The Seillans Sunday markets were announced by the bells of St Leger. "Bong" x 8!" Superb antiques and object d'art handed down from generation to generation were being displayed on hand woven tapestries, just not in Seillans!
Orange plastic light fittings (incomplete) stood alongside dust encrusted leather covered water bottles. Pith and metal GI helmets lay on a canvas sheet next to a dubious officer's cap (Vichy?) and assorted pieces of uniform in leather and webbing. Very handy if you were going to fight WWII again. A selection of dodgy vinyl ep's featuring long forgotten French chanteuses (any Germaine Montero fans out there?) were on offer along with the Braveheart soundtrack LP.
The purveyors of these treasures were a motley, if mildly enthustiastic mob. Anyone expecting Gallic bartering and expressive hand and face gestures will need to return next week. The increasing heat and sublime setting with view over the Var Valley would make most treasure hunters quite soporific. However, there were bargains to be had including a small ceramic flowered teapot and a first edition, second impression of Jessica Mitford's "Hons and Rebels". Without wishing to haggle, I handed over €20 to cover the hardback's €8 price tag. Now, maybe it was the sun, or perhaps he hadn't previously seen a note of such denomination, but change of €2 provoked my response. Opening the book, I pointed at the price and indicated I had given him twenty. He responded "Je desolee, Monsieur!" and gave me another ten euros. A bargain is a bargain only if the right price is attained.
A cobwebbed wind-up turntable of uncertain vintage would probably be the dream find of anyone interested in Steampunk memorabilia, but where would you get replacement needles? A table covered in mismatched crockery and pastis glasses was guarded by a box of discarded Action figures all struggling to escape their cardboard prison. Although a particularly fierce lime vinyl covered gorilla roared his terrible roar, my money was on an ersatz Voltran, Master of the Universe!
Living directly opposite Seillans entertainment complex i.e the car park/boule court has its advantages. It is therefore probably churlish of me to complain, but whose permission was sought to stage the annual two day St Cyr et St Leger fete? Certainly not moi! Having spent innumerable hours filling the coffers of Vinci, France's private enterprise toll extractors, we did not deserve to return home from the Languedoc to find all the car parking spaces taken by out-of-town merrymakers. Nursing a bowl of spaghetti topped by Paulette's superb tomato sauce, I walked up the stairs to be assaulted by the caterwauling of a Provençal Tom Jones. Backed by a massive karaoke system Le Tom and his female backing duo reached into the depths of karaoke hell and assaulted my finely wrought appreciation of modern music.
Interestingly garbed merry makers rocked, rolled and tangoed to Hound Dog, Johnny B Goode and a selection of presumably Johnny Halliday's hits! Whoever sang these songs le roc was obviously well known as the rollicking crowd of French baby boomers sang loudly along! Curfew? What curfew? A pair of Municipal police guarded Stade Seillans ensuring nobody left, or slept, before the appointed closing time of very late o'clock!
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Ca vault le voyage
Jane wished us Bon voyage as we left Seillans and headed west. Three hours later a general exclamation rent the air. Soon after crossing the mighty Rhone, we had reached the Languedoc!. Le Languedoc, 750km from Paris and the region responsible for a third of France's wine. Trucks domiciled in Spain became more frequent and overhead road signs indicated Montpellier, Toulouse and Barcelona. Bisecting Nimes, the A9 led to the tollgates where a convention of Danish and Geman Banditos noisily converged. A hitchhiker morosely held up a sign "Toulouse SVP".
Is it a supermarche?, Is it an ultra marche? No!, it was IKEA Montpellier, the size of le Stade, bluer than was thought possible, and one of the few flat surfaces not covered in graffiti: Le tagger francaise is more prominent than peages and pain!
At Sete, mouth of Le Canal du Midi, a 360 degree deviation plus a crossed out sign resulted in an exploration of Sete's zone industrielle prior to a bamboo lined trip to Marseillan. Camilla parked the Zafire and we exited in search of a bar. This is fantastique, exclaimed Kim. It has all the features of St Tropez without the bling and awful people. We grabbed a table at Cafe Camille and ordered local wines, beer and Noilly Prat cocktails. A series of motor boats executed three point turns opposite our chairs on Quai Antonin Gross, dislodging guests and crew in search of Camille's refreshments. Local artists were setting up displays as we made our way back to Boulevard Lamarting and Petit Hotel.
Gloriously discreet, ancient stone stairs spiral up to a contemporary open plan living space and outside terrace. Birgit seated us under canvas and offered local Marseillan rose accompanied by pistachios and delicious German sausage nibbles. Dinner is scheduled for eight, so we had better finish up and get ready. Tonight' degustation dinner at Emilie's is highly anticipated!.
Is it a supermarche?, Is it an ultra marche? No!, it was IKEA Montpellier, the size of le Stade, bluer than was thought possible, and one of the few flat surfaces not covered in graffiti: Le tagger francaise is more prominent than peages and pain!
