, just unmemorable). The only thing I recall was that my dinner tasted quite similar to the Alsatian pizza I get from Trader Joes, and although I love Trader Joes, I expect a little more from a dinner in Paris.
We made a vow after this meal to choose more wisely, and if we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would get up and leave (which we would do much later in the trip).
In any event, we went to sleep relatively early because the following morning we had to catch that 6:40 a.m. train to Limoges. I told Tracy that I would set the alarm for 4:30. She said, “OK, but if you do, you won’t make it to the train station on time because I will kill you.” Sometimes I take her threats seriously, so I set the alarm for 5:02. What, me anal?
This was also the last night of the trip that my left arm would not be bandaged, because within about 12 hours, thanks to a self-inflicted luggage malfunction (Revenge Of The Sherpa?), I would be starting my own personal blood drive at the Limoges Train station.
<B>Next: Day Four – In The Dark, Filet de Maitai, A Bloody Time In Limoges, Dr. Mary’s Bag Of Tricks, Introducing Madame Bleu, Unspeakable Crimes Against Humanity, Dueling Navigation Systems, A Sarlat Sensation, Mind Your Manoirs and A Great Name For Our New Parisian Business Venture</B>
Nov 14th, 2012, 07:38 AM
#25
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You are TOPS at trip reports, MaiTai! I am sitting at home, by myself, laughing out loud! I cannot begin to imagine the fun you four must have had on your travels. Keep it coming!!
But I do hope the incident at the train station did not put a damper on things.
But I do hope the incident at the train station did not put a damper on things.
Nov 14th, 2012, 08:57 AM
#28
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<i>If you found rue Mouffetard dead, I am obliged to surmise that you were there on a Monday.</i>
Not necessarily. It generally slows down after lunch. I was not overwhelmed by it this time, and recommended other markets over it, such as Richard Lenoir on Sunday mornings or Place d'Aligre.
Not necessarily. It generally slows down after lunch. I was not overwhelmed by it this time, and recommended other markets over it, such as Richard Lenoir on Sunday mornings or Place d'Aligre.
Nov 14th, 2012, 08:59 AM
#29
Original Poster
"If you found rue Mouffetard dead, I am obliged to surmise that you were there on a Monday."
We were there on a Thursday. I was kind of surprised, because the last time we were there (2006) the street was bustling, but that was just a few days before Christmas, if that matters.
We were there on a Thursday. I was kind of surprised, because the last time we were there (2006) the street was bustling, but that was just a few days before Christmas, if that matters.
Nov 14th, 2012, 09:29 AM
#30
Well, it's not one of my favorite markets anyway, but I am willing to assume generally that it is interesting enough for its fans. All of the best market streets are never the ones that are talked about on the travel forums in any case, because they are all on the fringes of the city rather than in the center.
Nov 15th, 2012, 02:00 AM
#36
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Just laughing and loving your report!! I have to whole heartedly agree with your Kenny G comment. I had a good guffaw - I used to call him "Kenny, Gee I am so boring" when my ex used to put him on the CD. Yawn.... (unlike your report)
Great stuff, looking forward to the next installment.
Schnauzer
Great stuff, looking forward to the next installment.
Schnauzer
Nov 15th, 2012, 04:02 AM
#39
Oh no, the truth is beginning to emerge about this trip and it's not a pretty sight! Exclusive video footage follows: http://tinyurl.com/ce22ol2
