Paris Trip - Monday: Sacre Coeur and some wanderings

 I didn't know how our bodies would adjust to the wild time change, but we fell right into it. After going to sleep at about 1:00 the night before I woke up at 6:00 Monday, ready to begin again. I was a tad subdued after our arrival. Paris in the dark had seemed a huge and frightening prospect. How would it feel in the day? I pulled the curtains on our windows and immediately felt my spirits lift. How could you not feel hopeful with a view like that?

 We could throw the windows wide open every morning and hear church bells and smell the fresh morning air. There aren't screens on any windows that I saw in Paris. As I leaned very far out over the courtyard, I imagined that an American renter would have bars on the amazing windows to keep silly tourists from falling to their deaths and suing them. (Though it would be hard to sue when splattered on the cobblestones) I'm guessing the French figure if you're that much of an imbecile then you can just fall! ;)

I put on a pot of coffee and sat and wrote in my journal about the day before. We got around as fast as molasses, but that's okay. European appliances are also notoriously slow. It even said so in our guest book. The coffee took about 20 minutes to finish perking, I kid you not. There was a warning not to use two appliances at once (i.e.- no hair dryer and coffee pot simultaneously) lest there be an electrical mishap. This was followed by a sobering full length page of how to fix the fuse box should such an event arise. I'll fill you in on the clothes washer/dryer later!

Look at me staring at the little black circle, albeit a bit vampirically

We finally emerged from our abode about 9:00, famished and ready for some breakfast. Here is the beautiful antique tile that lined our path to the outside door and Paris beyond...

 Our apartment was in the 4th arrondissement, called Marais. It was originally a swampy area (think of the word morass) that was drained by the Knights Templar to redeem the land for growing food for the many monasteries and abbeys in the area. It was one of the few areas to escape being "renewed" in the 1800's, renewal meaning knocking down the old buildings and building nice tidy ones and widening and straightening the streets. I read that the straighter the street, the easier to shoot a cannon down. France is a country with plenty of revolutions and ease of shooting made a lot of sense to Napoleon the third. Many of the streets we walked on were still cobbled. Even Parisians who asked where we were staying agreed that the Marais area was one of the most beautiful in the city.

I knew from my readings that on Mondays lots of Paris was closed. When we walked out onto our nearby street, most everything was shuttered. The majority of shops are open-air and have big pull-down garage-type doors to close them. They like everything wide open, much like their windows. We trotted hungrily down the street following the incredible scent of baking bread. A boulangerie (bakery) had just opened and was filling their cases. We returned here again and again through the week, till we began to call it "our boulangerie".

I wish there was such a thing as "scratch and sniff" photos, you would die over the smell of all the freshly baked goods. And that empty space to the right? They haven't even had time to fill it with all the sandwiches, quiches, and lunch items yet.

But I was already seeing lots of things I liked the looks of...Andy got a flaky roll filled with jambon (chopped ham) and fromage (cheese). I got what I like to call my le petit dejeuner, in other words- breakfast! It literally translates as "little lunch".

Pastries are placed on papers that are artfully folded over and then given a twist and a tuck that makes a compartment that doesn't smoosh what's inside.

Tart aux pommes- apple tart, perfectly caramelized  in a 

flaky crust

And my first canele. I have seen these in cookbooks and wanted to try them, but they require a special pan. The texture was not like anything I can describe, and I am pretty wordy! It looks like a moist sponge cake, but bit like a rubbery gummy candy. I know that sounds strange, and it was. A cake that is like nothing I have ever tasted. It was not a favorite with me, but I am so glad that I had the opportunity to try one!

With our bellies sated we set off walking in search of a Tobac, a shop that sells tobacco, lottery tickets, and metro/bus tickets. The one we went in also had an entire back wall of very naughty "adult" items. What were they? I'm not really sure. My eyes lit on them and then flew down to stay at counter height! I'm a bit of a prude, but stuff like that embarrasses the heck out of me! It was there that we bought a "carnet". That is a book of 10 tickets that can be used for either bus or metro. I recommend anyone who goes to Paris for several days to get a carnet on their first day. That way you have them ready if you want to go somewhere or if you get far away and are tired and need a quick way back.