At Sete, mouth of Le Canal du Midi, a 360 degree deviation plus a crossed out sign resulted in an exploration of Sete's zone industrielle prior to a bamboo lined trip to Marseillan. Camilla parked the Zafire and we exited in search of a bar. This is fantastique, exclaimed Kim. It has all the features of St Tropez without the bling and awful people. We grabbed a table at Cafe Camille and ordered local wines, beer and Noilly Prat cocktails. A series of motor boats executed three point turns opposite our chairs on Quai Antonin Gross, dislodging guests and crew in search of Camille's refreshments. Local artists were setting up displays as we made our way back to Boulevard Lamarting and Petit Hotel.
Gloriously discreet, ancient stone stairs spiral up to a contemporary open plan living space and outside terrace. Birgit seated us under canvas and offered local Marseillan rose accompanied by pistachios and delicious German sausage nibbles. Dinner is scheduled for eight, so we had better finish up and get ready. Tonight' degustation dinner at Emilie's is highly anticipated!.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
An Apt Encounter
Despite Bradley Wiggins' victory, Le Tour continues with our jaunt to Apt spliced by colourful knots of breakaway cyclists. Camilla drove courteously allowing only one Frenchman the opportunity to lean on his horn. Once we had passed through the ticket issuing tollgates, three lanes of the A8 permitted frequent passing at 130 kph but no chance of a bladder-emptying pastoral pi pi!. Acre after acre of vineyards line the expressway leading us to the magnificent silvery ridge of Montagne Ste-Victoire and the exiting tollgates.
We have now seen everything!. The approach to the A8 tollgates prior to Aix en Provence offered drivers 30 lanes to transgress every EU road rule. Laughing uproariously we permitted Renault Dusters, Picassos, Scenics and Twingoes to brazenly flit from lane to lane seeking minute advantages of one car space in their quest to get rolling again. A memorable encounter was the parting of the waves to allow a Peugeot 307 towing a caravan to pass from left to right directly into the path of an oncoming 18 wheeler!
Australia's tollgates allow drivers to throw the toll into a basket. The French, however, require coins to be force fed into slots. Sure enough, the driver of the Fiat Punto two cars ahead drops his change and has to retrieve it. This proves too much for a bantam Frenchman who exits his car, some spaces behind us, and struts up to investigate the delay. By the time he arrives the Punto has left and hastens back to his car and finds others have filled the space ahead of him. It was the best €9.20 spent thus far!
Apt Farmer's Markets are closing promptly at midday as we arrive at the appointed place, but not before bread and cheese are bought. We occupy outside seats at Saint John's Pub where wifi and beer are on tap along with restorative rose. Reconnection with the world outside Provence is established. With the exception of wine purchasing and an encounter with a truckload of baa-ing sheep, absolutely nothing eventful happens on the trip back.
We have now seen everything!. The approach to the A8 tollgates prior to Aix en Provence offered drivers 30 lanes to transgress every EU road rule. Laughing uproariously we permitted Renault Dusters, Picassos, Scenics and Twingoes to brazenly flit from lane to lane seeking minute advantages of one car space in their quest to get rolling again. A memorable encounter was the parting of the waves to allow a Peugeot 307 towing a caravan to pass from left to right directly into the path of an oncoming 18 wheeler!
Australia's tollgates allow drivers to throw the toll into a basket. The French, however, require coins to be force fed into slots. Sure enough, the driver of the Fiat Punto two cars ahead drops his change and has to retrieve it. This proves too much for a bantam Frenchman who exits his car, some spaces behind us, and struts up to investigate the delay. By the time he arrives the Punto has left and hastens back to his car and finds others have filled the space ahead of him. It was the best €9.20 spent thus far!
Apt Farmer's Markets are closing promptly at midday as we arrive at the appointed place, but not before bread and cheese are bought. We occupy outside seats at Saint John's Pub where wifi and beer are on tap along with restorative rose. Reconnection with the world outside Provence is established. With the exception of wine purchasing and an encounter with a truckload of baa-ing sheep, absolutely nothing eventful happens on the trip back.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Have we gone to heaven?
The pace of Paris has been left behind with our TGV transportation to Provence. As arranged, Chris and Paulette arrived at rue Vaucanson just prior to the agreed 9.30 am by taxi. The driver helped us load our luggage and offered me the keys as I attempted to enter the front left hand seat! Squeeze, fakie, foot down past Le bus, squeeze again, around the rondelle and we were shutting down someone's space at Gare de Lyon. I now know why French F1 champions are thin on the ground - their reversing mirrors have been ripped off!
