Friday (our first full day):
The first thing on our itinerary was Poilane (which became more than a blip on our radar after seeing it featured on no less than three different Food Network shows (the Barefoot Contessa, Giada de Laurentis, and Joan Cusack)) for some breakfast fare. Getting there would require hopping on the Metro. Yet another opportunity to practice my French. “Je voudrais deux Paris Visite pour trois days silvous plais.” (I would like two Paris Visite (passes) for three days (the word in French escaped me) please.) At any rate, she understood what I meant. I forked over 40 euros and received two back. It was probably a better idea to purchase the Mobilis for the next three days, which would have saved us a few euros. Oh well.
Our “home” Metro stop was Maubert-Mutualite on the #10 train. We got off at Sevres-Babylon in search of Poilane. After walking a few blocks, I realized we were going in the wrong direction. We turned around and found Rue de Cherche-Midi easily after that. The boulangerie itself is fairly small in size. I think we both felt awestruck. DH didn’t dare use his camera, which is unusual for him. We picked up a couple of plain croissants, a croissant pomme for DH, and small sourdough roll. We agreed that it would be a good idea to come back for souvenirs if we had time before we left on Monday (as it turns out, we didn’t).
We made our way back to the Metro stop, destination Tour Eiffel. Our plan was to grab coffee and juice and enjoy our Poilane goodies on a park bench somewhere near the Eiffel. We got back on the #10 and stopped at La Motte-Picquet-Grenelle to transfer to the #6. A cool thing happened at this stop. A French woman (at least she spoke fluent French) asked me (moi!) how to get to the #6 correspondance! The stop is a bit confusing because there are two sets of stairs leading to the upper platform for the #6 (direction Charles de Gualle Etoile). After initially shrugging, I pointed in the direction we were going, which turned out to be the right way. When she passed us by, she turned and thanked me. DH was absolutely amazed. I must admit that it was a very gratifying moment.
Once we got on the train, I quickly glanced at the sign displaying the line’s stops and gleaned that Bir-Hakeim was closed for repair, which meant that we would have to get off at the next stop, Dupleix. After disembarking and conferring with my trusty plan de Paris (map), we headed in a northwesterly direction on Blvd. De Grenelle. We could see the top of the Eiffel and knew that we weren’t too far away. We hung a right when we got to Quai Branly and started looking for a place to get some coffee. We ended up crossing the street and purchased deux café cremes et une Evian at one of the stands near the carousel. We found a bench right near the base of the Eiffel to enjoy our breakfast fare. Sadly, the consensus was that the croissants did not exceed (nor meet) our expectations.
We spied a congregation of gypsy women, no doubt planning their daily agenda. We missed a perfect photo opportunity when a policeman astride a bicycle approached the women for their first warning of the day. Neither of us could get to our cameras in time what with our hands occupied with food and drink. I would be curious to learn how effective law enforcement is with cracking down on their shenanigans. Shortly after the visit from the policeman, the women disbursed and began approaching unsuspecting tourists with their standard line, “Do you speak English?” (In approximately three hours, as I am snapping a photo of my husband underneath the Eiffel, a gypsy will ask me the question, and I will reply in English, “Not for you.”)
Our plan was to take the elevators to the third level, the very top. We had never been to the top and we had never been on the Eiffel in the daytime. Little did we know how much of our time would be consumed by making our way to the top. I can only imagine what the lines are like during the peak of tourism. It was freezing on the second floor, where we waited in line for 45 minutes for an elevator ride to the third level. Thankfully, the winds were more forgiving at the top. The panoramic views from the top are marred by the wraparound fencing, but now we could say that we had been to the top of the Tour Eiffel.
On our way back down, we revisited the very spot on the second level (the side looking over Place Trocadero) where DH asked me to marry him two and a half years ago. I never tire of telling people that I was proposed to at the Eiffel Tour.
After we were finished with the Eiffel, I insisted on going back to the hotel to get my coat. The earlier hint of sunshine had turned out to be deceiving. For lunch, we grabbed a couple of sandwiches (and macarons for dessert) from a boulangerie/patisserie around the corner from our hotel. At the wine shop next door, we purchased a bottle of red table wine, which the owner uncorked for us. It was then that I noticed a little spaniel-type dog quietly lying on a doggie bed beneath the shelves of wine bottles. I love the prevalence of dogs in Paris and how you can find them in shops and even restaurants. We always marvel at the ones who walk sans leash with their masters, displays of perfect obedience. We are envious because we know that there is no way that our boy Yorkie would ever be capable of doing that. Our last stop before the hotel was at the corner “convenience” store for more water and plastic cups.
DH%26#39;s sandwich of sliced sausage and pickles was tastier than my baguette of ham and egg. The macarons were a heavenly delight. We had them in pistachio, strawberry, basil, chocolate, and vanilla. Biting into a macaron is one of life’s small pleasures. Alas, the wine didn’t do anything for us, except maybe to put DH to sleep for a few minutes.
