Bye-bye to Ally - Again

​Ally’s heading to Cœur Cheval today, with her Sydney chum Penny. Old Paps got to pull Ally’s suitcase along the road, but that left the two girls free to chat … (good old Paps!)

A puffing Penny arrived in the nick of time to catch the train and off they choofed. 

DJ and I headed to the abandoned overhead railway that now comprises a lovely garden walk. Exercising chaps (gender neutral) belt to and fro along the path, enjoying the sun and occasional shower along the way. We began on the footpath under the walkway admiring the various workshops and art houses. When these ran out we climbed up to the path and walked along the path.  Not having been to the end of the path in this direction, we continued on, stopping along the way for roll for lunch. Delightful!

Continuing along after lunch, we finally came to the end of the path. 

Walking back along the path, we assumed that we would get back to familiar territory and continue on home. HOW WRONG WE WERE!

It seems that there is ANOTHER disused overhead walkway that branches off between the end point and the path we remembered. It was yonks before we realised our error. Abandoning plans to walk all the way home, we headed for the Metro in the rain and scurried home. 

Here is a snap of Strava to show where we went wrong (as well as where we went right). 

Toodles!

Bike tour with Ally

​Ally arrived in Paris yesterday. DJ and I bolled down to La Gare du Nord last night after a gorgeous dinner at Andy and Graz’s Favourite Restaurant. It was belicious and much enjoyed. 

Ally’s train steamed into Paris ahead of time and soon the Huge Hugs began earnest. I am confident that I won the Huge Hug contest (not shown here). 

Home to our joint near Rue Moufetard where the noise wasn’t as noisy as it has been. No time for dalliances, we were up and about in time to join the Paris bike tour this very morning. It was great. The guide was an American, but can be forgiven because he was very knowledgeable about French history and culture. Here are some highlights (in no particular order):

1.  The Roman circus

This is a little marvel, tucked away in a little garden I know not where (we’ll be able to see it on the Strava map).  

2.  The Jewish Quarter 

In this particular part of the Jewish quarter is a list of families who helped Jews escape the holocaust. There is a series of epitaphs with names of families who helped spirit Jews to safety. Apparently it is expanding as more information comes to hand. There are also reproductions of letters sent by Jews home to family members. 

3.  Noel, the guide 

Australians would pronounce his name ‘Nole’, but he was introduced to us as ‘Noelle’. His name was Noel. He was great, as has been our experience of guides everywhere.  He was engaging and interesting. We highly recommend this cycling tour experience. 

Noel, to the left. 

4.  We actually cycled past our B&B on the tour and stopped in Noel’s favourite square, just up the road from our joint. It’s called ‘Place de la Contrescarpe’. It was here that, at one time, the most unimaginable torture was inflicted upon miscreants. This involved tying their arms/legs and raising these arms/legs via a pulley to the top of a stake and then dropping them to just above ground level and suddenly pulling tight on the rope. One can only imaging the pain and agony inflicted as the arms/legs are torn asunder. [Now why didn’t I think of that …?]. No photos here as it all happened long ago. 

Back to the bike place then and off to lunch with Ally at her fave eating place. 

Toodles!

The Pantheon

​I’m pretty sure that the best way of dealing wither Pantheon ith not to take your panthy off in the first place. 

Chantilly

​Yesterday’s excursion to Chantilly arose out of a google search for ‘day trips from Paris’. We’d been to Versailles a number of times, Fontainebleau twice and Chartres lots. Plumping for something new and different, we hopped a train to Chantilly. [Thanks for all the feedback from you consumers of this blog for the guessing competition regarding the Big Boppa’s song. Here’s the total number of responses I received: Nil.]  All that aside, off to Chantilly …

Never having heard anything of this town to the north, we were amazed by the landscape that unfolded to us at the end of a long, dark forest track (the sort where you would expect to see a woodcutter’s cottage off to the right, and bump into Hansel and Gretel galavanting gaily about).

Right there at the end of a path was a race track! Yes, Chantilly is the Moonee Valley of Paris. But ancient. Off in the distance we could see the castle, and off to the right a VERY old grandstand. 

We strolled on towards the chateau, occasionally ’sticky-beaking’ into back gardens of rich people who could access race day by popping out their back gate. 

Venturing further towards the château, we soon discovered that it wasn’t a (the) chateau. It was a HUGE building for the stabling of horses. Ancient AS!

The actual château was found further along, down off to the left. A gorgeous castle it was indeed, but closed this day to give the helping people inside (eg the ones who take your money) a well-earned rest. Shucks!

A casual lunch in the cafe behind the stables and a wander through the town’s main drag saw us back to Paris and a quick walk up to Sacré Cœur. But that’s another story …

Toodles!