Post dejeanuer (an alarmingly delicious SNCF salad), we arrived at Gare de Canne, and miracle of miracles, the escalators were working! The mountain of luggage was lodged against the railing and the instruction "look after that" saw Chris and I set off along the shady side of rue d'Antibes in search of Avis, Camilla and our people mover. Memories of Canne were frightenly brought back to life as we dodged over-tanned, ultra blinged waves of white Gucci, Dior and Dolce & Gabanna. The large Eastern European type (of which there are many) wearing a singlet and multiple gold chains emerged from the Louis Vouitton shop with a "classy" Russian blond, and really set the tone with his finger up his nose!
Chris' driving skills came to the fore despite Paulette's manipulation of GPS Jane, who directs in yards (handy that!), and the amazed, if worried, look on the face of the passing gendarme. We arrived at the beautiful Seillans described by Lonely Planet as "an irresistibly pretty, typical Provencal village with cobbled lanes coiling to its crown and a village only the stone hearted will be able to resist". Multiple bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms and a pool will be enjoyed to the utmost. We continue to pinch ourselves that we are actually here.
Due to our late arrival, we were unable to find a place to eat in Seillans and manouevred Jane's chariot down the mountain to Fayence in search of vittels. We passed on the pub's kebabs and were soon shown to our table at L'Assiette de Florette. Le premiere waitress good naturedly took our unfocussed orders (Salmon salade et frittes, Camilla?), and began fulfilling our dreams.
Now, I could wax lyrically about Kim and Chris' poisson de jour, Paulette's whole sole and Camilla's carpaccio de salmon, but that would be distracting you (dear reader) from my dinner - Le Speciale! Six of the best huites de mer (5 if you discount the one Kim ate), six crevettes, six unidentified crustacea and half a lobster unadorned, save for a mere-ly decorative salade covering the sole shaped plate. Le waitress premier set the scene with Le plate separate presenting home made mayo, dressing Le shallot, home baked bread and butter a Le gauche. An array of implements seldom seen since the first heart transplant completed Le plan de Guerre. I turned the plate around to position the prawns to the fore, thought better of it and reversed my procedure to bring the oysters to Le position prominent.
Bastards! While I was having the time of my life slurping oysters, stripping prawns of shell and cracking lobster, my dining companions had consumed the second bottle of Rose, and I thought they were well brought up!
Post dejeanuer (an alarmingly delicious SNCF salad), we arrived at Gare de Canne, and miracle of miracles, the escalators were working! The mountain of luggage was lodged against the railing and the instruction "look after that" saw Chris and I set off along the shady side of rue d'Antibes in search of Avis, Camilla and our people mover. Memories of Canne were frightenly brought back to life as we dodged over-tanned, ultra blinged waves of white Gucci, Dior and Dolce & Gabanna. The large Eastern European type (of which there are many) wearing a singlet and multiple gold chains emerged from the Louis Vouitton shop with a "classy" Russian blond, and really set the tone with his finger up his nose!
Chris' driving skills came to the fore despite Paulette's manipulation of GPS Jane, who directs in yards (handy that!), and the amazed, if worried, look on the face of the passing gendarme. We arrived at the beautiful Seillans described by Lonely Planet as "an irresistibly pretty, typical Provencal village with cobbled lanes coiling to its crown and a village only the stone hearted will be able to resist". Multiple bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms and a pool will be enjoyed to the utmost. We continue to pinch ourselves that we are actually here.
Due to our late arrival, we were unable to find a place to eat in Seillans and manouevred Jane's chariot down the mountain to Fayence in search of vittels. We passed on the pub's kebabs and were soon shown to our table at L'Assiette de Florette. Le premiere waitress good naturedly took our unfocussed orders (Salmon salade et frittes, Camilla?), and began fulfilling our dreams.
Now, I could wax lyrically about Kim and Chris' poisson de jour, Paulette's whole sole and Camilla's carpaccio de salmon, but that would be distracting you (dear reader) from my dinner - Le Speciale! Six of the best huites de mer (5 if you discount the one Kim ate), six crevettes, six unidentified crustacea and half a lobster unadorned, save for a mere-ly decorative salade covering the sole shaped plate. Le waitress premier set the scene with Le plate separate presenting home made mayo, dressing Le shallot, home baked bread and butter a Le gauche. An array of implements seldom seen since the first heart transplant completed Le plan de Guerre. I turned the plate around to position the prawns to the fore, thought better of it and reversed my procedure to bring the oysters to Le position prominent.
Bastards! While I was having the time of my life slurping oysters, stripping prawns of shell and cracking lobster, my dining companions had consumed the second bottle of Rose, and I thought they were well brought up!
Friday, July 20, 2012
Steampunks are go!
Many of the buildings in the Marais are quite anonymous, with their oblique facades causing adjacent attractions to appear more appealing. The National Archives' dull flat monolithic bulk contrasts vividly with Les Terrace brasserie opposite and its vivid clientele; and no matter how many hip and gay hotspots are located nearby, most of the utility offices scattered throughout the 5th arrondisement are positively ugly!