So then we went on, searching for the bus to take us to Montmartre. We reached the square with the Bastille, which was right down "our" street. You know, the Bastille, the prison that the French revolutionists stormed to free the prisoners (all seven of them) and then tore down brick by brick to show what they thought of oppression? Think Les Miserables. Well, people go looking for the famous prison where the Revolution took flame and are surprised to find only a column topped with a statue called the Spirit of Freedom. 

And there we found a bus stop. But no buses. We waited and wondered. I had wanted to take the bus because we would be above ground and see all the places we passed. But with a serious dearth of buses, we decided to throw our lot in with the metro. As we stood on the street with me studying my map intently, I began thinking, "What on earth have I done?! I can't even get us on a bus to go anywhere. Is this how it will be all week?" I had this horrible feeling that all my optimism and bravery was for nothing, and that I was not up to this French adventure after all. It was a very despondent moment, and my stomach settled in the toe of my shoes while I tried not to cry. Then a gentleman walked by and I pounced in desperation! I queried in French how to reach the cathedral of Sacre Coeur by metro. He was confused, then thoughtful. In thick but perfect English he asked us to wait there, patting his palms down at the place for emphasis, and he would go to his office and find out.

We waited, and waited a bit more. His office must have been a ways off. Then he returned, triumphant, not only with the knowledge of how to get there but with a computer printout of two metro options for us to take with us. I wish I had a picture of that man so perhaps someone would see him and say, "Hey,------! Look at this, some American ladies are saying how much you helped them." That would make me very happy. As it was, I felt all the hope and excitement rush back into me so fast I was dizzy. I "merci, merci beaucoup-ed" him multiple times, really wanting to just grab him in a big hug. My reading about the French said they are not ones for physical contact with strangers, but I could not resist seizing his hand and pumping it vigorously; Andrea also. Dear man, his kindness set the tone for the whole rest of the week!

 Art Nouveau metro entrance from 1900

One of the many accordion players we saw on our trip. Andrea LOVES accordion music and we were wonderfully serenaded many times.

And so we descended into the metro to try our luck, and I am so glad that we did! It saved us time and foot-weariness. It was not like the London tube. It was much cleaner, not as crowded even at it's worst (I was never pressed full-up against someone), and it was quiet. Not the machinery, of course, but the people. The French are a very quiet group, speaking in low tones that do not disturb anyone else. On the metro people sat or stood quietly, or spoke so softly you could not register their words. Or they read. It did my heart good to see all the people of all ages reading. And bookstores? Little independent ones are on every street. You see cell phones, but books still very much hold sway in Paris.

So, onward. We hopped the metro and emerged just below the cathedral. We simply followed the crowd up a street and there, on the highest point in Paris was the Sacre Coeur.

Place St Pierre has a gorgeous old carousel in front of the many steps to the church.

Almost there! In the 1870's the Prussian army surrounded Paris for over four months. The citizens were eating cats and dogs to survive. The people decided it was their sins that had brought it all upon them and began to build this church. It stands on a foundation of 83 pillars sunk 130 feet deep. This was necessary because the ground was riddled with old gypsum mines. You've heard of "plaster of Paris"? That's where it originally came from. The exterior of the church itself is laced with it, which only whitens more as it ages.

In Sacre Coeur (Sacred Heart) there has been least one person praying for Christ to be understanding of the world's sins, day and night 24-7, since the church was finished on October 16 (my birthday!) in 1919 (not my birth year!).

The view over Paris. There is something called a "funicular" that you can pay a ticket to ride up. It's like a big escalator. I had heard so much about how awful the climb was that I was astounded how short it really seemed. We girls were made for walking!

 The statue on the right of the church is my personal heroine, Joan of Arc.

 We walked down a side street along the church and there was a tiny but lovely Farmer's Market. They were selling fruits and veggies, cured meats, escargot, soaps, and honey. I wanted to get one of the packs of little jars of honey so badly. They had creamed honey that was almost white, wildflower, clover...but all in tiny glass jars I couldn't get home. They also had a wine booth where this band of soldiers were tasting the offerings. I must say that all the Paris police and soldiers that we saw were a credit to their station. They were the best of the best, fittest of the fit...ahem. They made me feel safer just being near them ;), assault rifles and all.

