PARIS ON FOOT

A trip to Paris is not complete without a walk or two along The Seine.  Monday night on Le rive gauche we drank spritzers with young Parisians while listening to a cool jazz combo.  On Tuesday (or any day), you can ride a variety of craft along the walkways, indulge in community zumba, climb along the ancient walls via foot and hand holds or play table soccer gratis in addition to disporting yourself on the grass or deckchairs.  Tres fantastique!

Riding the Metro is the way to get around rapidly, but nothing beats Paris on foot, just be sure your soles are thick.  Our apartment on Rue de Lyonaise in the 5th arrondissement is quiet and only two street away from our favourite Rue Mouffetard.  A good place to commence a traverse of Paris. A mixed market was being held at St Germain where hand tooled leather covered books were on sale ~ "Completely hand made, no mechanical, only €10." No thanks, nes pas.

The crowds around Notre Dame were too much and we paused only long enough to be frightened by it's gargoyles, buy postcards and listen to a jazz quintet.  That double bass had the best tone ever!  The space in front of the imposing Town Hall was filling with office workers and their sandwiches as we crossed Rue de Rivoli and plunged into Le Marais.

Unsurprisingly, the pedestrian crossing at Rue de Archives is a painted rainbow as is the street sign adjacent to the John Galliano store.  Gay bars are prolific throughout the Marais, as are vintage clothes stores.  It is where old denim goes to be resurrected.

No matter how you approach Sacre Coeur you are in for a lot of steps.  We amplified the experience by alighting at Metro station Chateau Rouge resulting in a number of steep hills followed by many flights of stairs before reaching the Cathedral.  Confronted by another 300 stairs to the dome, I piked out with the excuse being six years of morning Mass and nightly rosary had rended my knees inoperable.

The Sacre Coeur is in the 18th arrondissement which is the place to go if you are in the market for some vivid fabric or a head full of corn rows a la afrique.  It is definitely not the place to take Pauline Hanson or her ilk.  "OMG the country is being overun by black people!"  Well yeah, when you consider how much of Africa and the Caribbean the French colonised and exploited, it's hardly surprising their citizens want to live in mother France.

PARIS

Some general observations:

The French walk on the right side of the pavement

They are very polite ~ always say Bonjour or Bon Soir upon entering an establishment, and Merci and Au Revoir, even if you have no other French

They are annoyingly slim

Most people smoke

Happy hour commences at 17.00 and finishes sometime after (up to 23.00)

You will walk A LOT!
Wear thick soles as cobble stones are ubiquitous and unyielding

Australian events are not newsworthy unless they concern the destruction of fauna or the Barrier Reef

Baguettes are a necessity, and not just an adornment

You will comprehend French plumbing and electrical fixtures and fittings the morning you are due to leave your B&B, but not before.

RUE MOUFFETARD

Boucherie Saint-medard were loading fresh pullets into the vertical BBQ as I made my way up Rue Mouffetard.  Earlier roasted offerings gave off a tantalising odour as the small potatoes cooking in the BBQ's basement absorbing the succulent fat dripping from the loaded racks above.

Sunshine bathed the tables at Delmas cafe bar in Place de la Contrescarpe as Aretha and Annie blasted out "Sisters are doing it for themselves" at Garston that proffered burgers and bieres.  The small central fountain gushed enthusiastically as I made my way back down Rue Mouff.

My €1.25 baguette from the boulanger pattissier lost it's crunchy end before I exited, and I realised the insects flying about the pastries were not flys but wasps just wanting to indulge in some sugar sweetness.  Kim has been thirsting for a cuppa so milk was on my shopping list. Lait demi-ecreme is so much more enticing than the light milk we are used to. The plastic lid once removed revealed a foil cap linking Paris with childhood milk consumption.

As we retraced our steps post midday, a fair imitation of Serge Gainsborough strummed a guitar and sang a plaintive chanson to a lost amour.  His passion would have been authentic if the strumming hand hadn't gripped a lit fag.  Imitation of French cinema icons is rife this summer and I approvingly remarked "smart" to a dude in a double breasted suit replete with two tone brogues and a Borsolino hat.  A tourist wearing aviator shades nonchalantly adjusted his new maroon beret whilst observing the passing parade at a St Germain brasserie.

We lunched at the renown L'as Du Fallafel in Rue Des Rosieres in the Jewish quarter where unsurprisingly falafel is on the menu once you have joined the queue.  Alicia is of two minds believing mi-va-mi opposite shades it.  Our dining table ~ a nearby ivy covered window shelf, gave us opportunity to observe a group of young Hassidic Jews.  They all wore black suits and broad rimmed hats except for one young guy wearing a yarmulka and a Guns and Roses t-shirt.  His deep voice indicated his bar mitzvah was not too far off.

Touring Paris on foot is a treasure trove of awaited experiences, often surprisingly. Short bursts of warm heat frequently brush your ankles as you traverse Paris.  Alternatively odorous drain water may pool in your cuffs if you stand too close to a downpipe!  By the end of the day the toes of my suede loafers exhibited the tell-tale evidence of a visit to the Tuileries.

TOULOUSE

Retail shops that line Place du Capitol in Toulouse retain their Individual identity, as long as the proprietary names are discreetly rendered in brass. These are set off by pink bricks, for which Toulouse is renown.  Our accommodation at Le Grand Balcon Hotel is quiet and intimate and overlooks rue Romiguires where students frequent the cheap eats on their way to the University.  L'Occitan bath products added a nice touch to our stay at this historically recognised contemporary establishment.