Appearances therefore can be deceiving and is probably the reason we had failed to venture across Rue Vaucanson to visit our neighbourly museum the Musee des Arts et Métiers and Conservatoire National des Artes et Métiers. We had noticed people eating lunch in Square du George Morin around a miniature Statue of Liberty and some colourful installations, but had been seduced by our local Cafe des Artes et Métiers on the opposite corner. What a surprising pleasure we had coming!
Founded in 1794 by L'Abbe Gregoire, the CNAM houses an extensive collection of technological innovations that we now take for granted. For example the worlds first television invented by Barthelemy (good old Barty!), and the first successful communications satelite Telstar (cue Heinz and The Tornedos ~ da, dada, da dada dada, da dadada, da dattada etc). You want Steampunk? You got it in spades at CNAM.
A soundtrack of the heaviest metal would barely rate against the din some of these babies must have produced. CNAM looks like it is curated by Motorhead's Lemmy!
Mirrored surfaces, brass constructions, intricate copper filigree, glass blown into every form, wooden housings and swinging pendulums ~ Difference engines of every industrial era! Kim was in her element identifying the advancements made in dictaphones and typewriters: "The first Apple computer!, I remember when my employers Wood, Fussell & Co bought a copy called an Apricot - it was a real lemon!". "Look!, there's Edison's phonograph ~ Now you're talking.". Steam trains, bi-planes, vacuum cleaners and Tupperware. It's all here, although the Doctor's Tardis would be a nice addition.
Such a wonderful experience requires a souvenir, other than the 246 photos captured on my iPhone, so we ventured to the Musee's giftshop to buy a few knicknacks. "Je suis desolee, Monsieur, the credit card machine is inoperable, and we can only sell to you if you have ze correct change". That's progress for you.
Appearances therefore can be deceiving and is probably the reason we had failed to venture across Rue Vaucanson to visit our neighbourly museum the Musee des Arts et Métiers and Conservatoire National des Artes et Métiers. We had noticed people eating lunch in Square du George Morin around a miniature Statue of Liberty and some colourful installations, but had been seduced by our local Cafe des Artes et Métiers on the opposite corner. What a surprising pleasure we had coming!
Founded in 1794 by L'Abbe Gregoire, the CNAM houses an extensive collection of technological innovations that we now take for granted. For example the worlds first television invented by Barthelemy (good old Barty!), and the first successful communications satelite Telstar (cue Heinz and The Tornedos ~ da, dada, da dada dada, da dadada, da dattada etc). You want Steampunk? You got it in spades at CNAM.
A soundtrack of the heaviest metal would barely rate against the din some of these babies must have produced. CNAM looks like it is curated by Motorhead's Lemmy!
Mirrored surfaces, brass constructions, intricate copper filigree, glass blown into every form, wooden housings and swinging pendulums ~ Difference engines of every industrial era! Kim was in her element identifying the advancements made in dictaphones and typewriters: "The first Apple computer!, I remember when my employers Wood, Fussell & Co bought a copy called an Apricot - it was a real lemon!". "Look!, there's Edison's phonograph ~ Now you're talking.". Steam trains, bi-planes, vacuum cleaners and Tupperware. It's all here, although the Doctor's Tardis would be a nice addition.
Such a wonderful experience requires a souvenir, other than the 246 photos captured on my iPhone, so we ventured to the Musee's giftshop to buy a few knicknacks. "Je suis desolee, Monsieur, the credit card machine is inoperable, and we can only sell to you if you have ze correct change". That's progress for you.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Bonaparte's Retreat
Be assured, Paris has its attractions - great food, beautiful women, multinational fascinating crowds,intriguing ways to get lost. All very fine, but what we needed post-overload was A Day In The Country.
Versailles and its crowds sounded too much for us, so we opted for the bucolic attractions of Fontainbleu, 55kms into the country. As the train departed from Gare de Lyon, we took the opportunity to investigate the platform required later in the week when we would be departing for the Cote d'Azure ~ did I mention we would be spending the next two weeks flitting about Cannes and Nice? Excuse me if I forgot to mention that!
A comical interplay preceded our departure where a helpful Creole woman and Kim both attempted to give each other directions to le Gare's Lyon and Nord. Both knew where they were but were under the misapprehension the other didn't.
According to the guidebook, the trip to Fontainbleu took just over an hour, which made it inconceivable we thought we needed to alight at Le Roi Bois when stairs labelled "Fontainbleu" caught our eye. Squeezing between a gaggle of prams we hopped off the train onto the station and back onto Le tren when it became apparent this exit simply led from one side of the tracks to the other. Le Gare de Fontainbleu was the next station! An afternoon appreciating the attractions of Le Roi Bois (coiffeurs, super marches) etc was not quiet what we had in mind.