One of the reasons for our visiting here on our first day was that there is a giant marche aux puces (flea market) north of the church on Mondays. Unfortunately, the spot was outside the "periphery", the circle around the city that marks were there was a ancient wall around Paris. My map did not extend beyond the periphery, but it couldn't be too far...I snagged another likely looking victim to ask for help. In France, if you try your very best to speak French, you are very polite, and you use the customary greetings, people are remarkably helpful and kind. This gentleman had to look at my map to realize the place I was interested in.  

"St Ouen," he said. "Is a village." Okay, we were getting somewhere. He shook his head and looked pained. Did we really want to go there? I told him it was to see a flea market. He looked more pained. "It is...how you say...?" He grasped for the right word and I tried to provide it. "Scary?", I prompted. I had heard it could be overwhelming and somewhat frightening for some people. No, he shook his head, still thinking. "Dirty?", I asked. I had heard it was a bit seedy, also. He shook his head, frustrated. "It is...in-ter-esting." He said the word by syllable and drawn out to give emphasis. Everything he said told us it was not his idea of where we should be going. From then on Andrea and I used the word, just as he said it, to pronounce something to be a tad "iffy" and best avoided! I'm certain that the flea is amazing, many people rave about it. But there was just something that was keeping us from going there that day...

I had come to Paris with my little notebook filled with plans and places. But I had also reminded myself that even if things did not go according to my ideas, that sometimes even better things crop up that you might have missed. Whatever we did, we were in Paris, for heaven's sake! Instead of going north, we headed back down toward the heart of the city, simply wandering streets and seeing what the everyday Parisian might enjoy.

A little graffiti that made me smile. The steampunk ferret is perfect, as both are loved by my daughter-in-law, Savannah. I'm partial to the one in the back, Rattus Columbus. It looks just like something my son Seth would draw!

You're going to be sick of beautiful doors. Paris is filled with them. I can imagine someone asking a person where they lived. "Oh, behind the 12 foot tall blue doors with the flying dragon over them..." That door comes later :)

I couldn't resist Marie Antoinette texting...

This shop about made Andrea's eyes fall out! A whole store of nothing but ribbon, as far as you could see.

Another great fruit stand. If you go by early enough in the morning (which would be late for Americans) they are putting all the fruit carefully into boxes and crates and arranging everything to it's best advantage- like art! Then they take it all down again at night, only to arrange again the next morning. Beauty is very important here.

My first time to see almonds in the husk. They were velvety furred!

The day's cute dog picture. Parisians love their dogs and are out with them all the time. The little hooks on walls are so they can wait while their person pops in a shop for a baguette or pastry.

This was a amazing looking museum dedicated to records and sound. It was closed -it was a Monday.

The goodies inside.

Andrea in front of her favorite door. Whenever we saw a particularly gorgeous door we would say, "I should paint mine that color!" Somehow I don't think that my doors will ever look this amazing, no matter the color.

Don't look now, more eye candy.

Every patisserie that I walked by reached out and grabbed me by the arm/stomach and begged me to just admire. So much deliciousness, so little time.

This was a beautiful charcutterie (specializing in meats) that we passed. The types of cheese were great, but the hanging sausages make my mouth water!

 

The shops also offered terrines and pates and rillettes. These are meats ground with various things, like herbs, or eggs, or nuts. I thought they looked incredible and I wanted to try them. But even a slice would be too much for my "real food" stomach. I asked Andrea if she would share a tranche (a slice) with me. She eyed them all and admitted, probably not!

This looks like the Green Man-

An ordinary street. I never got tired of the creamy colored stone.

This sweets shop has only been in town since 1761.

I had heard about this shop and then we passed right by it. I was intrigued because it was once famous for its horse meat. It's not sold anymore though!

This building was so beautiful, and this particular lady was my favorite. See how she is pensively thinking before she puts her quill to the paper?

It was originally a newspaper office. No wonder the lady is pondering so hard.

This popped up over two roof-lines and I was drawn to it.