After lunch, it was off to the 16th arrondissement on the Western side of Paris in search of Musee Marmottan-Monet. We got back on the #10 and transferred to the #9, disembarking at La Muette. It took a while to get our (my) bearings. Our walk to the museum lead us through a park where we saw dozens of children running about with their nannies (or parents) in tow. The museum is housed in a beautiful maison, which was an appropriate showcase for the Monets. The best part of Musee Marmottan is the bottom floor, where an array of Monet’s Nympheas, Water Lilies, and other paintings inspired by his Japanese garden at Giverny are displayed in a circular fashion. But the real piece de resistance is the 1873 painting titled Impression: Sunrise, which is how the Impressionist movement got its name. The painting is housed behind glass, just like the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, which lends to its revered status.
It was close to 5pm (17:00) when we were making our way back to the Metro. The children were still playing at the park, and we also saw women dressed to the nines, walking briskly with groceries in both hands, and teenage Parisians lounging outside of cafes with not a care in the world. The next item of the day was a visit to Mon Bon Chien (My Good Dog) in the 15th arrondissement. It’s an American-owned dog bakery that I discovered online.
We found it fairly easily on 12 Rue de Mademoiselle. The proprietress greeted us, as well her two dogs, Diablo (a terrier mix clothed in a hooded jacket) and Sophie Marie (a blonde lab whose nails were painted bright red). She was a certified pastry chef in the U.S. who moved to Paris four years ago to set up shop. It took her eight months to get all of the necessary permits and approvals because the bureaucrats had no idea what do with her. A dog bakery was a novel concept to them, which is a little strange since there are so many dogs in Paris. We selected a few karob-covered peanut butter truffles and rawhide chews for our two Yorkshire terrorists and bid adieu to Harriet, Diablo, and Sophie. [Squirt and Lala gobbled up the truffles when we got home. We had a taste ourselves and regretted not purchasing more.]
Our next stop was Deyrolle, a taxidermist’s shop on Rue de Bac, which was just a hop, skip, and jump from the hotel we stayed at our first time in Paris. I had recently read Adam Gopnick’s Paris to the Moon, a memoir of sorts of his family’s five-year stay in Paris. Deyrolle was one of his son’s favorite haunts, as it housed exotic animals such as zebras and giraffes, as well as smaller stuffed and preserved rarities. When we got to Deyrolle, we learned that a fire had destroyed the second floor, which is where there the most impressive and valuable items were displayed. Despite the tragic loss, the shop was still open for business and photographs displayed in the front window allowed us to imagine what it would have been like to visit the second floor.
I had my heart set on visiting all of the grand magasins (department stores) during this trip. We were close to one of the most revered institutions of Parisian shopping, Le Bon Marche. Unfortunately, we arrived a few minutes before closing and didn’t have a chance to fully explore. Just another excuse to come back!
We decided to have dinner at one of the restaurants we saw in the alley behind St. Severin the night before. We were very aware that some of them were “tourist traps,” but thought that it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. The 15 euro prix fixe included an appetizer, main course, and dessert. We walked in and were immediately seated at a table in between a British couple on our left and a trio of young Austrian women on our right. Definitely a tourist trap. I ordered onion soup (which would’ve been called French onion soup on a menu back at home) and roasted chicken with pommes frites (French fries), while DH ordered escargot and beef bourguignon. The soup was actually quite good, but we’ve had better snails on the Champs Elysees. By the time our main courses arrived, I was feeling irritable from a combination of a headache, the slow service, the oldies blasting from the jukebox, and the comedic attempts of a cook who repeatedly visited our table after confirming our shared ethnic background. There was no way I was going to stick around for dessert. “L’addicion silvous plais!” (“The check please!”)
On our way back to our hotel, we stopped at a creperie and ordered dessert. DH had a crepe with chopped almonds, grand marnier, sugar, and bananas; I had the same minus the almonds. It was time to call it a night.
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Thanks. LOVE your report, you have such a descriptive style. The French translations are great.
Can%26#39;t wait for part 3.
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Fun to read your trip report.
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A %26quot;dog bakery%26quot;. The mind boggled, I thought Parisiennes carried their dogs in their pockets, not cooked them!
Your French pronunciation guide is wonderful, I was reminded of the old service expression %26quot;silver plate%26quot;.
Sorry! did not mean to be rude.
You certainly seem to have fallen under Paris%26#39; spell.
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Navrad, I try to be a stickler for grammar in my native language, so no worries. S%26#39;il vous plait!
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Loved your trip report. I myself do this sort of thing and send it to all my friends upon my return from a trip. I call it my %26quot;travelogue%26quot;.
Loved it, loved it! Can%26#39;t wait for Part III, although I haven%26#39;t read your Part I. Just new to this TA and I haven%26#39;t had the change to browse through past reviews.
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Thanks for such a detailed report!
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Enjoying walking through the streets of Paris through your prose! Thanks and keep it coming! In approximately 55 hours I will be landing in lovely Paris...your words are making it almost unbearable to wait! Moms
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Really enjoyed your reports! You are a riot! Thanks!
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I hope you make a living as a writer--you certainly have the knack. Your post made me hungry and excited about our upcoming visit.
One question--what happens when the %26quot;gypsies%26quot; ask you if you speak English? Please educate me--I don%26#39;t want to fall into their trap!
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Thanks you everyone for your kind words and encouragement. I had a great time putting this together.
Aliceblois, just sent you a message on TA.
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