Hello, here we are at Gare de Fontainbleu and it's not taken more than 30 minutes! It soon became apparent where the other 30 minutes would be spent - on the bus!!. It was initially comical (there's that word again!), how many old and young, black and white, hot and bothered passengers could be squeezed onto "Le Special". We began to dread every slowing of the bus as more and more and more of humanity hopped on. The black dude located just under my armpit was mopping his shaven head with his hanky as the temperature rose to almost unbearable levels, when suddenly we were there!
Now there are a lot of things you could say about the French, but the acceptance of poor quality food and service is not one of them. In many global tourist traps, you would need to queue for crappy fast food and surly service, but the town surrounding Fontainbleu provided a plethora of cafes, bistros and brasseries offering fantastic food. We were seated at La Grande faster than you can say Jacquie Robinson, perusing extensive menus and drinking Languedoc rose. Salade Caesar appealed and while Kim ate her au natural, mine was enhanced by crevetts and coquilles.
"I don't care if we don't visit the gardens of Fontainbleu, I'm happy to stay here all afternoon!". I had to agree, it was a great option. Surrounded by happy satisfied families, beautiful women, intriguing men and attentive waiters is not a bad way to waste an afternoon. A double decker carousel featuring a flying pig pumped out a jolly tune, accompanied by the global sound of clattering skateboards as the towns youth unsuccessfully attempted reverse Ollie's.
Knowing we would kick ourselves if we didn't visit the attractions of Fontainbleu, we ambled over to the entrance gates following a shared dessert of Tarte Tatin accompanied by a scoop of vanilla. No charge! Just wander on through. Verdant lawns surrounded ancient trees and the Chateau Royalle and the knobbliest paving stones possible - we are glad we have stout footwear. Holiday makers inexpertly rowed round and round Le lac artificial as a groundsman began his never ending task of keeping the lawns mown ~ a job similar to that of painting the Harbour Bridge.
You can Google Fontainbleu for websites that will state: Fontainbleu is a name that is famous in the entire world, a magical name that evokes for some a forest, for others a chateau, a name that still shines from its royal history. For me it evokes a time when Kings ruled and serfs knew their place. I almost felt sorry for the thousand of staff, courtesans and craftsmen who must have had a tough time of it come Le Revolution!.
Versailles and its crowds sounded too much for us, so we opted for the bucolic attractions of Fontainbleu, 55kms into the country. As the train departed from Gare de Lyon, we took the opportunity to investigate the platform required later in the week when we would be departing for the Cote d'Azure ~ did I mention we would be spending the next two weeks flitting about Cannes and Nice? Excuse me if I forgot to mention that!
A comical interplay preceded our departure where a helpful Creole woman and Kim both attempted to give each other directions to le Gare's Lyon and Nord. Both knew where they were but were under the misapprehension the other didn't.
According to the guidebook, the trip to Fontainbleu took just over an hour, which made it inconceivable we thought we needed to alight at Le Roi Bois when stairs labelled "Fontainbleu" caught our eye. Squeezing between a gaggle of prams we hopped off the train onto the station and back onto Le tren when it became apparent this exit simply led from one side of the tracks to the other. Le Gare de Fontainbleu was the next station! An afternoon appreciating the attractions of Le Roi Bois (coiffeurs, super marches) etc was not quiet what we had in mind.
Hello, here we are at Gare de Fontainbleu and it's not taken more than 30 minutes! It soon became apparent where the other 30 minutes would be spent - on the bus!!. It was initially comical (there's that word again!), how many old and young, black and white, hot and bothered passengers could be squeezed onto "Le Special". We began to dread every slowing of the bus as more and more and more of humanity hopped on. The black dude located just under my armpit was mopping his shaven head with his hanky as the temperature rose to almost unbearable levels, when suddenly we were there!
Now there are a lot of things you could say about the French, but the acceptance of poor quality food and service is not one of them. In many global tourist traps, you would need to queue for crappy fast food and surly service, but the town surrounding Fontainbleu provided a plethora of cafes, bistros and brasseries offering fantastic food. We were seated at La Grande faster than you can say Jacquie Robinson, perusing extensive menus and drinking Languedoc rose. Salade Caesar appealed and while Kim ate her au natural, mine was enhanced by crevetts and coquilles.
"I don't care if we don't visit the gardens of Fontainbleu, I'm happy to stay here all afternoon!". I had to agree, it was a great option. Surrounded by happy satisfied families, beautiful women, intriguing men and attentive waiters is not a bad way to waste an afternoon. A double decker carousel featuring a flying pig pumped out a jolly tune, accompanied by the global sound of clattering skateboards as the towns youth unsuccessfully attempted reverse Ollie's.