Turns out it was the steeple to a church. There was only a tiny sliver visible and accessible down a narrow alley. After we went on, I found it on the map. It is St Eustache, and it's ENORMOUS. If we had gone down a different block we would have been overwhelmed by it's vastness and towers. But somehow, walking down a tiny alley to a small door seemed very secret and special.

Parisians believe in doing one thing at a time and being in the moment. Case in point- you do not see anyone walking down the street eating or drinking. I never did in a week of wandering. Even if they simply have a coffee they sit and enjoy it. Or, if you are a darling gaggle of French children, you sit and thoroughly enjoy your ice creams shaped like roses. Yes, roses. After all, this is Paris!

I had wanted to go to this establishment because they were supposed to not only serve escargot of all kinds, but have a store where you could buy canned snails, escargot plates, picks- everything escargot! Did I mention that I love it and make it at home for special occasions? So this bevy of golden snails delighted me! However, I found you had to go into the restaurant to find the store. Andrea encouraged me to just go in and ask, isn't she sweet? Aiding and abetting my snail addiction...but the restaurant was very pricey and I figured the implements would be also. I'm so glad I passed it by, because on Friday I found the PERFECT escargot treasures.

It's not a door, but still beautiful!

A lovely flower shop.

And here we have a place on my listiest of lists to visit. Stohrer's. In 1725, when King Louis XV married the daughter of the King of Poland, her pastry chef came with her to Versailles. Five years later he opened this store in 1730. Still at 51 Rue Montorgueil, it is the oldest patisserie in Paris. Yes, I had to have pastries from here. And let me just say one of them was the best thing I ate in Paris!

I'm going to show you the luscious pork leg ready to be shaved, the meats in "crout" (baked in a crust), and 

the terrines before we get to the really good stuff...

Oh, yeah.

Below is a little item I like to call Heaven. It is the St Honore. I got the small one, the big one was designed to feed six. Yes, now I wish I had gotten that one, but I didn't know how good it would be till later that day when I ate it. And now I keep dreaming about it...

There were lots of ancient signs still up that advertised with pictures instead of words, as most of the citizens at that time were illiterate. This is for an apothecary.

Just a couple strolling down the street. I was struck by how many of the women were in dresses compared to America. And not only that, but often heels, and sometimes both and on a bicycle. I loved it!

We decided to end our walk at Les Halles and pop over to the Ille de Cite ( the island of Notre Dame fame) for some lunch and then walk back to the apartment along the Seine River. We came up in St. Micheal's Square which I will show you later. I do love these old metro signs!

The square was lined with cafes and we just randomly chose one. We decided to get salads. Andrea had a Caesar with chicken that she said had the best ever dressing. I ordered a Salade Gourmet with sliced duck breast and foie gras (a duck liver pate). When it came it didn't look like I imagined, but I tried it. The toasts which I thought might be hiding the foie gras were in fact goat cheese. Then I realized she had brought the wrong dish. I politely asked if mine was correct and she immediately shook her head. She realized she had switched with the woman next to me. When she returned with my salad she apologized and took money off the bill.

A Ceasar and a mistaken Chevre (goat cheese) salad

 I mention this because we came up against a group of really obnoxious Americans on our first night. They were loud and complaining about everything. When they realized we spoke English also, they launched into a story about how they had eaten dinner at a nice restaurant and two of them had not even gotten their meal. There had been no apology and it was not taken off the bill. I could see why. Manners are everything, Dear Reader, no matter where you are in the world.

Here is the correct Salade Gourmet. The duck breast was cured and shaved in thin slices almost like prociutto. I ate the breast and a good amount of salad, but I couldn't like the foie gras. They say that every single place does it differently, so I might have enjoyed it elsewhere. My salad was 13 euro, and when I realized I could have eaten three desserts for that price I was determined to make better food choices in the future ;). But the point is that I ate some "real food" so I could tank up on desserts later without collapsing.

Our hunger sated, we walked over the pont (bridge) and along the river toward our neighborhood. The bouquinistes (book sellers) were open along the water. The booksellers have been here since the 1700's and the waiting list to have a booth is eight years. The compartments fit on the top of the wall and lock up like a trunk. When they are opened, they display that particular seller's preferred items. For one it may be vintage illustrations from books and etching of the city, for another it is beautiful antique volumes with gold lettering, or perhaps 1940-50's children's books with their brightly colored pictures. Everyone has their own niche.

