Paris: Day IV

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Part of the reason we were in Paris was that M had a professional training about 45 minutes away. We wanted to make sure his first day there (Day V) was smooth, so we decided to do a trial run out to the training site. It required a Metro ride to Les Halles, then a switch to the RER train. The question, really, was how to get to the training place once we got off the train. Apparently, during the week there is a shuttle bus, but we wanted to see if we could find it by walking.

It was strange to leave bustling, beautiful Paris and arrive in a suburb. It was quiet - people walking, kids on bikes and scooters, barking dogs. It was ordinary and that felt so strange. In fact, now that I think about it, just being in a suburb of anywhere feels a bit strange because I guess I've gotten used to city life. Of course, as cities go, Vienna is pretty quiet - but it's still a city.

We walked down residential streets, following the walking directions given by the training facility, until we got to a big building, seemingly dropped onto the edge of a neighborhood. This was the place... except that there was no clear entrance. We walked around to find the front of the building and anything that resembled an entrance. And walked. Around. Finally, a tiny, somewhat ambiguous sign appeared. We realized that we could have walked directly from the train station down a main street, made one left turn, and gotten here about 10 minutes earlier. That's what M would do on Monday.

Once we got back to Paris, we were a bit cold from the trip - what better excuse to get a chocolat chaud at La Maison Angelina on Rue de Rivoli? We'd read about the thick, creamy, decadent hot chocolate and wanted to give it a try. Apparently, everyone else in Paris wanted to do the same - the line out the door stretched the length of the block. Never mind.

We crossed the street over to the Tuileries and walked in the blustering wind and afternoon sunshine. It was fairly empty,

But there was an outdoor cafe selling vin chaud, so we got some and sat down on some metal chairs in the park to drink them - what a romantic, Parisian thing to do! (Except, of course, there were no actual Parisians doing this because it was freezing cold out).

By now, it was mid-afternoon and we hadn't eaten since the croissants that morning, so we walked to try to find a spot for lunch. We crossed the Pont Royale and made our way down Rue du Bac. We found a brasserie that looked interesting. We stopped there, but the waiter near the doorway told us that they were not open for lunch and dinner service wouldn't start for a few hours. He was sort of brusque with us, but the place looked nice, so after walking away, we decided maybe we would find out if they would be open for Christmas Eve dinner (having still not made reservations anywhere). "Oui, we will be open." "May we make reservations?" "Oui. Vingt et un heures et demi." (Great. Now what time was that, exactly? 21:30. Subtract... okay - 9:30 pm). This would give us enough time to get to a midnight Mass. "Parfait. Merci." We gave him our name, which he did not write down, and we left. We didn't like him at all, but we felt hopeful about the place. More on that later.

We wandered down Rue du Bac, noticing some lovely shops and making mental notes to return. Starving, we found Comptoir des Saint-Pères, a wonderful little bistro full of regulars, eccentrics, and well, us.

Did I mention that we were hungry by then? Perhaps a charcuterie plate to start:

Followed by an omelet and Le Club Thon:

Whew! Our waiter was charming, funny, and energetic - as were all the other people working there. The place was filled with laughter and playful banter. The woman who making M's coffee asked for his name:

Fortified, we finally left this cozy place and walked up Rue des Saint-Pères and over to the Chapel of the Miraculous Medal on Rue du Bac. It was crowded and felt touristy. It's odd how some places can be crowded with tourists and still feel special, while others lose that quality when they are overrun with people. That's how this chapel felt to me - like it had lost the qualities that made it so popular to begin with.

From there, we walked over to Saint Sulpice, where we thought we might go for Mass on Christmas Eve. What a contrast - even though it is huge and full of tourists, it felt special. From the fountain in front,

to its majestic exterior,

to the incredible details inside,

everything about Saint Sulpice felt special, intimate, and just right for Christmas Eve.

From there, we walked the few blocks back to our street and had a light dinner of crêpes and cidre at La Créperie Saint Germain. It's a small place, where you walk by the woman making the crêpes right by the door. The air is slightly smokey from the butter heating up in the skillets, and each crêpe is made to order. The savory crêpes are called galettes, from Normandy and Brittany, and are made with buckwheat flour. (Here's a recipe from David Lebovitz). Galettes are often accompanied by hard cider - "cidre" - which is traditionally served in ceramic bowls.

Stay tuned for Day V: M goes to his training and Ellen takes on Paris by herself.