Parisian traffic

​With a blog title like this you would think that I am just about set to blast the traffic system, rant and rave and gnash my teeth. But no. Hear me out. 

Since our last visit there has been a considerable amount of scaling back of motor traffic. A good example is the space now given to pedestrians, cyclists and scooter pilots on Rue de Rivoli on a permanent basis. 

Another really good example is the almost total absence of motor cars on the Place de la Republic on Sunday. Honestly, you could blow your nose in the centre of the square and not hit a car. Cars are banned on Sundays on all major roads. This ban is to be expanded over the next few years. Goody!

There are some amazing sights relating to cars still to be seen in Paris. Here’s an example:

We stopped by a memorial to the late Princess of Wales at the entrance to the tunnel where she made that fateful journey 25 years ago. 25 years ago!

Toodles!

Big Boppa

​‘Big Boppa’ sang the song, but that is not a clue. 

Angelina’s

​You simply won’t guess where we dropped in to have a ‘chocolat chaude today. Go on, guess. Guess, guess, GUESS!  Here’s a clue:

The queue wasn’t too long, so in we went. With DJ in her best Agnes B t-shirt, we - at least she -didn’t look at all out of place. It’s quite a swishy joint, really. Buzzing waiters in black jackets and crisp white shirts attending to everyone’s needs most efficiently. 

The mirrors are impeccably clean and shining. They give the place a feeling of great expansiveness, whereas in fact it is quite small and narrow. These mirrors enable the taking of very clever photo of oneself, such as this one:

DJ has just now scorched off to Galleries La Fayette for a shopping spree of sorts. Hopefully she’ll return with some gorgeous frock which happened to be on super special sale price. She’s like that, your DJ!

!

Sainte Chapelle

SasPhoto also shows poor bastards who paid full price. 

Ave Maria

​Last night, before slipping off into the land of Nod, I composed a beautiful post on Blogger. Goodness me, but it was at once poignant, humorous, insightful and wise. It related to the concert DJ and I attended at Sainte Chapelle. The posters on the fences at Notre Dame screeched at us to buy a ticket to see renditions of Ave Maria. So we bloody-well did. Sadly, for me, upon waking from my slumber I discovered (or failed to discover) that this blog had been deleted!  So here is another crack at it …

DJ had never heard any of the many ‘Aves’ that have been written, but I have been a secret admirer for quite some time. It was a risky proposition on my part, but we decided to rock along. 

Sainte Chapelle is glorious. Walking in the queue to the chapel was truly breathtaking. We had bought the less expensive €40 tickets, but we’re able to snaffle the front row. The poor sods in the next row ahead would have paid €50! Suckers!

The music, performed by a string quartet (there were four of these) and a gorgeous contralto. [They we’re probably all gorgeous, but the contralto was SUPPOSED to be gorgeous.]

Pachelbel was first on the list and his Canon soon filled the auditorium. Then followed the contralto with two versions of Ave Maria. The first drew a tiny tear to my eye as a result of the glorious music. They are pretty cunning, Christians, in the way they have marketed their wares over the centuries in music, architecture and art. While moved by these media I have happily remained a devout atheist. 

The evening was hot and the performers were dripping with sweat by the end, but one last encore of the first Ave brought the house down. A truly wonderful night. 

On the way home we stopped for a pichet (a big one) of rose at a cafe. I got in trouble with DJ for tipping €2.40. Probs this was a result of my incredibly good humour following a wonderful musical experience. 

So there you go. This post is probs more insightful, wise etc than the first one that I lost. It’s been a win-win all round. 

I have also been able to get an updated version of Blogger, so should have no more technical hitches to publication. 

Toodles!

Les bageuettes II

They’re grouse things, baguettes. I’m sure I’ve written about them before this trip, but they are so ‘vere Frainch’. French people wander down the street with a fresh baguette under their arm in readiness for breakfast, or maybe lunch. As one strolls along, one might just break off an end and have a little nibble.  All well and good. Baguettes are very crusty things.  You have to work on them in your mouth, grinding with your back teeth after the first bite, to mix with saliva to get the real experience. YUMM!

A couple of trips to France back, I was so enjoying the baguette experience munching away as one must. Of a sudden, however, came an almighty ‘crack’ and an upper molar disintegrated. The chewing, grinding pressure was just too much. The resultant explosion resulted (after extracting all the bits of tooth) in a stump of a tooth that got me back home.  A reconstruction at our family dentist fixed everything. No real harm done and no pain. 

The EXACT SAME THING happened again last night at this gorgeous bistrot just down our street, while munching on a baguette soaked in escargot cassoulet juice. C’est la vie!

[Bloody baguettes!]