I had to take a photo of this lady seller. From her burgundy and cream spectator heels to her burgundy and gold scarf headwrap, from her green leather gloves to her matching silk shirt, she was Paris at its finest.

We walked down the quays beside the river until we came to Rue St Paul. This was a street that had haunted our dreams. It is a street filled with vintage shops! Some I had seen on Pinterest and thought, "Where on earth is that exquisite shop?" Rue St. Paul, Paris. In fact, Andrea said that one small shop in particular was the clincher for her decision to go with me on my wild adventure. It was Monday and so several were not open. But the ones that were- oh my!! We went back three more times during the week, and I got my special gifts for my moma and pop there. But there is so much there and it is so good, that I will have to do a whole post on just that street. It'll be worth the wait...

Following Rue St Paul to the end, we were back on "our street", Rue St Antoine. A street with a little bit of everything nice on it.

Here is one of our flower stalls. Every day brings a new display. I can imagine Andy living above this shop. Doesn't she fit in with the vibrant colors so beautifully?

And then we were home, ready to rest for a bit of the afternoon before going out again in search of supper. The perfect time for pastries!

In the long walk and pause for lunch, my dear St Honore's whipped cream slumped.

I had no idea what to expect from any of the desserts I ate that week. French patisseries are not like anything you might find at home, and so each was a delightful surprise. The St Honore was topped with cream puffs filled with custard and then dipped in a hard caramel.

So there was the sharp crack of brittle caramel, the soft dough, and then an incredible cream. Note the edible gold leaf. Just looking at this is killing me. I would seriously import these so I could have them all the time. Best Thing Ever.

Not to slight the raspberry tart that was equally delicious. A short pastry crust with a vanilla cream topped with fresh berries. The perfect marriage of tart and sweet. Oh, Stohrer, you were a much anticipated stop that did not disappoint!

We rested, and I wrote diligently, until evening. We set out onto our street again to find supper items.

This was our fruit and veggie stand. They had gorgeous produce. I had to take the picture below, not just because of the great chanterelle mushrooms, but because of the garlic. Look at the heads compared to the size of the avocados and oranges, they are as big as a man's fist!

I have long seen currants used in European desserts and read them as ingredients in recipes I wanted to make, but I had never gotten to see them in real life. Here are my glistening red gems of currants! They are tart like a cranberry or sour cherry, with a cluster of tiny seeds inside. I bought them just to eat, but found they were not great for that. On our last day, I used my giant meringue to make us each a Pavlova with mixed berries. They are perfect in something like that, and so, so beautiful it hurts.

Our dear boulangerie. Can you zoom in on the picture? Do you remember the picture of it from the morning when the rack on the wall was bursting with amazing breads? (scroll back up to the top, I'll wait...) NOW IT IS EMPTY. We got there after all the Parisians had already bought their bread for supper.

We managed to find one tiny baugette, and Andrea got an individual onion quiche. I bought an avacado and fresh fig at the fruit market, and I found Mimolette cheese at the grocery. I have eaten it at home and it is divine. Orange as a pumpkin, aged in a cave, and nicely salty. I also got a couple desserts- surprise, surprise.

The strawberries were from the fruit stand and came in the adorable basket.

I bought a slice of chocolate tart, and a tarte au citron, plus a pain au chocolate (bread with chocolate baked in) for breakfast. We bought our breakfast each night for the next morning, because nothing would be open when we got up! The chocolate tart looked like a giant hunk of dark ganache and I wondered if I would be able to eat it all if it was that rich. It turns out it was a dark chocolate custard similar to our chocolate pudding pies. It was good, but nothing special. The citrus tart was lovely. The entire yellow dome was lemon curd and perfectly puckery tart. The little horns were white chocolate, just for pretty. It was a very yummy meal of bread, cheese, and berries for me, and then desserts! 

Then time to curl up in our little Murphy bed and sleep like the dead. The next morning we would be visiting Notre Dame! And, Dear Reader, it was everything you might imagine...