Apres pre dinner drinks at a nearby street brasserie we ate at another bistro where the €22 formula gave us ample options. My enormous plate of salmon capacchio was followed by duck and a mushroom sauce (Kim) and the obligatory cassoulet for me.  A tasty regional merlot completed dinner. As always, the weather has been perfect which is handy as we have been meeting our 10,000 steps each day.

Next seasons male apparel lines are appearing in the shops ~ corduroy jackets with muted tartan lining combined with manly brogues and paisley print scarves.  Autumn is in the offing despite the superb end of summer weather we are enjoying.  We enjoyed a tasty petite dejeurner (coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, warm croissants and baguettes) at Grand Cafe Albert.  Only €13.20 for both of us ~ no charge for the passive smoking.  A visit to Le Post to purchase stamps (€1.30@) means some of you will soon be the recipient of colourful postcards.

Unfortunately our TGV train, the 11.49 to Paris, had to be met, finalising our short but sweet affair with Toulouse.  The usual contretemps concerning 1st class seating ensued, - "Non madam, cest carriage 13.  Carriage 12 is one back."  No matter, our luggage was soon stored appropriately and pre-lunch beverages obtained from Le Bar TGV.  The French SNCF provide excellent, value for money hospitality for rail travellers ~ Australian rail executives should hang their heads in shame.

Le Canal du Midi lined with plane trees, ran parallel with the River Garonne and the rail track as we headed north to Paris.  Fields of sunflower surrounding us urged to be harvested.  Freshly ploughed fields attested to the lateness of the season.

THIS IS SO LANGUEDOC! or how I learnt to love Le third exit on the roundabout. 

Guaranteed to raise a laugh, our Aussie GPS Raylene provides directions in strine ~ Roo doo boulevard anyone?

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk!.  Our luggage ran rampant through sortie le gare Beziers where Camilla and Paulette welcomed us with the regulated three kisses.  I will have to adapt my degree of passion when we reached Paris where two cheeks are de rigeur.  Should we revert to rural practices, I'm trusting haughty Parisians will acknowledge we have been on our summer hols.

Nothing else is guaranteed to elicit favourable comment in France as to be accompanied by a retinue of attractive femmes. The regulars at Le Bar Marine, our local in Marseillan, peer approvingly through clouds of cigarette smoke each afternoon as we assume the position at our outside table. "Bon soir, deux rose et deux pastis, s'il vous plait!

Les Halles du Agde. Fresh Ripe peaches and tomatos. Lunch on the banks of the Canal du Midi at XXXXXX x   Flourishing tubs of pink and white oleanders line every walkway and compete aggressively with mature olive trees for dominance.  Multicoloured planter boxes at waist height prettily grace towns and villages throughout the Langedoc.

I can't get enough of the Midi coquillages Assiettes De Coquillages.

Pates, Salamis and anchovies wrapped about immature olives.

Our morning trip to Saturday's markets in Pezenas was punctuated by a contra temps at the parking pay station "Prenez vote ticket ici" ~ where Aussie drivers met Gallic officialdom. The resulting fee of €2 for four hours was a bargain.  Despite the seemingly desolate location of the parking lot, we were soon immersing ourselves in the hoardes seeking a bargain in consumerables:shoes, chapeaus, faux jewellery, tablecloths and linen shifts.

Our return trip was intricate as Raylene decided the shortest route was required.  It featured way too many tight turns past encroaching culverts and grape vines to every horizon. It appeared the stress was too much for another driver who had pulled over for a pissoir naturallisimo. Chauffeur par excellence Camilla dropped us off just near Le Marine Bar where we agreed to meet in four hours hence.

Marseille

Look aqueducts! Bloody Romans, What have they ever done for us?  Our belated Lufthansa flight dipped its' wings as we eased our way over the second largest city in la belle France.  Despite the clear blue sky I'm sure I saw another shimmering star signifying a second Fifa victory.

If you were to believe the Pom's Brexit coverage, President Macron's government is a shambles and the entire EU is about to crumble without the plucky Brits.  Its a pity no one has told the French and their evil continental allies the Germans. They survive, nay revel, in their flourishing good health and perfect climate. 

It does appear the floundering English currency has had an effect, as there is a noticeable absence of lager lads and lasses in the Irish pubs that throng the quayside of Marseille's Vieux Port.  However hoards of Belgians, Dutch, Spaniards, the Irish and the odd sprinkling of Antipodeans mix freely with the multicultural stew that comprise the French.  I did notice one obviously English couple watching Match of the Day morosely over a couple of pints, but it would appear France is doing very nicely without their Channel chums.

Marseille is fantastique, shimmering and harmoniously multicultural; and shockingly not stocked with gypsies, tramps and thieves intent on slitting the traveller's purse. Happy hour runs from 15.00 to 22.00 and un glass of rose and un shot of Pastis will set you back €6 (A$10). Pints are often less than €5.  I noted this morning our exchange rate has improved despite Malcolm and his shambles.  Honestly, we leave Canberra for a few days and the place falls apart!  The only time Australia gets a mention in Europe is sad references to the damage done to the Barrier Reef.

Two days is not enough time to pay proper homage to Marseille, and despite my raison d'etre for our visit, Boulliabase by the bucket, I didn't scratch that culinary itch!  Moules, huites, succulent swordfish in a white wine sauce and calimari in its' myriad of guises have graced my alimentary canal, but not Boulliabase. What an excuse for another visit!