Knowing we would kick ourselves if we didn't visit the attractions of Fontainbleu, we ambled over to the entrance gates following a shared dessert of Tarte Tatin accompanied by a scoop of vanilla. No charge! Just wander on through. Verdant lawns surrounded ancient trees and the Chateau Royalle and the knobbliest paving stones possible - we are glad we have stout footwear. Holiday makers inexpertly rowed round and round Le lac artificial as a groundsman began his never ending task of keeping the lawns mown ~ a job similar to that of painting the Harbour Bridge.
You can Google Fontainbleu for websites that will state: Fontainbleu is a name that is famous in the entire world, a magical name that evokes for some a forest, for others a chateau, a name that still shines from its royal history. For me it evokes a time when Kings ruled and serfs knew their place. I almost felt sorry for the thousand of staff, courtesans and craftsmen who must have had a tough time of it come Le Revolution!.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
The mean streets of Le Marais
Following a hectic morning train-hopping, a restful afternoon is required. That pesky old European sun kept a rolling around. A leisurely lavage and careful attention to sartorial detail is required prior to stepping out into la evening Francais! Aimlessly wandering the Jewish quarter (refer to the websight 52 Suburbs for Paris), Kim and I came upon Le Archives National and La Terrace Des Archives located on the corner of Rue des Handrie and Rue Des Archives (natch!).
A varied clientelle of young and old occupied tables under canvas with our nearest neighbour reading Camus' "La Chute". Air kisses floated away as nearby bicyclists nonchalantly manouvered through motorised traffic. Unencumbered children skipped rope while their parents sipped aperitif in tall glasses. Non-smoking is optional. Continental nuances abound, and ours were enhanced by the sight of a passing denim clad female toting a cello and ear-encompassing headphones. Bopping to Yo Yo Ma no doubt!
According to the useful tome "On Foot Guides ~ Paris Walks" provided by Diane and Alex (many thanks!), "The fascinating and distinctly different district of Le Marais rose from marshland (marais) in the 17th century to become crammed with beautiful mansions occupied by royalty and nobility. It's demise during the Revolution was inevitable and swift, and it wasn't until the 1960s that attention again turned to ruined pre-Revolutionary architecture and restoration began. Today it is buzzing: several of its hotels have become prestigious museums, and a young crowd hang out in the cafes and browse in the fashion shops."
Never a truer word was written, for the crowded cafe-lined Rue de Bretagne could make one feel quite ancient, if that sort of sensation floats your boat. It was all too apparent that this was happy hour and far too early to imagine dining. A minuscule market place serviced by produce counters was, however, providing a range of appetising dishes to customers perched at outdoor benches. We were looking for something quite different and continued our stroll along Rue de Young et Beautiful, before pausing and unsuccessfully trying to imagine somewhere in Australia that could match this.
Turning right down Rue De Turenne, we sat at a brasserie between multi-national tables and for some five minutes unsuccessfully waited for waiters. Despite our parched and withered visages, not a refreshment was to be had, but the time was not wasted for the passing parade and ancient neighborhood made it memorable. Cafe Des Musees cornered by rue du Parc Royal beckoned, and despite not having a booking, we were seated near the bar cum kitchen between tables of French and American women. Whilst the French shared conversation, I began to wonder when the woman to my right was going to pause for breath and her meal. Her companion amiably listened and smiled as the domination of conversation continued.
Perusing the menu we both alighted on the second entree option Mushrooms stuffed with snails!. Forget about choosing differing entrees to share, this was not going to happen. White hot ramekins garlicky and steaming were soon disappearing with the sauce sopped up by bread. "This makes up for all those occasions on which I missed out on the garlic prawns" sighed Kim. No chance of allergies with these escargot. The main courses of boeuf and agneau stood no chance of competing and were consumed with a very drinkable Rhone.
€95 later a tired but satisfied pair wended their way home to Rue Vaucanson only rarely retracing their steps.
A varied clientelle of young and old occupied tables under canvas with our nearest neighbour reading Camus' "La Chute". Air kisses floated away as nearby bicyclists nonchalantly manouvered through motorised traffic. Unencumbered children skipped rope while their parents sipped aperitif in tall glasses. Non-smoking is optional. Continental nuances abound, and ours were enhanced by the sight of a passing denim clad female toting a cello and ear-encompassing headphones. Bopping to Yo Yo Ma no doubt!
According to the useful tome "On Foot Guides ~ Paris Walks" provided by Diane and Alex (many thanks!), "The fascinating and distinctly different district of Le Marais rose from marshland (marais) in the 17th century to become crammed with beautiful mansions occupied by royalty and nobility. It's demise during the Revolution was inevitable and swift, and it wasn't until the 1960s that attention again turned to ruined pre-Revolutionary architecture and restoration began. Today it is buzzing: several of its hotels have become prestigious museums, and a young crowd hang out in the cafes and browse in the fashion shops."
Never a truer word was written, for the crowded cafe-lined Rue de Bretagne could make one feel quite ancient, if that sort of sensation floats your boat. It was all too apparent that this was happy hour and far too early to imagine dining. A minuscule market place serviced by produce counters was, however, providing a range of appetising dishes to customers perched at outdoor benches. We were looking for something quite different and continued our stroll along Rue de Young et Beautiful, before pausing and unsuccessfully trying to imagine somewhere in Australia that could match this.
Turning right down Rue De Turenne, we sat at a brasserie between multi-national tables and for some five minutes unsuccessfully waited for waiters. Despite our parched and withered visages, not a refreshment was to be had, but the time was not wasted for the passing parade and ancient neighborhood made it memorable. Cafe Des Musees cornered by rue du Parc Royal beckoned, and despite not having a booking, we were seated near the bar cum kitchen between tables of French and American women. Whilst the French shared conversation, I began to wonder when the woman to my right was going to pause for breath and her meal. Her companion amiably listened and smiled as the domination of conversation continued.
Perusing the menu we both alighted on the second entree option Mushrooms stuffed with snails!. Forget about choosing differing entrees to share, this was not going to happen. White hot ramekins garlicky and steaming were soon disappearing with the sauce sopped up by bread. "This makes up for all those occasions on which I missed out on the garlic prawns" sighed Kim. No chance of allergies with these escargot. The main courses of boeuf and agneau stood no chance of competing and were consumed with a very drinkable Rhone.
€95 later a tired but satisfied pair wended their way home to Rue Vaucanson only rarely retracing their steps.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
An early morning stroll
Is it my time clock, or the incessant hours of sunshine? Whatever, my time abed has been minimal - I think I have had more quality shut eye dozing in front of the transmission of Le Tour than under Le doona! This explains why I was pounding the pavement at some ungodly hour while Kim remained asleep. As long as she gets an early morning cuppa de the (or two!), I am free to do some unencumbered streetwalking (or is that Rue roaming?) around Le Marais.
Up Rue de Turbigo past sleepy-eyed labourers and beggars, along Avenue de la Republic's broken footpaths guarded by heavily armoured soldiers in khaki and Council de Paris maintenance staff in non-fluro overalls, and down a side street to where the hell am I???. It is no use asking anyone for directions as my driving hours spent listening to "Teach Yourself French in One Day" has proved worthless beyond seeking directions for le rue principal, to which a respondee would reply "Which one?. No matter, my innate sense of direction will safely guide me back to the bosom of my family, I hope.
Ah!, Rue de Temple, that sounds familiar. Two women sharing a small dog (Does you doggy bite?), have entered the warmly lit Le Square brasserie on the corner of Le Square. Right! Here we go "Je suis Australian, and I am lost". Andre, for that is his name, laughs and replies "In Paris?, zat is impossible!". Could you please tell me how to get to Le Arts et Metiers?, I ask, in an outrageous Aussie accent. "Of course" replies Andre, "It is 500 metres au droite". No probs!!! We discuss intricate cricket rulings (true!) and his lack of passion for Le Tour ~ "My parents made me watch all my childhood" while I consumed a cafe au lait and he served the ladies with un croissant chocolat. I believe chocolate is anathema to dogs but little Sid Vicious did not seem perturbed to be fed such poison.
"Com bien pour Le cafe?" I enquired. €1.60 Andre replied, because you are standing at the bar, it is cheaper than sitting down. Directions and a further insight into cafe culture, zat makes my stroll so worthwhile!
Up Rue de Turbigo past sleepy-eyed labourers and beggars, along Avenue de la Republic's broken footpaths guarded by heavily armoured soldiers in khaki and Council de Paris maintenance staff in non-fluro overalls, and down a side street to where the hell am I???. It is no use asking anyone for directions as my driving hours spent listening to "Teach Yourself French in One Day" has proved worthless beyond seeking directions for le rue principal, to which a respondee would reply "Which one?. No matter, my innate sense of direction will safely guide me back to the bosom of my family, I hope.
Ah!, Rue de Temple, that sounds familiar. Two women sharing a small dog (Does you doggy bite?), have entered the warmly lit Le Square brasserie on the corner of Le Square. Right! Here we go "Je suis Australian, and I am lost". Andre, for that is his name, laughs and replies "In Paris?, zat is impossible!". Could you please tell me how to get to Le Arts et Metiers?, I ask, in an outrageous Aussie accent. "Of course" replies Andre, "It is 500 metres au droite". No probs!!! We discuss intricate cricket rulings (true!) and his lack of passion for Le Tour ~ "My parents made me watch all my childhood" while I consumed a cafe au lait and he served the ladies with un croissant chocolat. I believe chocolate is anathema to dogs but little Sid Vicious did not seem perturbed to be fed such poison.
"Com bien pour Le cafe?" I enquired. €1.60 Andre replied, because you are standing at the bar, it is cheaper than sitting down. Directions and a further insight into cafe culture, zat makes my stroll so worthwhile!
Monday, July 16, 2012
Brasserie Leonard & the Fashion Stakes
One day in and we are yet to form a working understanding of Parisian cafe culture and what is acceptable customer behaviour in The Marais. However, by keeping an observant eye, I have seen a wrinkled pensioner, sporting a crumpled trilby, deftly adding a simultaneous dual-sachet sugar hit to his espresso followed by a slurp of hot water. Does this represent adding value?, or is that just the way he takes it? With espresso at €2.5 and cafe au lait €5, I can see cash-strapped OAPs getting cannier.
Our 5th floor apartment at 4 Rue Vaucanson is a pearler, centrally located within The Marais and serviced by Carrefour next door and the Cafe des Artes et Metiers a further 25 metres away. Our balcony, accessed through three sets of French doors, looks onto Rue Conte which is terminated by Brasserie Leonard but a spit away! Last night's salad dinner was taken at Leonard at a kerbside table next to a pair of paunchy Russian henchmen in garish Olympic track suits and non-designer stubble. Between cups of coffee, they took turns answering smoke-wreathed mobile phones with cheesy ringtones.
Daylight is in ample supply, so we did not feel cheated leaving this morning at 11.00am. Home-prepared petite dejeurner (semi-simple) and Kim's emailing occupied the early hours and was undertaken in our freshly painted sunny chic 18th Century apartment. Deciding to set off for the Seine via Blvd Beaubourg was un bon idee as we soon found ourselves revisiting the Pompidou Centre and it's colorful exterior escalators, lifts and massive ducts. On Sunday Beaubourg was teeming with a panoply of Parisians returned from Bastille Day visits, today the streets around Les Halle's and George P's legacy were relatively quiet.
As Kim's Elk necklace was receiving admiring glances from well dressed women, we knew we had met the mark in the fashion stakes. It is not so much a competition, as a requirement! Intricately folded scarves are being worn with t-shirts by all ages these early Summer days and couleurs are vivid. Every shop front screams "Soldes!!" and "discounted by 50-80%". A particular battle is taking place in Rue St Martin where sneaker wars are being waged ~ Vans are retailing for €65 & Converse for €45-€50. The lower prices are succeeding with Chucks on most feet!
Ah, fashion..... A pity it hasn't reached Russia!.
Our 5th floor apartment at 4 Rue Vaucanson is a pearler, centrally located within The Marais and serviced by Carrefour next door and the Cafe des Artes et Metiers a further 25 metres away. Our balcony, accessed through three sets of French doors, looks onto Rue Conte which is terminated by Brasserie Leonard but a spit away! Last night's salad dinner was taken at Leonard at a kerbside table next to a pair of paunchy Russian henchmen in garish Olympic track suits and non-designer stubble. Between cups of coffee, they took turns answering smoke-wreathed mobile phones with cheesy ringtones.
Daylight is in ample supply, so we did not feel cheated leaving this morning at 11.00am. Home-prepared petite dejeurner (semi-simple) and Kim's emailing occupied the early hours and was undertaken in our freshly painted sunny chic 18th Century apartment. Deciding to set off for the Seine via Blvd Beaubourg was un bon idee as we soon found ourselves revisiting the Pompidou Centre and it's colorful exterior escalators, lifts and massive ducts. On Sunday Beaubourg was teeming with a panoply of Parisians returned from Bastille Day visits, today the streets around Les Halle's and George P's legacy were relatively quiet.
As Kim's Elk necklace was receiving admiring glances from well dressed women, we knew we had met the mark in the fashion stakes. It is not so much a competition, as a requirement! Intricately folded scarves are being worn with t-shirts by all ages these early Summer days and couleurs are vivid. Every shop front screams "Soldes!!" and "discounted by 50-80%". A particular battle is taking place in Rue St Martin where sneaker wars are being waged ~ Vans are retailing for €65 & Converse for €45-€50. The lower prices are succeeding with Chucks on most feet!
Ah, fashion..... A pity it hasn't reached Russia!.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Bonjour from Cafe les Arts et Metiers
Bonjour from Paris!
It is 8.30am Sunday and we are currently sitting at Cafe des Arts et Métiers in the Marais wiping the remnant crumbs off our lap of the la petit dejeuners, both complet et simple. You wouldn't think that after more than 24 hours of travel, plus an early Saturday morning start, we could contemplate yet more food, but we have.
A second coffee is being consumed whilst awaiting our contact for our apartment in Rue Vaucanson. Cafe des Arts et Metiers is making a strong argument for our local cafe for the time we are here. Just ask for John et Kim.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Bonjour mes amis! It is that time of the decade again where Paris beckons and the blogosphere once again is enhanced by long and lurid tales of our continental adventures.
We arrive the morning after Bastille Day and will be conspicuous as the only Parisians not drunk or hungover. Hopefully our accommodation contacts will arrive on time.
Au revoir
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